I Believe – My Values

In Love with the Boy

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“She’s in love with the boy!”  Trisha Yearwood was singing the song out of the boom box as Tim and I danced barefoot in the sand.  “She’s in love with the boy!”  the song continued.  “Come on, Timmy,” Puddin’ said as he got up for a beer and pushed Tim in a little closer to me.  “She’s in love with the boy!”  We were holding hands and moving back and forth from each other.  Tim was twirling me as he led me in a country swing dance.  “And even if they have to run away, she’s gonna marry that boy someday.”  It was our song.  Jen, aka “Shonka-Bonka,” was hosting us and our big group of friends at her parents’ lake house.  The sun was hot.  The sand was hot.  When our song came on the radio, everyone started cheering for us and singing along with the song that is about “Katie and Tommy.” Our gang always changed the words, singing about Katie and Timmy instead.  That was us.  The song ended, and we raced back into the lake and jumped on an innertube.  From the distance, we heard a low rumble that became louder and louder as Bryan and Shonka arrived back on the jet-ski.  “You guys going next?”  “Heck ya!”  Tim hopped on, and I climbed behind him.  He revved the engine, and we flew into the distance.  He took some sharp turns, and I bit my lip.  Then he slowed down and turned off the motor.  We sat there together on the water, listening to the waves, looking up, and feeling the hot sun on our faces.  The song was still playing in my head.  “She’ll follow Timmy…anywhere.  ‘Cause she’s in love with the boy.”

In the summer of 1992, I moved into a duplex in Lincoln with four of my friends.  I was about to start my junior year of college.  I stepped out of the front door and walked down the steps to the end of the driveway.  I eagerly checked the mailbox.  No letter.  The disappointment of the moment washed away as I walked back in the door and saw Michelle, aka Marcia, making an odd expression, and I laughed.  “No letter, girlfriend?” Marcia asked.  “Well, no.”  It was Wednesday, and I was hoping to have a letter in my hand from Tim.  We couldn’t afford to make phone calls very often due to the long-distance phone charges.  So we wrote letters to each other to help us get through the silence and distance of the week away from each other, him in Schuyler and me in Lincoln. I wrote every Sunday evening, hoping he would receive my letters on Wednesdays.  The letters revealed how my heart ached to see him gazing at me again, holding my hand, singing “Brown-eyed Girl” to me.  On Fridays, Tim’s black car would roll into the driveway, and the silence of the week would be immediately forgotten as he lifted me in an embrace and smiled down on me.

The duplex was built for college students.  The neighborhood was filled with twenty-somethings.  “I’ll cut the carrots.”  A fresh bunch of bright orange carrots sat on the counter, and I grabbed one of them.  Eric, aka 1/2 a Bee, was pouring rice into a saucepan of water.  Tim reached for the wine glasses and started pouring from the spout of the Franzia box of cheap Zinfandel wine that sat on the shelf in the fridge.  Soon, the wok was sizzling with vegetables and chicken as Marge stirred.  Eric served plates, and we sat around the old hand-me-down table together, sipping wine between bites.  Nichole got up to go fart in the bathroom, and we laughed about her good manners.  Eating meals with our friends on Friday nights became commonplace.

When Tim drove me to Schuyler to meet his parents, his dad, Ernie, was slow to warm up to me.  I learned from other family members that Ernie didn’t like the idea of Tim having a girlfriend from anywhere but the Czech population of Schuyler.  Ernie and Maxine were so much older than my parents.  In fact, Maxine was the same age as my dad’s mom, Mabel.  They were both sixty-seven years old in 1992.  We walked in the back door and up the steps to the kitchen.  Maxine was prepared with a bucket of chicken from Gene’s, one of a few restaurants in town. We filled our plates with chicken and mashed potatoes. Maxine and Ernie gave updates to Tim about classmates he grew up with and other Schuyler news.  The Schuyler Sun newspaper was sitting in the living room and provided prompts for further conversation after lunch.   I saw pictures of Tim as a child at age four, the year of his dad’s electrical accident.  Ernie was a lineman trained to fix electrical line issues on poles.  He lost both of his arms in 1974 in an accident with a live wire.  Tim was the baby of the family, the youngest of four children, and his life growing up was colored by the aftermath of the trauma of his dad’s accident.  Tim stood up from the couch and grabbed my hand, pulling me up.  “Come here.”  He led me through the small kitchen to the narrow staircase that led to the basement.  The walls were lined with old posters of polka bands.  He explained that his dad had collected these posters of polka bands that had played in Schuyler’s Oak Ballroom over the years.  “Look at this.”  He drew my attention to a crate full of vinyl records.  “It’s all polka music,” he said and laughed.  “You’re gonna have to learn how to polka if you want to be a part of the Hron family.”  He looked me in the eye with a more serious expression, and with a part of his lips, he snuck a kiss, then picked a record and played it loud.

My dad, Jerry, was twenty years younger than Tim’s dad.  Our family culture had a younger vibe all around.  My brother was still in high school, and my parents were in their forties.  A group of my friends came with me to my parents’ house–Marge, Bryan, Tim, and I showed up at the door, and we were loud as we walked past the piano toward the living room.  It was a short visit but long enough to break the ice and make first impressions.  My friends were polite and funny and interested in my younger brother, Jeremy.  We shared some college stories with my parents, and Mom offered us pie.

