Losing Control

Those Eyes

Parenting is a journey like no other. It can be so rewarding... so fulfilling. It also presents countless opportunities for blunders and regret. These little humans do not come with instructions and if one has multiple children, you quickly learn that each child is wired differently. Parental tactics that work for one may not work on another. To say that parenting is a challenge is a vast understatement.

God has blessed us with five wonderful children who have all successfully made it to adulthood and are all stable, productive citizens. So, that's a win in and of itself. But that is not to imply a totally smooth pathway to their present position in life. Mistakes have been made, both by the children and certainly by the parents who did their best to steer the ship through the times of rough seas.

I should stop at this point and say this... lest you think we were failures in the game of parenthood. I think if you query our kids, each would describe their childhood and upbringing as rather idyllic. We were two loving parents that directed the family with clear purpose and direction. And I think the end product is proof of that. However... if you are anything like me, you can never seem to shake the handful of regrets in parenting that have accumulated over the years. Regrets? I've had a few.

One of the keys to life is to stay under control even when challenging circumstances compel you to sprint over that boundary and as a parent, you have added incentive because you are modeling life for the young eyes that are watching your every move. Parents without self-discipline and control tend to signal tacit approval for the children to act out in similar fashion. The "do as I say and not as I do" parents unwittingly erect more barriers to their parenting path.

I recall a night in which I feel that I lost control. I wish I could forget it but it haunts me.

We were pretty strict with our girls when they reached the age in which the opposite sex started sniffing around. We were also pretty adamant about following rules that we had clearly established. And when violations involving those two elements were to occur, there was a good chance that some fireworks were to follow.

Tara, daughter number two, was in the 8th grade. She had recently moved her bedroom down into the basement. It wasn't as nice as her bedroom upstairs, however, I think it did give her more of a feeling of independence. Sort of like her own apartment.

It was 1997, long before the proliferation of cell phones. We had a phone jack in the basement and so we bought a cheap phone. We gave Tara some general guidelines for it's usage, the most significant of which was "no phone usage beyond 10PM."

As a child, Tara was a talker. As an adult in 2025, Tara remains... a talker. So that basement phone got a lot of use! Occasional spot checks of the 10PM rule showed that she was following the rules. Not a surprise as she was pretty good about following rules. I said "pretty good," not perfect. This was about the age when the boys really started to take notice of Tara and we had to buckle down a couple times after some minor slip ups.

One night, long after I had gone to bed and fallen asleep, I woke up. I don't remember what time it was but it was well after 10PM. I'm not sure what prompted me, maybe it was just one of those daddy audits, but I picked up the receiver in our bedroom and put it to my ear... thinking (and hoping) to hear the dial tone. What I heard was much worse... the evil, demonic voice of a preadolescent boy, followed by two quick clicks!

I was hot! This wasn't a borderline violation of our clearly stated rules, this was a blatant, "I know I'm doing wrong and I hope I don't get caught" World Series of Poker gamble!

When I got downstairs and turned on the light, Tara was sitting on her bed with fear in her eyes. I was angry and she knew it. We had long passed the days of corporal punishment with her, so there was no reaching for a paddle. The message had to be delivered in a different way.

I cannot recall what I said to her... or if I said anything at all. What I do recall is what I did. I grabbed the phone, ripped the cord out of its socket and slammed it against the ground with such force that it broke into a thousand pieces.

I must confess... I did actually think it through before I sacrificed a relatively new phone. It was a $12.87 Walmart special and so I thought it was a decent trade-off. I had an inexpensive prop to destroy with my theatrics and hopefully, I was effectively delivering a rather decisive message.

I will never forget the shock and the fear in Tara's eyes. And THAT is what has stuck with me through the years. Her eyes. Ugh! I mean, anger can be a crucial element of effectively disciplining our kids but it must be strictly under control. I feel that I stepped over the line that night... and I regret it... still.

We talk about that night on occasion and we laugh. Well... I laugh on the outside but cringe on the inside. I'm sure it bothers me much more than it bothers Tara... maybe... hopefully.

