Instituations Influence Behavior

I thought about writing about this topic two weeks ago when I noticed something subtle during a murder trial I attended. The topic is again on my mind this week as I have been reading media reports about Brandon Davies, suspended from the BYU basketball team this week for breaking the school honor code.

The trial was for two young men who ultimately got life sentences for capital murder. On the second day of the proceeding, I began to notice someting that peaked my curiosity.

Defendants and others in the courtroom stand in respect each time the judge or jurors enter or leave the courtroom. I noticed that each time one of the defendants stood he would place his hands flat against the small of his back, palms outward, thumbs and pointer fingers touching at the tips.

Go ahead and try it, and you will notice that it forms a triangle between your fingers.

That by itself is not remarkable, but it reminded me of a visit I had several years ago to a juvenile lockup facility in Marlin where each young man was required to place his hands in that exact way when the boys would line up and walk through the building.

During a break I spoke to one of the man's attorneys and said, "Do you want to know how I know your client spent time incarcerated as a juvenile?"

He was intrigued, so I shared my observation with him. I followed it up with a question: "So, was he locked up as a youth?"

Without saying a word the attorney smiled and walked away. The next day I also noticed the defendant had a tear drop tattoo that was obscured by the thick frames on his glasses, and I think his attorney might have instructed him to not place his hands behind his back when he stood.

When I was at BYU, a football player named Reno Mahe, one of the best players on the team, was dismissed from school for something similar to what Davies has apparently admitted to. I remembered thinking that we would never see him in a BYU uniform again.

But Mahe surprised me. He played a year at a smaller school, then came back to BYU willing to again try to live the honor code. He did it, and eventually went on to play in the NFL.

I have always respected Mahe for coming back to the university and restoring his honor.

Now Davies will have the same opportunity. I look forward to seeing what happens with him, but whatever path he chooses, I will always be a fan of his and of the university.

I am grateful for BYU and the principles it upholds. It is an institution that I am proud to say I attended, and I can honestly say that it helped make me a better man. It's an institution that influences behavior.

How to make square dancers laugh

I hung out with a bunch of square dancers last night while working on a story for the newspaper. Most of them appeared to be in their mid-80s.

I heard some great stories and saw some deft moves on the dance floor, but my favorite moment came between dances.

The man calling the dance asked the gathering to name the year and author of the song they had just danced. Nobody guessed it. The caller had to inform the group that it was a Hank Williams song from 1951.

I watched a man coming off the dance floor smile as he told his wife that one of the dancers had said she wasn't even born in '51. The couple laughed, then the wife looked over at me and noticed I had overheard their conversation.

She tried to include me by saying, "you probably weren't even around in 1951."

To which I said with a smile, "I don't even think my dad had been born yet."

The lady and her husband roared with laughter.

How to start a tradition

Sometimes traditions are created deliberately; Other times they are developed out of what appears to be pure chance.

I learned of a tradition of the latter form this past week while visiting with a former military judge who served at Fort Hood.

This judge retired from the military after completing a stint at Fort Hood. He told me about a print he had hanging in his office. He had purchased it in Paris. It was a courtroom scene that he was drawn to because the artist seemed to capture appropriate expressions for all of the major players in a courtroom.

The print hung in his office during his years on post. Over time, it had occassionally fallen from the wall, and the glass that encapsulated it had developed a small crack in it. The frame needed some repair.

The former judge explained to me how he cleaned out his office for the final time and inadvertanly left the painting behind. He said he never thought about it again. He was too busy establishing his own legal pratice.

Then, one day, years after he had retired from the military, the man was back in the Fort Hood courthouse looking at artwork in the hallway. He noticed that judges who had presided after him had all donated artwork after their service was complete.

Then, he made a stunning discovery. His own artwork, left behind years ago, was the first print displayed.

It turns out the judge that replaced him and moved into his office had taken his forgotten print, purchased new glass for it and fixed the frame. Then the new judge affixed a small nameplate to it stating that the print had been donated to the courthouse by the retiring judge.

That's how this man learned that his oversight eventually led to a tradition still followed by judges today.

Once he learned about this, he asked that his print be taken off the wall. He said it was easily the most "ratty looking" donation, so he spent $75 to have it reframed. Then he placed it back on the wall.