Tim moved to Omaha in the summer of 1993 to attend the University of Nebraska at Omaha.  We helped move him into the upstairs apartment of the house on 42nd Street.  We continued to live in separate cities, him in Omaha and me in Lincoln.  Weekends were thrilling, full of fellowship with friends, and balanced with time alone as we started to talk about a future together.  My heart started breaking every time we said goodbye on Sundays.  I loved him.  I loved his enthusiasm, his genuine nature, his laugh, his arms around me, and his loving heart towards me.

Wedding

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I was standing in my bedroom at my parents’ house, looking at myself in the full-length mirror.  “I was smaller than you?”  It was more of a statement than a question.  Yet, Mom wanted an answer from me.  I was wearing her wedding dress, and she was standing beside me, smiling at me as I stared at myself in the mirror.  The dress was made of a simple white cloth with sleeves that came to my elbows, a ruffle at the end.  The dress came to the floor.  My armpits were tight with fabric, and when I put my arms down, the fabric bunched up.  “Well, I can’t believe I was smaller than you.  Now look at me.”  Mom was wearing the light green lacey dress that her own mom had worn in 1967, as mom walked down the aisle.  “I also can’t believe I am big enough to wear the dress my mom wore to my wedding.”  She gave a slight chuckle.

Mom took me to some wedding dress outlets, and we found a pretty brocade dress for three hundred dollars.  She made my veil.  My favorite color, blue, became the color for our wedding accents.  I picked out a navy blue brocade fabric, and Mom made the bridesmaid dresses for the five women who would soon stand at the altar with me as my bridesmaids.

I was the first of my friends to get married.  The whole experience was new to me.  The only wedding I could remember attending was my uncle’s wedding when I was eight years old.  I had a special dress because I was the flower girl.  At eight years old, I felt like a princess.  But now I was the bride.  We made plans for all of the traditional elements of a catholic wedding. I simply followed what Mom guided me to do.  There was the decision of the flowers, the reception venue, the food…I bought some issues of Modern Bride magazine to help with ideas for planning this event.

Tim lived a few blocks away from St. Cecilia’s Cathedral in Omaha.  We planned to have the wedding there and began having meetings with the parish priest to prepare us.  Everything seemed so matter-of-fact.  Make decisions.  Plan a fun party.  Follow protocol.

The wedding day felt like a dream.  I wanted each moment to last longer, but the moments kept passing.  Tim’s little nephew Mitchell, the ring-bearer, refused to walk down the aisle with my niece Sarah, the flower girl.  His mom, Denise, pleaded with him at the back of the church.  The cathedral was so huge we barely filled the pews in the front of the church.  That didn’t matter.  My dad walked me down the never-ending aisle, and Tim put his arm out to me in front of the altar.  I was in a dream.  Everyone I loved, friends and family, was in that church, watching us promise to spend the rest of our lives together.  “I do.”  “I do.”  We vowed to love each other forever.  Til death do us part.  As we walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, we were no longer two but one.  As we walked out the church doors, a rainstorm of rice landed on our heads, and we laughed as we took each step down to the sidewalk below.  After the ceremony, the wedding party took us to the Old Market, and we had a few drinks at Billy Frogs, just our little group.  We then joined our friends and family at Erin Court for dinner and dancing.  We did everything that was traditional, including throwing the bouquet and the garter.

Our DJ was a friend of a friend.  And he was fabulous.  He played all of the music we requested and had the whole place on their feet.  He was a comedian, bringing our friends and family into the party, and joining us in the fun.  It felt like our day had just started, and all of a sudden, it was time to draw it to a close.  We spent the night together at our new apartment, falling into the bed in exhaustion.  Our bags were packed.  We were ready to leave the next morning on a plan to Florida where we would board a ship to the Bahamas for our honeymoon.

 

Engagement

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There was a ring on my finger now.  When he had asked me to marry him, my yes was uncontained.  He arrived on a Friday night to pick me up for a date.  It was the middle of the summer, 1993.  He seemed nervous, but I didn’t suspect a reason why.  When we arrived at the Sunken Gardens in Lincoln, he reached for my hand, and we walked around the pathways.  A bright pink rose bush was in bloom to my right.  I smiled at the beauty of the flowers surrounding us.  There was an older couple walking before us.  We slowed down to allow them to get further ahead.  Tim led me up the steps to the higher level of the garden.  We sat down, and he was quiet.  It was starting to get dark.  I looked at Tim, and he was looking at me.  He had his hand in his pocket.  In a moment, he had a small box in front of me and opened it up, saying, “Will you marry me?”  My heart was beating so fast.  I didn’t hesitate.  Immediately, I said, “Yes!”  He slipped the diamond ring on my finger and kissed me hard.

Meeting Tim

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“Hello in the tent!”  I froze under the warmth of my sleeping bag.  Again, “Hello in the tent.”  The voice was male, deep, and strong.  The sun was rising, and the light had filled the tent.  What’s going on?  There were some groans from my twenty-something friends as we lay like sardines together on the hard ground.  Jeff put on his glasses and got up.  He went out in the 7:00 a.m. air to speak with the trooper.  A few minutes later, our friend re-entered our tent.  We had multiple cars at the campsite, and one hadn’t paid for a park sticker.  After a night of bonfire partying under the stars the night before, we were not thrilled to be woken up so early and nervous that maybe an empty beer can had been left sitting beside the dead fire pit.