If it's any consolation, raising five kids into adulthood with only a handful of these regrets in rearing them is not a bad record. At least... this is the soothing message that I try and tell myself. I think it's true. I hope it's true.

But yeah... parenting is a tough gig! 

Regrets? I've had a few...

"Make it Hot!"

I came to faith in Jesus right around my 17th birthday. This singular event... this one decision... transformed my life from one of sin and debauchery to one of grace, forgiveness, hope and change. The timing of this drastic change... my teen years... and the massive shift in my life's trajectory was the catalyst in my decision to work with teenagers. I felt that my story could be their story too!

So I dove head first into the nurturing of my faith. I became very active with the youth group in my church. They elected me the President of our youth group. I helped plan activities, I visited teens and encouraged them to attend our youth group, I would teach a lesson once a month in our Sunday night youth group meetings. My passion for this ministry continued to blossom.

In the fall of 1977, about a year and a half after my conversion, I started Bible college with "Youth Ministry" as my major. I felt God's calling and it was my desire to prepare myself for this work.

In 1978, my brother, Bill, was called to pastor the Mid-Cities Baptist Temple in Downey, California. Not long after he made that move, I followed and became his Youth Director. Looking back, I question the wisdom of allowing a 19 year old take on that roll where my students were not much younger than me. However, despite my youth and inexperience, I believe God blessed my ministry and I really built a bond with this small group of teens.

I was given a small office and I would spend as much time as I could at the church, preparing for lessons and attempting to build a program for the kids under my spiritual care.

One day, we received a piece of mail addressed to the Youth Director. Our Assistant Pastor, Oscar, dropped it on my desk and waited there... seemingly wanting me to open it... which I did. It was from a local charismatic church and they were inviting our teens to a "Christian Rock" concert.

"Christian Rock" was a genre of music that was relatively new on the 1970's music scene and was considered not only unacceptable to we "fundamental Baptists," it was absolutely depraved and demonic!

Now... for the purposes of this writing, my objective is not to discuss or debate the veracity of this or any other position on "Christian Rock" music. It is to examine what transpired in my response to this invitation.

As I read the content of the invitation to Oscar, I also looked to him for direction. I obviously knew we wouldn't be attending. That much was crystal clear. "What should I do?" I asked him.

"You need to write them back and give them a piece of your mind for even thinking it appropriate to invite our youth group to such an event!" He turned and left my office before turning back and sticking his head through the doorway. " And make it HOT!" 

So, I wrote and I made it "HOT!"

I don't remember much of what I wrote but I do recall one line that was the essence of my message: "We will not participate with you in dragging our savior through the gutter!" I was so proud of that zinger and couldn't wait to share it with Oscar, who was delighted with my choice of words.

I mailed it off without expectation of a response but received a return letter from the Youth Pastor within about a week. I was a bit surprised but was certain that I was about to read his fiery retort to my masterpiece that I thought rivaled Martin Luther's "95 Thesis" that was nailed to the door of Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany back in 1517. That's how delighted I was with my letter.

The letter from this youth pastor was the kindest, most thoughtful, most loving example of mature Christian love than I had ever seen. I read it over and over. I was stunned. I was so ready to send another "hot" one back but his letter totally disarmed me.

I was going to totally ignore the letter and hope that the regret I felt would simply pass with time. But it didn't. I knew I had to send one last letter to this youth pastor. This time, I didn't seek Oscar's advice. In fact, I didn't even want him to know that I was writing to this man a second time.

I poured out my heart and thanked him so much for his kindness and grace. I wanted him to know that I made a mistake and I regretted it deeply. I let him know that his letter changed me... changed my heart.

He did respond... with a quick note of appreciation and that was the end of our dialogue but it was just the start of a new way of thinking and communicating about my faith.

As for my evolving thoughts on "Christian" music... my taste has vastly broadened over the years as genres and styles come and go. I now listen to the words more than the delivery method. If they are heartfelt and doctrinally sound... they are alright by me.

So what lessons did I learn from my regretful letter?

1.  Sometimes no response is the best response. We are not compelled to challenge any or all of the controversial issues that come our way. This is still a principle I struggle with but when I think back to my episode of the "LetterGate," it aids me in taking a deep breath and moving on.