I just hope that the judges who have participated in this tradition didn't feel pressured to participate, because I'm confident the person who inadvertantly started it would not want that.

The Eagle Instinct

Turns out a car accident Thursday morning was more instructive for me about my son than a conversation we had a few months ago about a camp out.

The conversation came about sometime before my son's Eagle Scout court of honor. He was speaking to me in the car about acamping trip he would be attending with other scouts when he casually mentioned it wasn't going to be as good as he had hoped because he forgot to bring his air soft gun.

The comment upset me because he was on the precipice of receiving the highest honor for a scout and seemed more concerned about playing guns with his friends. I thought he should have been more mature about the camping trip and, if he didn't need to work on anything himself, use it as an opportunity to help younger scouts in his troop.

Fastforward to yesterday.

We were driving down Highway 6 on our way home from seminary when we saw a dumptruck sideswipe a small pickup truck. The truck skidded off the road and into the median where it flipped and landed upside down on the other side of the highway.

The accident happened right in front of us. I slowed down a pulled over to the shoulder of the road, and Paul immediately said, "let's go help," while reaching for the door handle. I had to tell Paul to slow down.

There was no way I was going to let him run across three lanes of traffic on a dark highway to save a person who was already climbing out the window of the truck. It quickly became obvious that our help was not needed, and we continued our drive back home.

The whole situation, however, left me extremely impressed about my son's first instinct to run to the assistance of somebody in need. It made me grateful for the things he learned in scouting. And it proved to me that those things actually had taken a hold of him and become a part of him.

Court of Honor

Paul's Eagle Scout Court of Honor was tonight. As his parents, Brandy and I have never been prouder. There was a great turnout from the ward and one of Brandy's students that is on the cusp of earning his Eagle came with his father.

Here's the video we played afterward.

It depends on the situation...

A couple of months ago, I gathered in a home with a group of parents interested in helping our school district pass a Tax Ratification Election. It would require residents to agree to increase their tax burden in a political and economic climate that suggested such a result would be extremely difficult. The measure had already been voted down in November.

As a group we decided that the best approach was to launch a grass roots effort that included contacting the media to share why the district needed more revenue.

Because of my background in media, I was asked to contact the local newspaper. The superintendent and I ended up meeting with an editorial board where I mostly listened to her share all the salient information on the issue.

At the end of the meeting one of the editors stood and assured us that the panel would definitely deliberate and write an editorial. Then he cautioned that it might not be the editorial that we would hope.

Later that day, I went to a press conference that I attend weekly with a member of the local DA's office. Unsolicited and with no knowledge about where I had been earlier that day, he described a conversation he had with a seasoned DA early in his career.

He asked the man tips on dealing with the press. The man's advice to him, which he said he has tried to follow during his career, was that it is okay to speak to the press but never seek them out.

This made me question my efforts, big time. I had just led the district to the inner sanctum of the newsroom and we left with what could be considered a warning from one of the top editors there.

The next day a factual article was printed. A couple weeks later, the paper ran an editorial in favor of the measure. Then it ran a favorable column. Then it ran a guest column I had written.

I am still stunned by the support from the newspaper. It was incredible.

The election was tonight. I knew the district did all it could to get its message out, but I wondered if the message would be accepted or rejected. I was surprised to feel anxiety when I heard voters were lining up. outside the polling location. Would crowds on election day again nullify the early vote tally?

After the polls closed, Brandy and I spent an hour refreshing a website trying to find out the results.

Turns out it was a landslide, 795 to 244.

It just goes to show you that there are situations when approaching the media is appropriate. It is satisfying tonight that even though I couldn't see it, there was clearly more with us than against us.

And the winner is...

You might have heard that the creator of the comic strip Cathy is retiring. This has opened a slot in newspapers nationwide for a new comic.

The managment at the Telegram polled readers and the clear winner was Pickles. I only voted once and Pickles was way ahead when I started my zero-budget viral campaign, so this is an honest victory.

It's funny how a simple comic strip can make people so happy. I spoke with my managing editor yesterday about the connection my family has with the creator of Pickles and it literally made his day.

Of course, now I have an assignment to try and do a Q and A type story with the creator of Pickles.

An artist rendering?

Let's see...how do I put this?

I was interviewing an attorney today who represents probably one of the most polorizing/hated people in America. The interview took place in his office.