I heard the trooper drive away.  I adjusted my position, my shoulder aching from the lack of softness underneath.  I moved my long, curly hair away from my eyes. and gazed into the deep brown eyes of the man looking back at me.  Tim was smiling at me, and he laid his hand on my arm.  My thoughts drifted to the night before when we had sat beside each other around a campfire in our sling camping chairs.  Tim had moved his chair even closer to mine so he could hold my hand.  We had gazed at a clear night sky full of bright stars.  As the Steve Miller Band played on the boom box, we pointed out the Big Dipper, shining so obviously above us.  We heard the sound of crickets and bullfrogs as the laughter of our friends and our storytelling filled the night air.  When we couldn’t stay awake any longer, we all crammed into our tents and fell asleep in sleeping bags on the hard ground.  Everyone in the tent was awake now, and someone probably farted, which got us up and out into the morning air.  Branched Oak Lake was in front of us, and the sun was glistening and sparkling on the water.

Tim and I claimed a circle of close friends.  They were a blend of people from each of our independent lives who eventually melted together into a big group.  Julie, aka “Marge,” walked to her big yellow family sedan and pulled out a grocery bag.  Pop tarts for all.  Marge was our motherly friend, and when we took trips, she drove the “banana boat” so we could pile in together, laughing and chatting while she threatened to pull the car over if we didn’t calm down.  Now, we were all sitting down at the rickety wooden picnic table, eating pop tarts and listening and laughing as Jeff, aka “Puddin,'” told in more detail about his interaction with our morning trooper.  Eventually, we took down the tents, borrowed from our parents, and broke up camp.  I said goodbye to Tim as we stood together beside his small black two-door hatchback car.  Bryan was getting into the passenger seat as Tim leaned down for a kiss from me.  They set out to drive back to Schuyler, and I walked over to the banana boat.  Marge was revving the engine, the car was packed with my friends, and the smell of campfire was still on our clothes and in our hair.  Marge drove us back to Lincoln.

Tim and I met for the first time in the fall of 1991 in Ashland, Nebraska.  Tim was attending “The Search,” a retreat weekend for people of college age that included talks about God and time in fellowship.  I was part of the “backup” at this retreat, making and serving meals and praying for those attending the retreat.  I had attended the same retreat six months ago.  Now, I was there again for the weekend, in the same old school building, with a group of friends, to serve the current attendees in the background.  One of the jobs of the “backup” was to write letters to be given to all of the individuals attending the retreat.  I prayed before I wrote each letter, asking God to use me to write what each of these individuals needed to hear in this moment.  I remember writing the letter to Tim Hron.  I didn’t know him.  I prayed, and I wrote a much longer letter to him.  I don’t remember what I wrote.  But I said just a little bit more in his letter than in any others.  As a result, his name stuck in my mind, and when we met the attendees the next day, I looked for him.

He was tall, six feet tall, and his dark brown hair and dark eyes drew me in.  We noticed each other.  I left the weekend and went back to my dorm room at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.  There was an excitement in my heart, and I saw him in my mind and thought about how I could see him again.  The opportunity to attend a social gathering of “Searchers” came up, so I drove with my friends to Kearney, Nebraska, and played sand volleyball with Tim Hron.  Embarrassingly, I stepped away from the volleyball every time it came my way.  I was a pathetic and unimpressive volleyball player.  He didn’t care.  Afterward, he nervously asked me for my phone number.  I eagerly shared it with him.

Tim was twenty years old and lived in Schuyler, Nebraska.  He was attending the community college in Columbus.  I was eighteen and a sophomore at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.  Tim started coming to Lincoln on the weekends to see me.  Shortly after we met, we were standing in the parking lot of my dorm, Sandoz Hall, and he was getting ready to get in his car and leave.  He looked down at me, gazed into my brown eyes, and with a nervous smile, said, “Can I kiss you?”  Embarrassed, I said, “Yes.”  Our first kiss was a bit awkward but exciting.  I turned to walk into the dorm, smiling and feeling full of warmth and love.

The dorms closed over the winter break, and I lived at home for those few weeks.  Marge, Bryan, and Tim showed up at the door of my parents’ house to see me.  My friends were polite and funny and interested in my younger brother, Jeremy.  We shared some college stories with my parents, and Mom offered us pie.  She also offered to take a picture of the four of us in front of the family Christmas tree.  The visit was short but long enough to break the ice of the first meeting with my parents.  With first impressions made, Marge, Bryan, and Tim walked back out the door for the drive back to Schuyler.

God was a part of our relationship from the beginning.  Tim was not raised with religion as I was.  But God was breaking into his life at the time that I met him.  He was on a journey that led to his baptism, confirmation, and first communion in Schuyler, at St. Augustine’s Catholic Church, on April 18, 1992.  His best friend, Bryan, was at his side as his sponsor.  Tim had the support of friends and family, including my parents and my little brother, Jeremy.  We gathered together for cake after mass, and Tim made his way to where I was standing. As I felt his arm behind me, touching my back, I smiled in anticipation of what might come next for us.