2.  Discourse between two individuals, particularly Christian brethren, should always be civil and empathetic. Strong convictions are fine but debates and discussions should be productive and not reactive.

3. Everyone deserves the space to work through their belief system and our involvement should be by invitation only... unless that individual is clearly headed toward destruction and your relationship is close enough that you are allowed to voice your concerns in a constructive manner.

No Britches!

This one is going to hit a bit differently. It won't be without controversy. I even considered not including it in the "Regret" series because it deals with the evolution of faith, standards, convictions, preferences, control, influence and, of course, regret.

I suspect that some or many may disagree with my ultimate conclusions regarding this story but that is okay. I am not afraid of pushback. So, let's go...

I met Marlene Miller in 1978. I believe she was in junior high. I had just started attending Mid-Cities Baptist Temple in Downey, California where my brother, Bill, had recently become the pastor. Despite being just 19 years old, Bill had asked me to be the Youth Director (more commonly referred to as Youth Pastor in today's church vernacular). At age 19, this in itself was probably ill-advised. Too young; too immature; lacking in real life experience. But I digress.

Marlene at Youth Activity

 I don't remember the exact moment that I met Marlene but I do recall that she was always at the church whether or not there was a service going on. She seemed to love hanging out at the church, following us around, asking questions and desiring to help us at whatever project we were working out.

The two things that immediately jumped out to everyone she came in contact with was her flaming red hair and her big personality. Not a shy bone in her body. She would boldly strike up a conversation with anyone within the range of her voice. At the risk of sounding like a "Dateline" episode, Marlene would light up a room with her contagious smile and her bold demeanor.

Marlene

As I launched the teen ministry at Mid-Cities, Marlene wanted to be involved in every facet. We had youth group on Sunday nights prior to the evening church service, teen Bible study in my office on Wednesday nights and youth activities every month. Marlene never missed anything. She was always early. She seemed to live for membership in this community of teen believers. The model of consistency and faithfulness, Marlene was the face of that youth group.

We were a fundamentalist church with fundamentalist beliefs... plus some additional dogma thrown in for good measure. I know that in today's understanding of church vernacular, "fundamentalist" may have a negative connotation. To some, it describes a wild eyed, controlling, screaming cult member and to be honest, that description fits some in the Baptist Church landscape. However, in my mind, the true definition of a fundamentalist is simply one who holds to the fundamentals of faith such as the inerrancy of scripture, the virgin birth of Jesus and salvation by grace through faith.

As boring as those descriptions may be, I feel it is important to spell out these distinctions in the telling of this story and to better facilitate an accurate chronology of events and the evolution of my belief systems.

The "additional dogma" mentioned above becomes key to this tale and will, no doubt, create some of the controversy I allude to in my opening paragraph. 

We had a list of do's and don'ts that we believed and taught. And the longer your list, the more spiritual you were... or so we thought. A few of the big ones:

*Rock music was evil... in fact, ANY secular music was frowned upon. 

*Long hair on boys was despicable! How long was "long?" If it touched your ears and/or collar. That's right... mullets were a no go.

*The big one for the girls? No britches! You had to wear a dress or a skirt that was the proper length. We would mandate that girls wore dresses to all activities, regardless of the physicality of the event.

These were issues that we were extremely dogmatic about and raised to the level of their importance that rivaled any other Biblical doctrine.

Back to Marlene...

Marlene was a tomboy. She was rough and tumble. She never shied away from anything physical. Her passion was softball and this would be key to the events that unfolded over the next few years.  

I think it was about 1980 and Marlene was just starting high school. Our youth group was thriving but our church, in general, was struggling. Finances were sagging and adult attendance was in a steady decline. The church leadership made the very difficult decision to close up shop and merge with the church in Norwalk that we had originally came from.

In the chaos and confusion of that transition, we seemed to have lost Marlene. Some of the kids from the youth group followed us to the new church but Marlene became a consistent no show. I know there was some communication between us but I never got the full story about why she quit attending... until 30 years later.