As I was walking by his desk, I noticed a picture of his client that somebody had clipped from the paper and sent him. The return address on the envelope was a local VA hospital.

I recognized the photo because I had done a story about it earlier. The attorney, using his cell phone, snapped a picture of his client and distributed it a few places on the Internet. When the military organization complained about it, the attorney asked that the incarcerated man's official military file photo be updated. To my surprise the military said it would comply with the request.

Today, when I walked by newspaper clipping, I noticed the sender had drawn horns on the man's head and a pointy chin beard. Next to his alterations the man wrote something like: "There, I updated it. How do you like it now?"

Texas Country Wisdom

One of the great things about living in Texas is the characters that you meet. I was talking to one of my friends in Hillsboro yesterday after church. He is in his 70s and sometimes shares "country wisdom" with me.

Yesterday he tells me that he drives a 1966 pickup truck. (They must drive his wife's car to church because I didn't see that old truck in the parking lot.)

Anyway, he tells me that his friends always tell him that he should get the old truck repainted.

With a smile on his face the man tells me "The only thing I would ever paint on that truck is the hood and the part of the door where I rest my arm, because that's all I can see when I'm driving down the road."

family pictures

While my dad was in town recently, he requested that we have a family picture taken. We have a very talented member of our ward who is starting a photography business, so Tonya arranged for him to meet us at a local park. Here are a few of my favorite pictures. There are a few very nice ones of Paul and Rebekah, but they are teenagers and don't want me posting them on the internet. Silly kids!

Also, right now Emma and Isaac are in California with my parents. I can't believe I let my little ones go. We are meeting them at Disneyland on Saturday, but still I miss them so much. They are having a great time, and I'm grateful for parents who love my kids and want to spend time with them. My parents are all about making my kids' dreams come true.

A Teenager with a Title

Last week my son Paul went before a Boy Scout board of review and passed the final hurdle to becoming an Eagle Scout. All that is left now is really just the pomp and circumstance associated with the court of honor.

Brandy and I are really proud of him. We're tempted to effusively praise in public, but have so far been able to restrain ourselves outside the home. I won't describe what has gone on inside the home other than to say that Paul has DEFINITELY earned himself some goodwill.

The purpose of this post is not to notify people about Paul's accomplishment as much as it is to share something about Brandy that to me shows Paul would be best to follow her lead.

After the board of review, one of the men who interviewed Paul told him that in his life he would have the opportunity to earn many titles. He said he would one day be a "mister" and if he went to school long enough could earn the title "doctor."

Then he told him that no other title in his life would mean more to him than his first title of "Eagle Scout." It was a wonderful, kind thing for the man to say, and we are grateful for the way he expressed this sentiment to Paul.

On the way home, Brandy reinforced the man's statement, explaining that the first title will be his most meaningful. Then she reminded him that he received his first title when he was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12.

I guess we could go back even further to when he was 8-years-old and made the decision to be baptized. That covenant gave him the title of Christian, because he committed to follow Christ for the rest of his life.

I think the titles that have followed are a manifestation that his life is headed in the right direction.

I'm grateful that the scouting program teaches and reinforces values that we have tried to teach our son. I'm grateful that he is a young Christian committed to serving other people. I'm grateful he is a priesthood holder preparing himself for a greater priesthood.

The wonderful thing about being an Eagle Scout is that now so many other people will know what me and his mother have known for a long time: he has a good heart, works hard and has great potential.

If he remembers the titles of his youth, I'm confident he will be bestowed with many other honorable and meaningful titles.

I guess what I am trying to say is that this could be the start of something really good.

Saying Goodbye

I don't think I'll ever forget how I saw him sitting near the back of the chapel at the end of my neighbor's funeral. She was diagnosed with cancer and was gone within a month. I didn't know it at the time but he knew his cancer was back, and I wonder if he thought he would be the next to have a funeral.

Out of respect to his family, I won't mention the man's name but anybody who was a member of the Waco 2nd Ward for any significant amount of time knew him. He was a former bishop who helped build the meetinghouse back when ward members contributed their labors. He always sat on the west end of the fifth pew.

He was a regular in the choir, although he insisted he had no musical talent. His comments in Sunday school or priesthood meetings were always well thought out and eloquent.