“Ernie will just take a little while to warm up to you.  But once he knows you, he will love you.”  Tim and I were at his brother Mike’s house in Schuyler. Mike’s wife, Denise, was smiling at me.  Tim’s parents, Ernie and Maxine, were twenty years older than my parents.  They were sixty-seven.  The same age as my Dad’s mom, Mabel Warner.  Denise and I were in the kitchen while Tim chased around her one-year-old son, Mitchell, in the living room.  “Ernie is old Czech.   He wants Tim to be with a good Czech girl from Schuyler.  He will come around.”  Tim and I drove over to his parents’ house, a few short minutes away.  We walked in the back door and up the steps to the kitchen.  Maxine was prepared with a bucket of chicken from Gene’s, one of the few restaurants in town. We filled our plates with chicken and mashed potatoes. Maxine and Ernie gave updates to Tim about classmates he grew up with and other Schuyler news.  The Schuyler Sun newspaper was sitting in the living room and provided prompts for further conversation after lunch.   I saw pictures of Tim as a child at age four, the year of his dad’s electrical accident.  Ernie was a lineman trained to fix electrical line issues on poles.  He lost both of his arms in 1974 in an accident with a live wire.  Tim was the baby of the family, the youngest of four children, and his life growing up was colored by the aftermath of the trauma of his dad’s accident.  Tim stood up from the couch and grabbed my hand, pulling me up.  “Come here.”  He led me through the small kitchen to the narrow staircase that led to the basement.  The walls were lined with old posters of polka bands.  He explained that his dad had collected posters of the bands that had played in Schuyler’s Oak Ballroom over the years.  “Look at this.”  He drew my attention to a crate full of vinyl records.  “It’s all polka music,” he said and laughed.  “You’re gonna have to learn how to polka if you want to be a part of the Hron family.”  He looked me in the eye with a more serious expression, and with a part of his lips, he snuck a kiss, then picked a record and played it loud.

 

 

Milestone Anniversary

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“Go back?  No good at all.  Go sideways? Impossible.  Go forward?  Only thing to do!  On we go!”  J.R.R. Tolkien

“So…where do you see us five years from now?”  The question was met with a long pause.  We were sitting across from each other in the corner of a dark, cozy Italian restaurant.  My half-eaten bowl of chicken alfredo sat in front of me, and the light of a candle brought a warm glow to the table.  My husband, Tim, dressed in a maroon button-up shirt, holding his glass of red wine, gazed at the wall behind me.

It was July 30, 1999, our fifth wedding anniversary, and I was longing for a sentimental and forward-thinking conversation about our future.  After all, we were out, just the two of us, with the baby at home with my parents.  This was rare couple time.  Our fifth wedding anniversary.  This was a milestone year, right?  We were dressed up for each other, and my heart was full of love for the man I had married five years before.  We should have a conversation about our dreams for our next five years together. 

“So…where do you see us five years from now?”  I was preparing to talk about having another baby.  And another.  And another. 

The man I loved responded and broke me.  “How can we know?  Who knows if we will even be married in five years from now.  We really can’t know.”  Now a long pause from me.  What?  What do you mean?  You don’t know if we will still be married five years from now?  Someone punched me in the gut.  

I managed to say, “What do you mean?  How can you not know?”  He calmly replied, “Well, we can’t see the future.  None of us know.”

I would not be picking my fork back up.  This meal was over.  My stomach hurt.  He doesn’t love me anymore?  “I don’t understand.  We are married forever.  We will be married forever.”

Tim was matter-of-fact.  “We don’t know that.”

I was frozen.  Then I pressed him.  “I don’t understand why you are saying this.  We got married til death do us part.  We are both committed to that.  So it is obvious that we will still be married five years from now.  Why are you saying this?”

His reply had no emotion.  “No one knows the future.  I’m just acknowledging this.”

I had no more words.  My stomach was in knots.  I stared at my meal, the table, the space behind him.  I couldn’t make eye contact.  My eyes welled up.  The server checked on us, and I asked for a box.  We sat in silence until the check came.  Why did the server wait so long to come back for the payment?  Finally, we walked to the car and sat in silence during the ride home.  I looked out the window, and he turned up the music.

 

California Sunshine

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California Sunshine

 

We moved to California when I was two years old.  I don’t have memories of moving there.

 

At Easter, Mom filled two jars with jelly beans and made rabbit head lids for them.

 

Mom and Dad had some friends over one evening and boiled crab legs.  I remember the adults being in the kitchen talking and eating and Kristi and I were in the living room sitting on the floor in front of the big console television.  We were watching Godzilla.  It felt scary and exciting to see Godzilla, taller than the buildings, breathing fire, and walking among the Japanese city and destroying all in his path.  It also seemed like if the adults knew we were watching that, they might have turned the channel.  It felt kind of forbidden, because it was scary.  Afterward, I sometimes had dreams that I was with my family in the city, running and hiding from Godzilla.

 

I had the record story of the Wizard of Oz and became frightened that we might have a tornado at our house.  My friend, JoAnne, lived next door, and I would run as fast as I could from my house to her house because I was afraid that a tornado would come and swirl me up into the sky.

 

Mom invited kids for our birthday parties and made Peter Pan hats for the boys and princess crowns for the girls.