Rather than recreate the conversation, I will copy and paste a conversation that Marlene and I had on Facebook Messenger in April of 2010:

Marlene:

On a different note... I have some things I need to get off my chest.... It is very important to

me that you are aware of the impact you had on my life. If I would have been a little older, I

would have been able to come to you with question about my faith and the bottom line,

softball and wearing pants and even worse shorts to play sports. At that time, I thought it

would disappoint you if I wore a softball uniform to play ball. Running away made better

sense to me...  (silly teenage girls!) Over the past 30+ years, I have often thought about

you with love and respect and appreciation to you and to God for leading you into my life.

Without your impact, where would I have ended up?? I shudder at the thought.

Me:

To think that I had a part in pressuring you about wearing a softball uniform... to the point

that you felt you had to make a choice between church and softball... is just devastating to

 me. Marlene, I am so sorry. And I was SO wrong. I didn't know why you left... or at least I

don't remember. You were the model of consistency in our youth group and I was so hurt

when you quit coming to church. But in actuality... it was my own fault. I misled you about a

bogus standard. I can tell you that I didn't mean to mislead you. It was my own spiritual

immaturity. I wish we could hit the reset button and do that part over so that you could

enjoy the heck out of playing high school softball while having great and guilt free worship

in your church.

Marlene:

Remember how young I was and that I did not have parents involved in the church. I was

afraid to speak up and ask questions. please don't feel sorry for anything. please don't over

evaluate what you did or thought back then with regards to me. I was a confused kid who

took the easy way out of something I didn't understand. Don't say sorry. I sent you this

message to lift you up... To tell you you made a difference. If I could go back, I would have

invited you to my games to critique my swing and tell me to stay down!!! I love that you

coached your daughters... it lifts ME up. I will feel horrible for the next 30 years if I think I

made you feel bad and say sorry to me. I am thrilled to have had you I'm my life when I

needed a God fearing male role model.

As you can see, Marlene was a gracious as one could be as we discussed this season of our lives but it doesn't erase the regret that I feel today. I thought I was doing the right thing and there was no nefarious motives on my part. I do take solace in the fact that my motives were pure and that regardless of my missteps, that I generally had a positive influence on Marlene and the rest of the teens that I learned to love so deeply.

What did I learn from that situation?

The Difference Between Conviction and Preference. 

Don't go cross referencing on me... as these are my personal definitions. I believe that a "conviction" in the realm of faith, is a belief directly tied to specific scripture or scriptural principle. The 10 Commandments are a good example... "thou shall not steal." It is a Biblical 'conviction' that stealing is wrong. 

A 'preference,' on the other hand, is something you prefer for YOU but do not have the scriptural authority to foist onto others. It is my preference to match my shirt with my tennis shoes 😄 As much as I'd like to mandate that to everyone, I cannot... because it is a personal preference.

I believe that the pushing of my preference caused Marlene to stumble and thus... my regret.

On a positive note, Marlene and I are in regular contact even today. Jeana and I had the pleasure of visiting her an number of years ago in Las Vegas, where she bought me an In N Out Burger... and we exchanged messages just yesterday. 

Also... Marlene still plays softball today at the ripe old age of... okay, never mind... I've done enough damage today already. 

God is good.

But...

Regrets... I've had a few

Vengeance is Mine

For context about the story I'm about to tell, allow me to give you some background.

From the time I was a small child, I loved sports and competition in general. I especially got wound up if I were a participant as opposed to being a spectator. My "career" as a player began at age 8 when I started playing in the recreation leagues at Bloomfield Park in Lakewood, California. Flag football, basketball and baseball were the sports I played in those days.

I even remember the names of the teams I played on... the Falcons, Indians and Pioneers. We didn't have full uniforms... just team shirts but I cannot adequately describe the feeling of pride and invincibility I felt when I put on that shirt and looked in the mirror. And on game days... oh boy! I could not wait to get on the field or the court. 

Just imagine the transformation of Clark Kent to Superman. That was me... minus the strength, the flying ability and the blue tights. But in my mind, when I put on that team shirt, I was ready to take on the bad guys, aka the opposing team.

So, that was my mindset and motivation growing up. The other piece of context necessary for the full picture was my life situation and circumstances at the time between the ages of 16 to 19.