One of the things that impressed me most about this man was his ability to thrive in the two different worlds of Baptists and Mormons. He taught at Baylor for 30 years where he helped expand young minds and forge meaningful relationships among his contemporaries on campus.

He was a pillar of strength in the Mormon community with a natural ability to lead and inspire. It was common over the years for new Mormon students attending Baylor to make their way to the end of the fifth row where they would be reassured about their faith and their choice in a university.

It didn't matter if the new students were former BYU Cougars or Utah Utes, they would have a friend in this man, who loved both universities and their sports programs.

He was the life of the High Priest social and just as skillfully made cub scout meetings a can't miss event.

The last time he spoke in church he knew he was sick. He told the congregation that he was sure he was given a topic but couldn't remember it. He said he was going to take the liberty of sharing a few things that were on his heart and spoke about how serving in the church provided him with many of the most meaningful experiences of his life.

Several weeks later, in a fast and testimony meeting, his body whithering away, he notified the congregation that the testimony he was sharing would be the last public testimony of his life. There was quiet weeping throughout the chapel as he spoke.

I remember he said he "still wanted to be in the game." He spoke clearly and looked unusually strong in his now frail body. I thought to myself that the strength this man was showing must be akin to what King Benjamin had when he spoke to his people during the final address of his life.

After sacrament meeting was over, I wanted to approach this man, to thank him for his goodness and tell him that I loved him, but the crowd that gathered near the fifth pew was too big. I went on to Sunday school without saying a word to him.

After Sunday school was over I saw him sitting with his wife, so I walked over to talk to him. I'm not good at saying goodbye, but I at least had to try.

He was twisting the cap off a water bottle as I approached him and the cap slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. I thanked him for the testimony that he shared earlier and told him "King Benjamin had nothing on him."

He expressed gratitude as he started to reach for the water cap. I was surprised to see his hand trembling. To be polite and save him energy, I reached down and handed him the cap. That's when he told me that the words he planned to deliver didn't come out quite like he had hoped.

I have thought about these words since our exchange took place. Compared to times when he spoke in the past, he didn't string together his thoughts as artfully during his last testimony. His delivery was the same, but I imagine he didn't feel as sharp intellectually as he did when he was healthy.

He may not have been as eloquent, but I have never heard him speak with more power or conviction or Spirit. It was clear that he was committed to remain faithful to the end, to die with his faith firmly in Christ.

I didn't want things to turn awkward as I spoke with this man for the last time, so I brought up something that I knew he cared about more than any other person in the ward.

Each year our ward changes the time it meets. One year our meetings begin at 9 a.m., the next year at 1 p.m. For some reason as the schedule changes, the high priest group in the ward moves for its meetings from one location in the building to another. It is so noticeable that I have heard one man joke that the high priests in the ward are its nomads, moving wherever necessary to worship during the third hour.

Now, it was not in the nature of this man, whom I have compared to King Benjamin, to complain or murmur. But, I noticed over the years that as the high priests were leaving opening exercises and the elders would stay in the soft seats he would playfully ask why the men with walkers, artificial knees and hips were made to move when the younger elders stayed put.

It was a question I always thought others should consider, but for a several years, there was only one kind, persistent voice speaking about this issue. Without sharing any information with my friend, I approached someone earlier this year who could change the luck of the nomads and asked for a favor. The change was quiet and mostly unnoticed to almost everybody, but a change was made.

So, in saying goodbye to my friend, I told him that next year, when the annual shuffling of the high priests took place, I would voice the concern that I had only heard him voice. He seemed to know what I was trying to say and straightened up in his seat.

He looked me dead in the eye and said, "will you carry on, Brother Romer?"

"Yes, I will," I said. "I promise."

Then I told him I loved him before I turned around and walked out into the hallway so people would not see the tears rolling down my cheeks.

It was the last time we spoke.

That week, I went over to his home with most of the youth in the ward and helped do some yard work, but I never saw him that day, although I heard he graciously walked out into his yard and thanked people for helping him.

The last time I saw him was his last Sunday at church when he used considerable energy to sing with the choir. When it was time to perform, he rose from the end of the fifth pew and his wife helped him up to the stand.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled with emotion and relief when he finally reached the choir seats. It was a difficult climb in a failing body. His wife steadied him as he sang for the last time with the choir, a man who claimed he had no musical talent.

I honestly don't know whether that statement he liked to make was true, but I do know that whatever this man was involved in, he made it better.