 

My sister and I and the neighborhood kids had some cheerleading pom poms and we used to stand out on the sidewalk and cheerlead.

California Oranges, Texas Cactus

We think your team needs a lot of practice.

Kick ‘em in the knee, Sock ‘em in the chest.

Drag ‘em to the secretary, Yay! We’re the best!

 

Grammy (Mabel Warner) and Uncle Rich Warner came to visit us from Nebraska.  We went to Disneyland and I remember being in the It’s a Small World ride.  We also spent a day at the beach.  I had a patriotic stars and stripes swimming suit.

 

Grammy would call us on our birthdays.

 

I started kindergarten when I was four years old.  I went to North Star Elementary School and my teacher was Mrs. Mike.  I remember learning the alphabet and all of the alphabet people were posted around the room.

California Sunshine

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We moved to California when I was two years old.  I don’t have memories of moving there.

 

At Easter, Mom filled two jars with jelly beans and made rabbit head lids for them.

 

Mom and Dad had some friends over one evening and boiled crab legs.  I remember the adults being in the kitchen talking and eating and Kristi and I were in the living room sitting on the floor in front of the big console television.  We were watching Godzilla.  It felt scary and exciting to see Godzilla, taller than the buildings, breathing fire, and walking among the Japanese city and destroying all in his path.  It also seemed like if the adults knew we were watching that, they might have turned the channel.  It felt kind of forbidden, because it was scary.  Afterward, I sometimes had dreams that I was with my family in the city, running and hiding from Godzilla.

 

I had the record story of the Wizard of Oz and became frightened that we might have a tornado at our house.  My friend, JoAnne, lived next door, and I would run as fast as I could from my house to her house because I was afraid that a tornado would come and swirl me up into the sky.

 

Mom invited kids for our birthday parties and made Peter Pan hats for the boys and princess crowns for the girls.

 

My sister and I and the neighborhood kids had some cheerleading pom poms and we used to stand out on the sidewalk and cheerlead.

California Oranges, Texas Cactus

We think your team needs a lot of practice.

Kick ‘em in the knee, Sock ‘em in the chest.

Drag ‘em to the secretary, Yay! We’re the best!

 

Grammy (Mabel Warner) and Uncle Rich Warner came to visit us from Nebraska.  We went to Disneyland and I remember being in the It’s a Small World ride.  We also spent a day at the beach.  I had a patriotic stars and stripes swimming suit.

 

Grammy would call us on our birthdays.

 

I started kindergarten when I was four years old.  I went to North Star Elementary School and my teacher was Mrs. Mike.  I remember learning the alphabet and all of the alphabet people were posted around the room.

Letter to Dad (2-16-2000)

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Hey Dad,

How’s everything going?  I guess you know something’s up, here.  I mean why else would I be writing this letter?  I guess the last one I wrote was after I got my very first ‘real’ paycheck.  Wow.  That was a fun one.  This will be too.

I love you.

I guess this letter is about that, well, I KNOW it is about that.  You’re still a young guy…even though you’ve got a son that’s graduated over a year ago, another in college, and a daughter….well..she’s got a long way to go, but it’ll go by fast too—it’s a darn good thing you and mom got started early!

I’m going to take a t.o. right here, bear with me.

After I left Brewton for college, I felt I was at the point where, if I died the next day, man….I’ve lived the best 17-18 years I could ever ask for…I felt (feel) like I was so blessed to know you, mom, ty and court, and I felt I had lived a ‘complete’ life.  Surely you know what I’m trying to say, even though it isn’t flowing quite as well as it should – especially since I’M WRITING!—ever heard of the BACKSPACE key?  maybe a little proof-reading???  Oh well, now that I’m married, I’m definitely at the point where I think about how blessed I am to have Erin.  I’m into a new life here, and there’s a lot more that I want to do…with Erin, and my kids…etc.  I’m going through a cycle of life, and I’m not ready for it to end…it’s exciting.  I still feel like I’ve lived the best 22+ years anyone could experience.

Alright, t.o. over.  I just want you to know where I am.

You ARE young.  You know that.  (you know there’s a big “BUT” coming..it’s inevitable, sorry…)  but, there’s too many things that can happen to your lungs at this young age, because of the smoking.  First of all, this letter is NOT AT ALL INTENDED to make you stop smoking.  That’s not the point at all.  I just want you to know exactly how much I (and the rest of the family) care about you.  I love you.  There’s just too many risks that a guy takes that can affect the quality of life for an extended period of time.  I mean, I know you don’t want to have to worry about chronic lung problems, or heart problems — just a bunch of smoking related crap that can complicate other things.

Now that you are totally aware I am concerned, this is my view of the future:

In the not to distant future, Erin and I will have children.  I’m still convinced that I’ll have twins.  But I’m also convinced that I’ll have a boy first. Either way, it won’t matter, but that’s what we (ME & YOU) are going to assume for our entertainment, anyway.