I moved in with my brother, Bill and his wife in the fall of 1975. I was 16. I had escaped an undesirable home life in Iowa and landed in Norwalk, California. There is so much more I could say about this period of time but for the sake of brevity, I will focus on the details most pertinent to this story.

I started attending church at 16 and it became the focal point of my existence. Our apartment was right across the street from the church and with my brother on staff there, I spent an inordinate amount of time on the church grounds.

One of the first mentors I had as a young Christian was my youth director at the church. His name was Greg. He was a big guy, strong and athletic. Greg had a wonderful sense of humor and a big heart. I admired him greatly.

In the summer of 1976, when I was 17, we got together with a few churches for softball games. I mean, it was church team softball but that old spark of my competitive nature still burned strong! I looked forward to each and every game. I didn't care what or who it was... I wanted to win!

Youth Director Greg was a huge part of our team. Probably our best player. He could hit the ball a country mile and when he would throw the ball, you would swear that it was shot out of a cannon. He was a pitcher in high school and obviously had all the physical tools necessary for a gifted athlete. And he was very competitive in nature also.

 The next summer, 1977, at age 18, I took over the organization of the softball league. I added some more rules and regulations that gave it more of an "official" vibe. We hired real umpires, found better playing fields and studied up on the actual slow pitch softball rule book.

In 1978, my brother was called to pastor a church in a neighboring city. After a couple months, I followed him there.

One of the first things I did at my new church, was to put a softball team together. Our church had a Christian school affiliate with some athletically talented high schoolers. Needless to say, I took full advantage of that resource to fill out my line-up.

As I organized the softball league for that summer, I wondered how it would feel to play against Greg and my old team. I don't know what it was but I had such a burning desire to beat my old team and we did just that. By the midpoint of that season, we were undefeated and I was having a blast with my new team.

So, we were 5-0, having beat all 5 teams that we had faced, we were set to begin the second half of the season where we would face the same 5 teams again. I don't recall who we were playing but I took notice that Greg was in attendance as a spectator. I thought it was cool that he was there, seemingly to watch his friends, my brother and me. What actually took place sort of blew me away.

In about the second inning, Greg was standing by the backstop, his hands gripping the chain link... actively rooting against us. I was floored. I was bewildered! I was hurt!

He kept it up for the entire game. To be fair and honest, he never said anything derogatory about us. He never criticized the umpire. He wasn't particularly ugly in his actions. But I really felt that he violated our friendship and our bond. Even if, for competitive sake, he wanted to see the only undefeated team (us) lose... he could have rooted for that outcome in the privacy of his mind.

During that game, between innings, my brother and I discussed and plotted our revenge. We decided that we were going to give Greg a taste of his own medicine during his next game and we did just that.

A few days later, Greg's team was playing and my brother and I were there, hands grasped onto the backstop and making a spectacle of ourselves, rooting for the other team. We were loud, rude, vocal and ruthless... um, at a "church" league softball game.

I'm sure Greg knew what we were doing and why we were doing it but the rest of his team, who had been our friends for years, seemed stunned and baffled. Understandably so. We didn't seem to care about them. We were on a mission and Greg's teammates were the collateral damage.

I felt enthused and locked into our mission until about the last inning... when I started to wonder what in the heck were we doing. After the game, we quickly got into my brother's car, before any of them could approach us and drove away. There was no, "We got him back!" we just drove in silence as the gravity of our actions settled in. 

As the days and months passed, I tried to push the memories of that event out of my mind but found that task to be impossible. At times, in an effort to soothe my conscience, I would attempt to rationalize my actions but that tactic never worked. My guilty conscience haunted me.

I don't recall when and how... but at some point, I made an attempt at an apology to Greg but it seemed to fall flat. It was obvious that I had broken a bond that would never be fully healed. What I did was wrong, immature and very unchristian. 

What did I learn from that situation?

1. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay," says the Lord. Dabbling in revenge may feel good but as with any sin, it only feels good for a season. No matter how right and just it feels at the time, there is always a shelf life for that emotion. 