I didn't talk to him every Sunday, but he always made me want to be better. I miss him.

I know it's not right, but for a little while, I don't want to see anybody else sitting on the west end of the fifth pew. I would just like a little more time to honor a man that taught me that service is not about how much talent and ability you have.

It's what's in your heart that's important.

New 2010 Penny

Our daughter Rebekah walked into the living room Friday holding a penny in her hand and announced that "there's a new penny."

I was surprised at the excitement the announcement generated among our youngest children. Isaac and Emma both jumped to their feet and looked at her penny. After inspecting it intently for a few seconds, Isaac, with an unusual intensity in his voice asked Rebekah to "turn it over."

She did, and with relief in his voice he said, "good, it still has Lincoln on it!"

With that statement Brandy and I exchanged knowing glances at each other. Suddenly, it all made sense.

It made sense that our son who is enthralled with presidential facts and trivia, whose favorite president is Lincoln, would care so much about what is on the new penny.

I'm still trying to figure out why Emma cared so much. I guess because she is five.

election results

Paul was re-elected!

Paul's two-year term was up this election cycle, and he thought long and hard about whether to run for re-election. He's liked being on the city council, so he decided to run again. And he won.

I'm proud of him for his desire to serve our community, and I guess the community is grateful for his service, too.

misspellings

Last week I found three misspellings that made my heart skip a beat. They were:
fuze (fuzzy)
brethas (birthdays)
fisheing (fishing)

You might think that a high school math teacher wouldn't care about misspelled words, but I do care. I care a lot -- especially when the words are written by my five-year-old daughter.

Most of the time Emma acts like she doesn't care about reading. She'll ask me to read her a book, but the moment I ask her to help me read, she loses interest and wants to go play somewhere else. But the fact that she can independently try to sound out the words that she wants to write proves that she is actually learning something in Kindergarten. Honestly, I was starting to wonder.

What's in a Name

I recently wrote a four-part series about illegal immigration. It was basically a story about a young Mexican man who came to America with his family when he was 9-years-old but was deported after he had graduated from high school, where he played on a state championship football team and graduated third in his class.

Anyway, the man deserved to be deported. He does not dispute that.

Still, he decided to sneak back into America because most of his family is here and his hometown in Mexico is fraught with poverty and violence from a drug cartel. His journey back here was filled with disappointment, despair and disbelief that he would actually make it back to his family.

It was a compelling story.

As you might suspect, it was a risk for this man to share it, so to protect his identity, I gave him the fictional name of Pablo.

I was amused this week when after a routine press conference the local district attorney asked me if the fictional name of Pablo was inspired by the sidekick in the book Don Quixote. He was talking about Sancho. I guess he hadn't read the novel in a while.

Anyway, I laughed when I shared with him where I got the name Pablo. I actually named the immigrant after Pablo Sandoval, third baseman for the San Francisco Giants.

I thought the name was appropriate because Sandoval's nickname is the Kung Fu Panda, after the main character in the 2008 movie. If you remember the movie, the Panda succeeds against great odds, just like the immigrant I interviewed did.

It would have been good use Santos, a character from one of the most famous novels of all time, as the name for the illegal immigrant in my story. But knowing what little I know about that novel and the movie Kung Fu Panda, Pablo somehow seems more fitting.

The Carp are Spawning, The Carp are Spawning

It sounds ignorant now, but until yesterday I had no idea there were carp in my mother-in-law's stock tank. I was driving my son Paul and his friend Arthur down near the shoreline to do some work when Paul yelled from the back of the pickup that he just saw a huge fish.

It turned out to be more than just one large fish. The carp were spawning in the shallow water near the bank. After finishing our work, Paul and Arthur got a net and went hunting for garbage fish.

Paul netted one within minutes. Here are pictures of their adventure:

If you look closely, just feet from the bank, you can see the fish breaking the water.

This is Paul saying, "I don't care if this is a garbage fish. I netted it!"

The search for more spawning carp.

Arthur has still never caught a fish in his life with a net or otherwise. We'll take care of that within the next year. At least they had a good time wading with the carp.

This is the carp just before we returned him to the water. He didn't appear to have as much fun riding in the bed of the pickup as Paul and Arthur did.