My 2 year old boy will be crappin his pants occasionally, beating my butt in basketball…my knees may bleed from the carpet burn.  He’ll be fetching the remote control for me, just to make me happy.  He’ll get yelled at, getting asked repeatedly, “You want some RED BUTTS?!?” Then later on he’ll be starting kindergarten, drawing pictures of his family, and his grandparents…he may be drawing pictures of his grandparent’s house in Alabama…and his little sister, or brother!  He’ll be giving me good-night kisses, and come crying to me about his scary nightmares, or wondering about what ‘heaven’ is all about…He’ll be looking forward to me coming home every night for the next “game”, whether it be basketball, chutes & ladders, ‘see how many seconds it takes to get me a beer’…you know, the usual.  He’ll ask me if I’m the smartest person in the whole world, to which I’ll reply, “No, probably the 4th smartest!”.

Then there will be some intramural games in grade school.  I’d imagine he may grow taller than me, hopefully getting some of your height!   He’ll come home crabby, not wanting to empty the dishwasher after school.  Erin will do it—-I’ll find out….”————————-DAMNIT! What the %$#$% is this?!?….YOU BLEW IT!  You f#$^in’ BLEW IT”  He’ll be smart enough not to mistake ‘blue’ for ‘blew’…it’s MY boy we’re talking about here.  He will feel like I struck him 100 times over…without a scratch to be seen.  He will be better person than I am….mysteriously so.  I’ll give out stories to my co-workers, on how great he did in school, or maybe I’ll tell them that ‘he told me his math test counted one half of one third of his grade…so you know how he’s doing in math’…I’ll be there to console him during his toughest times, even though he WON’T go 1-13 in the championship game, and if he did…I’d share his pains with him, hold him, cry with him, tell him I love him, then pick him up.  I’d share my joys with him.  He’s so special.  How did he turn out so good?  Yeah, I’m a good guy, but man…he’s something else.

I want you to share all of this with me too.  I know you’ve shared these things before.  These emotions sure sound familiar.  I’ll only write this once.  Because I know you already know it.  SELFISHLY, I’d feel better if I knew you didn’t smoke. Those cigarettes are not worth the risk of your health to me.  LIKE I SAID EARLIER.  I’m NOT ASKING THAT YOU QUIT.  I’m just offering whatever I can do to help.  I am too, very aware, that health complications might not have a damn thing to do with the fact that you smoke, but hey, it’s just not worth the risk – to me.

As you read my son’s stories, I know you can see them…re-live them……if you think THAT is special, well, you can just multiply that by me, Ty and Court….and multiply that by the number of kids we (your children) will have.  We love you so much.  Man, oh man there’s a lot going on.

I KNOW IT’S NOT RELATED, but I don’t want you to have to fight something for a decade like your mom has.  That’s going to be tough enough on me – let alone you and your dad, brother and sister.  I know I’m writing this letter very selfishly, and I apologize, it’s just got to be said.

It has done some positive things though.  I still have yet to try a cigarette (outside of the time you told me to suck it like a straw – though I don’t remember that), and to my knowledge, I doubt Ty has tried it either.

I really love you dad.  I wish I could spend more time with you.  It would be worth it to me if I could quit my job and work with you every day.  I really mean that.  I know I’ve got other factors involved…like a wife!  But I can sincerely say that I’d enjoy going to work with you everyday.  You have done SO MUCH for me.  I just want to do whatever I can.  Whenever you give it another shot, I want you to know you can talk to me.  I realize that it may be uncomfortable to talk about this, but damn, you are the strongest guy that I know…you must get it from your mom.  IF and when you are ready to tackle this, I would propose that YOU CALL ME when you get the insurmountable urge, just before you decide to pull out a cigarette and break the streak…even if it is 4 o’clock in the morning – when you get up.  Man, I’d do anything to help.  I love you.  I know this is echoed by everyone in the family.  Mom probably cares more than all of us. –if you end up dying from lung cancer, heck, I KNOW mom will have you cremated! No doubt about it! followed by a bigass ‘I TOLD YOU SO’.

Hey.  can’t say it enough.  I love you.  And ya know what?  As much as I’d like to see the smoke-free Bradley…well, not at all costs!  I’ll tell you what, if it means a smoke-free Bradley that is crabby and grouchy for the next decade? then the next carton is on ME!

Love you buddy.

I’ve done a little research, and I’ve added it on the next pages.  It looks pretty good to me.  The neatest part is the ‘recovery times’.   You’ve probably seen it all before, but this seemed pretty detailed to me.
STOPPING SMOKING
A wide range of methods exist for quitting smoking. Family members, friends, and work associates may be supportive or encouraging but the desire and commitment to quit must be a personal decision. It may prove helpful to write up a specific list of the reasons why one wants to quit. A 1990 Gallup poll of smokers revealed that two-thirds of smokers state they would like to quit.

Past attempts to quit tobacco use should be viewed as learning experiences, not failures. Information from people who have been able to successfully quit smoking shows that 70% had made 1 to 2 previously unsuccessful attempts; 20% had made 3 to 5 previously unsuccessful attempts; and 9% had made 6 or more previously unsuccessful attempts before actually quitting.

Like other addictive behaviors, tobacco use is difficult to stop and maintain, particularly if acting totally alone. The best success in quitting has been noted with comprehensive programs that may combine various strategies, over time (usually 4 to 8 weeks with 1 or 2 hours of support per week) including education, peer support, behavior recognition, behavior modification methods, recognition of potential relapse situations, and strategies for confronting such situations. Medications that are nicotine substitutes, such as transdermal nicotine or nicotine gum, may be used temporarily in conjunction with such programs. These medications require a prescription, therefore seek the support and cooperation of the primary care provider for their use.