2. Conversation Feeds Understanding. Why didn't my brother and I call Greg, after the game in which he rooted against us, and simply have a conversation. Why didn't we seek to gain greater understanding of his motives. Even if his explanation didn't satisfy us, at least we could have demonstrated character and integrity... which would have helped all three of us.

3. Guard Your Testimony. If you claim Christ, demonstrate Christ. Probably the most important lesson of this episode is that we came off as hypocrites to our faith. I mean, no Christian is perfect but just being a decent human is pretty low hanging fruit, is it not? I failed but I learned.

Regrets... I've had a few

Read the Room

 It was the fall of 1977. I was 18 years old and had recently moved into my dorm at the Pacific Coast Baptist Bible College in San Dimas, California. I was there to study for the ministry. I wasn't 100% sure which ministry I wanted to pursue but I was leaning toward working with teens.

My dorm housed many of the incoming first year students. My class was the largest ever at the small but growing Bible college. Noel Smith Dorm was the official name of my home for that year but we all affectionately called it "Purgatory."

It was different than all the other dorms on campus, which typically held four students to a room. "Purgatory" resembled an army barracks with multiple rows of bunk beds in each of the three rooms. But I loved it and embraced this new adventure that would help launch me into adulthood.

I quickly got to know a handful of fellow students. I met Tim, who had a striking resemblance to Elvis Presley and would become my best friend at school over the next few years; Chuck, who happened to be from Iowa, which gave us a connection point; and Bobby, who used a ton of hairspray to hold in place his perfectly styled hair and who had perfected the characteristic of "cool," rivaled only by the late actor, James Dean.

There were many others I could mention. Fun guys. Dedicated in their faith, but regular dudes, anxious to see what God had in store for their lives. 

Across the room from me was a guy, Brian, who seemed much more quiet and introverted. I remember trying to strike up a conversation with him a couple times but his responses were minimal and he rarely made eye contact.

Brian was a bigger guy... maybe 6 foot 2 and about 200+ pounds. Every afternoon, after classes had ended for the day, he would change into his sweats and would go for a run through our beautiful campus, nestled in the shadows of the majestic San Gabriel Mountains.

Each day, the sound of heavy footsteps and labored breathing would signal the conclusion of Brian's daily run as he would come through the doors of Purgatory. He would then pace back and forth in the dorm room as a cool-off technique. 

I'd watch him from my bunk and would marvel at the amount of perspiration that man generated on his run. I mean he would be absolutely soaked from head to toe. 

One day during that first week of school, as Brian was pacing after a run, in an attempt at humor, I said, "Hey brother, do you just go outside and sit under a sprinkler for awhile to make us think that you are working out?" Brian shot me a glance but didn't say anything. I thought maybe he didn't understand what I said and decided not to repeat myself as he seemed distracted with his routine.

The next day, Brian repeated his pattern... changing into his sweats, going for a run and returning to the dorm to cool down, soaked with sweat. I decided to hit him again with my comedic shtick, "Hey man... where exactly is that sprinkler you sit under everyday?" 

Brian immediately stopped his pacing and made a beeline to my bunk. He stooped down, his eyes narrowed, staring a hole right through me and poked my chest as he unloaded. 

"Listen! I don't know where you get off with your sarcastic attempt at humor but I don't think you are funny in the slightest! I work my tail off every day while you lay in your bunk, reading a book and eating a Twinkie!" I was hoping he was done but he was just getting started.

"I weighed over 300 pounds in high school and was the object of ridicule every single day! I finally decided to do something about it. I made a commitment to diet and run every single day of my senior year. I've lost over 100 pounds because I work hard at it but you think it's a joke! It's not a joke... it's my lifeline!"

Brian turned around and resumed his pacing.

I froze. I was paralyzed with regret and shame. My eyes welled up as I searched for something to say.

I got up and followed him as he walked back and forth. I apologized... over and over again. Brian ignored my words. Who could blame him? My heart hurt. I felt broken. I was so angry at myself.

It was now clear to see why he was so introverted and detached. He didn't trust his peers. Why should he? And I unknowingly added to his mistrust. What I thought was a funny ice breaker turned out to be another brick in his wall of pain.