Paul Ivan 2008 Football Clips

In these clips Paul is number 80, one of the little guys. In the past year-plus he has probably doubled in size. This video is finally being posted because we finally upgraded our computer and made such things possible again.

so close

(check out the next to last line on this sign...)

Paul Ivan finished his Eagle Scout service project back in August. He had not finished his camping merit badge, so he still had things to work on. At the end of January, he completed the last two nights of camping for the merit badge. He was officially done with all requirements EXCEPT the paperwork. Wow, there is a lot of paperwork. He procrastinated filling out the "project changes" sheet for his service project. In all fairness to him, there were a ton of changes, so I wouldn't have wanted to fill it out either. And then he had the official application for eagle to fill out. That was a test of his organizational skills. I tell ya, the best thing I ever did was buy him those plastic sheets for baseball cards. He had all his blue cards right there. It was awesome.

But now...yes now...he is finally done. We went to the scout office last week to get his application certified, but to our dismay he hadn't had a scoutmaster conference, so we were rejected. But that didn't stop him. He called his scoutmaster and met with him today, so now he is ready. Tuesday he will be able to contact the Eagle Scout Board of Review guy (a professor at Baylor we've never met) and schedule his board of review. I can't even believe it's real. He's been so close for what seems so long. Now that he's finished all the paperwork, I'm feeling a little guilty for all the nagging I've done. I have to admit...I nagged him almost every day. But now I can stop. Yeah.

Sorry it doesn't sound like it, but I am very proud of my son. He's worked very hard and has been very diligent. He deserves all the recognition he is going to get.

very scary

About a month ago I was released from my Relief Society calling and called to teach Gospel Doctrine--hence the title of this post.

When I received the call, I was very surprised. Very. This is a perfect calling for my husband, but not for me. I never thought I'd ever be asked to teach this class. My best guess is that they'd like my hubby to teach it, but since he is presently called to a stake calling, they decided I was close enough. There really isn't any other reason I can think of.

Seriously though, I really need to stop complaining and just embrace it. I said "yes" so what good is complaining going to do?

Today I taught my first lesson. It reminded me of some of my 4th period classes at school. See, 4th period is the first of my three math models classes. Sometimes when I am teaching a particularly foreign topic (remember--I have a math degree, not a business degree), my 4th period gets my "first attempt." I teach the topic to them, and then figure out what I can do better to teach the same topic to 5th and 6th periods. I don't think I taught false doctrine today(a big concern of mine), but I know that if I had two more chances to teach the lesson again, I'd been much better the second and third times.

So far, two very good things have come from my new calling. First, I have received so much support from my friends and ward members. They are so kind and uplifting. One particularly close friend brought me a present yesterday in anticipation of my first lesson. She brought me powerade and power bars with the nicest card declaring that I would have scripture POWER during my lesson! Awesome, I know... The second thing is that I have been studying the scriptures like never before. I must have studied the scriptures at BYU during my religion classes, but I don't remember that. I'm talking more about personal scripture study. This year's Gospel Doctrine class is studying the Old Testament. What a challenge for someone like me. If it were the Book of Mormon or Doctrine and Covenants, I'd feel a lot more qualified. But the Old Testament...yikes!

The big difference between my professional teaching and now my Sunday teaching is this: at school I have a diploma hanging on the wall that declares my qualifications to teach my math classes, but there are no such qualifications that I have to teach the Old Testament. I've realized that I'm definitely not a gospel scholar, and sadly, I'd not even describe myself as a gospel student. I'm just a disciple who tries to live right. That's it. But I know that's not enough, so I'm grateful (or I'll be grateful in the future) for this opportunity given to me (forced upon me) to become a gospel student. Realistically I've got no hopes of ever being a scholar. I know my limitations.

You're Special to me

It didn't take me long to memorize the words to this song.

Emma Pre-k Singing

This is for grandma, who, judging from the audio, enjoyed this event very much.

The Widow's and Widower's Might

When I got into work this morning I listened to two messages left last week on my phone. They were from a woman who is a recent widow.

Last week I wrote a story about this woman's husband. He was a local doctor that spent more than 50 years serving his community. He died of natural causes, and it was not a surprise to the family.

In fact, this man knew he would be passing soon and planned a "celebration" to remember his life. It was typical of the man -- he thought of others before himself for his entire life. Even when death was near, he was more concerned with his friends and family. He made sure that the burden of his passing was light.