Comprehensive programs for quitting smoking have a successful rate of about 20 to 40% of participants. In contrast, 2.5% of people who choose to quit smoking spontaneously, without help, achieve success. Once a person has chosen to quit using tobacco products, it may prove beneficial to elicit a broad range of collaborative methods and support persons to enhance optimal success. If success is not reached initially, simply look at what occurred or what didn’t work, develop new strategies, and try again. Multiple attempts are frequently necessary to “beat the habit.”

 

 

BENEFITS OF QUITTING

  • within 20 minutes of quitting
    • blood pressure and pulse rate drop to normal
    • body temperature of extremities (hands/feet) increases to normal
  • within 8 hours of quitting
    • carbon monoxide level in blood drops to normal
    • oxygen level in blood increases to normal
  • within 24 hours of quitting
  • within 48 hours of quitting
    • nerve endings begin to regenerate
    • senses of smell and taste begin to return to normal
  • within 2 weeks to 3 months of quitting
    • circulation improves
    • walking becomes easier
    • lung function increases up to 30%
  • within 1 to 9 months of quitting
    • overall energy typically increases
    • symptoms associated with chronic use decrease (such as coughing, nasal congestion, fatigue, and shortness of breath)
    • cilia (fine, hair-like projections lining lower respiratory tract) function begins to return to normal, which increases the body’s ability to handle mucus, clean the respiratory tract, and reduce respiratory infections
  • within 1 year of quitting
  • within 5 years of quitting
    • lung cancer death rate (for average 1 pack/day former smoker) decreases by nearly 50%
    • risk of cancer of the mouth is half that of a tobacco user
  • within 10 years of quitting
    • lung-cancer death rate becomes similar to that of a nontobacco user
    • precancerous cells are replaced with normal cell growth
    • risk of stroke is typically lowered, possibly to that of a nontobacco user
    • risk of cancer of the mouth, throat, esophagus, bladder, kidney, and pancreas decreases
  • within 15 years of quitting
    • risk of coronary heart disease is that of a nonsmoker

 

Letters Ben wrote at Troy State

by

Some of these are assignments in an English class

March 3, 1996

Family Ties

College life has drastically changed my relationships with the members of my family.  I was born into the world with a mother, a father, and a lot of attention, because I was the first child and the first grandchild.  I can always remember having a very close relationship with my parents.  During my toddler days, my mom would make peanut butter-filled cracker sandwiches for me while I watched “The Bozo Show,” and then I would read books with her.  When my dad returned home from work, the two of us would play a very, very intense game of basketball on my Nerf basketball goal.  The intensity was so high in this competition because every game that we played always came down to a last second shot, and the result of this final shot determined, what I considered to be, the “Championship of the World!”   The loyalty of my family actually grew stronger as my younger brother and baby sister entered the world.  My family is very competitive, including my mom.  We have always played a variety of sports within the family.  My mom and dad really put up with a lot of abuse that we were enforcing on the property.  There were constantly two dirt regions in our otherwise thick grass lawn due to home plate and pitcher’s mound.  Our garage door took a beating when I would throw tennis balls against it and field the return ground balls with my baseball mitt.  My dad even let me cut portions of our lawn very short, emulating the green of a golf course.  I know that many fathers would not allow his kids to play in this manner because of the result of slight damage to the property.  There was a limit to what we could do, but my parents really let us enjoy our childhood.  I now realize that happiness is much more important than material items, because it seems as though I really abused some of the things that we owned.

I received quite a bit of attention when the time to go to college arrived.  My parents were very interested on how I was doing in basketball, and they kept in close contact with me.  I really started noticing changes in my mom’s actions when she started taking a defensive approach when I left for school. When she would call me at Troy, she would always worry that I did not have time to talk to her, and she would just try to make me happy.  She did not want me to get tired of talking to her on the phone, so she would end the conversation early.  This technique was not a part of her arsenal in my younger days.  I would have to talk (or listen) to her as long as she wanted no matter what I was doing, and she thought that doing this to me was genuinely funny.  During my first quarter of college, she would almost treat me like a king when I came home on a particular weekend.  She would not make me clean up the house with my brother and sister.  I think her biggest fear was that I would not enjoy myself at the house, and that I would never come back to the place that I consider “home.”   I never took advantage of the situation because it was just not like my mom to treat me like that, and I just could not accept the charity.

There has never been a  choice when my dad was around the house, and there never will be.  If he saw me watching television while my bother and sister were picking up the house, then he would shoot his BRAD KREHBIEL face right at me.  This gesture is a cross between a serious Clint Eastwood and an irate Nick Nolte (48 Hours), but it is definitely known as the BRAD KREHBIEL face.  Needless to say, I would be cleaning quickly without hesitation.  My dad has also changed in a way.  It seems that he is more interested in what I am doing in college than he was in what I did in high school.  He has always treated me like an adult, and I have always been in an excited or motivated mood after talking with him, but now it is evident to me that I am just talking to my buddy.  My upbringing was so tight in the family that I will always be best friends with my parents.

Okay — we’re close, but were not “The Waltons.”