That whole first semester, I would feebly attempt to engage Brian in conversation but to no avail. It was clear to see that he had no desire for interaction with me.

That December, we all went home for Christmas break. When we returned in January, Brian's stuff was gone. He had decided that this was not the place for him. I'm sure that there were plenty of factors that played into that decision, as we lost about half of our Purgatory brethren... but I couldn't help but believe that I played a part in it. 

This story of regret has stuck with me for all of these 48 years later. But it has taught me some valuable lessons:

1.    Read the Room. I didn't really know Brian and his story. Humor can be a great connector but it can also be a great divider if one is not careful. My sense of humor isn't everyone's cup of tea and therefore, I must choose wisely where, how and with whom I use it.

2.    Honor Achievement. It is far better to recognize and honor achievement rather than joke about it. Unbeknownst to me, Brian had put in a ton of work and had displayed tremendous self-discipline in his weight loss journey. People, in general, crave recognition and validation... especially for feats of hard work and accomplishment. Give it to them! Be that source of encouragement!

3.    Build Relationships. Approach relationships with distinct intentionality. Had I waited and gotten to know Brian better, I may have discovered his backstory. Instead, I thought I was a stand-up comedian and went looking for a laugh... but that's not what I got. My reward was a deep seated regret.

So, have I mastered these lessons? Nope. But I continue to work on myself. I feel like I am more self-aware than ever but still very imperfect. 

Regrets... I've had a few.

Regrets?

In early 2024, as I neared retirement, people would often ask me, "What are you going to do with all your free time?" One of my stock answers was, "I plan to do some writing."

I've always enjoyed writing. I kind of got the bug in high school where I wrote sports stories for our school paper. Years later, I started writing as a cathartic operation, attempting to exorcise some pesky demons from a rather tumultuous childhood. That particular project spanned 20 years of on again, off again pecking away on my keyboard, sometimes with years in between additions to my story. The net result was 46 submissions and more than 50,000 words that I eventually turned into a blog, "Though He Fall"  

So what have I written during my 13+ months of retirement? Nada. Zero. Nothing. Until today. So... here we go.

Part of my hold-up has been the absence of a topic. I mean, beyond my original blog, I've written extensively about my wife, my kids, my siblings and my friends. I could and probably will eventually go back and tie up some loose ends with those topics but I wanted something more fresh and maybe... different.

The idea came to me some months ago. I don't recall where I was or what I was doing, but I heard a pretty familiar tune, "I Did It My Way," by the famous crooner from yesteryear, Frank Sinatra. There's a line in the song where he says, "Regrets, I've had a few..." And I thought, "Haven't we all?!" His follow-up line is, "but then again, too few to mention." That is where Frank's experience deviates from my own, as my follow-up line would be, "sit down, this is going to take awhile!"

I have heard numerous people claim that they have no regrets in life and my response is, "Really? Are you that perfect?" Maybe their understanding of the question is different than the context in which I ask it because surely... we all have regrets. They are possibly looking at life mistakes as part of what has shaped them. Okay then, me too! The "regret" is part of our growth journey. The "regret" should be a catalyst that is supposed to keep us from repeating our mistakes. 

My hold up in launching this blog topic has been my own procrastination. I would briefly think about what might be some helpful and interesting submissions and then I would quickly get distracted after only a couple thoughts. Retired life will do that to you. Nobody is making me do this and the lack of pressure makes it easy to get distracted. 

On a flight from Florida to our home in Ohio this week, I once again thought about this topic. Is there enough here to write about? Are there more than a couple regrets that have stuck with me for all of these years? Captive in that flying, metal tube, I began to make some notes in my phone and within a very short period of time, the list of regrets began piling up.

So yeah... I am going to share some of the regrets that still sting when I think about them. Most are embarrassing, immature, ineffective attempts at some aspect of life. What is my motivation for sharing such personal experiences? Because they are cautionary tales from an old man who isn't too concerned what others may think at this point but more than that, I hope to share the life lessons that were a result. Maybe you can relate. Maybe my experiences can help you in some way. 

So, stay tuned... submissions are forthcoming.