Anyway, the man was beloved by many, so I was asked to write a story about him that was put on the front page of the paper.

I called the widow back this morning and she expressed deep gratitude to me for the article on her husband, saying it had captured the essence of who he was.

I was impressed that in her time of mourning this woman's instinct was to reach out. Clearly, her husband was not the only special soul in the family.

Last month my neighbor lost his wife to cancer. Her passing was relatively quick and unexpected. I wanted to stop by and talk with him in the weeks leading up to her death but there was a constant stream of visitors.

I received periodic updates about her condition through local church leaders. When she passed there were many who wanted to lift her husband's burdens. I was impressed at all the people who set aside their personal interests to help make sure the family had a post-funeral meal.

The thing that impressed me the most is that my neighbor insisted on calling all of his friends and fellow church members to personally deliver the news.

Losing a spouse is not easy. I'm confident that spouses left behind don't look upon their situation as a way to show their character. That just happens naturally in good people.

Family Secrets

Brandy and I have learned that if you want to keep a secret don't tell it to Emma, our five-year-old daughter. She is a good little girl that wants to keep secrets but for some unknown reason is completely incapable of it at this stage of her life.

I think we found out about Emma's trait when she was younger, possibly as she was Christmas shopping with her mother. Emma would get home and even though she had been sworn to secrecy she would start giving hints to whoever was to receive the gift and then, before you know it, she would just tell the person and the surprise would be gone.

I share the information above for context.

You see, yesterday Emma walked in my room, and Rebekah's birthday present was on my bed (her birthday is Friday). It had just arrived in the mail and was still in a box. I had ordered it online and wanted to see what it looked like, so I asked Emma if she would like to get an early peek at her sister's birthday present.

Of course, she wanted to see it immediately. That's when I paused and remembered her issues with keeping secrets about gifts. I then explained that she wasn't very good at keeping secrets, and told her I was not going to show her the gift.

She tried to press me, explaining that she could keep a secret. When I expressed doubt she said she would tell me a secret she had not told anybody.

I waited. The anticipation was unbearable, then seconds later she dropped a bombshell that I didn't see coming.

With a serious look on her face she excitedly told me that "mom can fly. She told me!"

I asked Brandy later how come in all the years we have been married she never told me she could fly. She explained to me that earlier that day Emma was quizzing her about how Brandy was able to go so many places in such a short amount of time.

I don't know exactly why Brandy did it but she told Emma "because I can fly, but don't tell dad because he doesn't know."

And this is how I found out that not only does Emma have trouble keeping secrets, she also believes anything you tell her.

build-a-bear

Several years ago Build-A-Bear opened a store in Waco. I remember when it opened I thought to myself, "my kids will never get one of those." They are on the pricier side of stuffed animals (so I thought), so I figured that if my kids wanted a Build-A-Bear, I could just get them a cheaper Target or Toys R Us version.

Here we are a couple of years later and both my girls have several Build-A-Bears each. (If you don't buy all the clothes and accessories, they really aren't too expensive.) We've bought so many that recently we got a "reward check" in the mail for $10 worth of free merchandise.

Knowing I had this reward check and a recently acquired $5 off coupon, I headed to Build-A-Bear with Emma to get her a new bear. She was so excited. She cleaned her room and kept it clean for several days in anticipation of the new bear. When we got to the store, she went up and down the aisle of empty animal bodies looking at each one to choose her perfect mate. She had said she already knew she wanted the unicorn, but the buffet before her threw her off and she got side-tracked. After a little coaxing from the clerk, Emma chose to get the new valentine dog with heart-shaped spots. She named the dog "Heart."

Tonight Emma and I had to drop off the older kids at church. We had an hour and a half to burn, so Emma asked if we could go to the mall. I had a few other places I wanted to go, so I told her there was nothing at the mall I needed to buy. She asked if we could go to Build-A-Bear so she could get the unicorn. I told her I didn't have money for the unicorn right now, but she could save up her money and we could get it later.

I then asked her, "Why do you want the unicorn?"

She answered, "Because it has a horn and can kill things."

Okay.

See, I thought she wanted it because it is pink and has a sparkly horn. I guess I don't know Emma as well as I thought I did. I'm pretty sure I'm going to put off buying her that unicorn for as long as I can.