 

************************

March 7, 1996

College Life

The transition from high school to college can be very difficult if you are not prepared.  During Pre-College Orientation, many important tasks go unnoticed to the inexperienced student.  This is a time in which you are “babied” through registration, assigned an advisor according to what field of study you plan on pursuing at Troy State, and select a meal plan.  Most students find out on their own how to register.  You have to obtain registration sheets from the student center and make an appointment with your advisor in order to register.  Organization is the key to an easier registration.  Pick out your classes before speaking with your advisor, and pay any fines that are currently pending.  After your sheet is signed and approved by your advisor, take the registration sheet to the building of your major and pray that all of your classes will be open.

The first quarter of college can be very miserable, no matter what school you attend, if you do not know many people to enjoy the experience with during the quarter.  Alcohol is not necessarily the answer to having fun through your first quarter of college, because many people who party hard during this stretch usually fail out of school and are not around for their second quarter.  The grades during this critical period are very important if you honestly plan to climb to the sophomore level the following year.  There is an equilibrium where one can have fun and continue to make his grades.  I have managed to avoid alcohol, and I enjoy the parties.  I have been busy during my collegiate career, yet I have handled a 3.84 grade point average without having to keep my head buried into books all of the time.  I believe anybody who puts forth a sufficient, serious effort can maintain a 3.0 grade point average.

Adapting to a roommate can be a difficult challenge.  I am one of the lucky ones who got a nearly perfect roommate, but most people are not this fortunate.  When living with anybody, it is imperative that each roommate has his time alone.  Living with people all of the time can get stressful, and everyone needs his space.  Although a few sacrifices may be involved, cooperation is mandatory in a successful roommate relationship.  With only one television, each must compromise on which shows to watch.  Also, sleeping habits may interfere with past lifestyles.  Music is another item which will have to be compromised.  Living with someone can be very enjoyable if the occupants can settle a few of these differences.

The home cooked meals of long ago are no longer in effect.  Fast food and the cafeteria will be you options.  There will be plenty to eat in the cafeteria, but the desire to eat might not exist.  If you live on campus, then a meal plan must be selected according to your appetite.  There are a few different options, but the most popular among Troy State students is the 5-plus meal ticket.  This allows you to eat cafeteria food five times a week, while spending about 20 points per week on pizza or hamburgers at The Grill, next to the cafeteria.  The food is not bad and it should cure your dietary needs.

Using the information in this paper, one should be able to run through the process of registration at Troy State University without too much difficulty.  Having gone through the process myself, I understand the complications and the confusion that go along with committing to a university.  After getting past the first few days of shock, one can settle down and attend school without worrying about what to do next.  Just do not forget to pay the school!

****

Ben Krehbiel

English 101

October 20, 1995

Death

Death is the cessation of life.  It is a mystery that neither science nor religion has ever solved.  Because death is something predetermined and unfamiliar to everyone, it is usually feared.  Death is a very individual subject because it is something that one experiences without guidance.  Some people are secure with religion and comfortable with death.  Other people are so miserable that they actually look forward to death, but most people fear death and try to escape it.  Death not only affects the victim, but also the people that were active in the victim’s life.  Many people believe that death is more cruel to the people left behind, rather than the victim himself.  Olenka, in “The Darling,” says to her deceased husband after his funeral, “I’ve nobody, now you’ve left me, my darling.  How can I live without you, . . . ” (150).  The problems of confronting death, the emotional stages endured while confronting death, and the response from a man to death will determine the feelings of that man at the time of death.

I believe that death is a problem because of the way people perceive it.  People are frightened of death and will try anything to escape from this fear.  In “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” seconds before Peyton Farquhar was executed, he frantically composed thoughts of fleeing his death.  I believe that he started his thoughts nearly ten seconds before his death.  He convinced himself that he had escaped, but then reality struck him fiercely.  Another problem of death is that people want to do more things in life that they have not had the opportunity to do, and dying would demolish these plans.  A twelve-year-old child could look up to his parents and want to experience a similar family lifestyle, but there is a possibility that he will die before he ever has these experiences.  Although the problems of death are rhetorical, solutions exist to cover the thoughts of death and have optimism toward life.

After one has been informed that he will die soon, the body goes through several stages.

The initial emotional reaction is shock, and the human realizes he is not immortal.  When confronted with death, a person is likely to lose sanity if he is not prepared for death. After the shock is gone, denial is the next stage.  This is basically what one suffers during his attempt to escape the doom.  From denial the fugitive from death undergoes an emotion of anger at himself, or more likely, at God.  From this point the position of the man’s emotional state can transcend one of two ways.  First, he could enter a hope or prayer to be saved.  Others regress into a condition of depression over the loss of everything.  Death steals all materialistic items away from the possessor.  This depression staggers into quitting on life and accepting the unavoidable outcome.

The stages of death tell the reader very much about the emotional state of characters near the time of death.  The manner in which the characters react to the crisis determines the result of their fate.

How a person responds to death depends on the quality of that particular person’s life.  Most people get used to living and the thought of death scares them very much.  Another approach to death is from people who struggle to live throughout their lives.  These people want their lives to end as a form of relief from the world and their troubles.  This is the case with Belcher in the story, “Guest of the Nation.”   Belcher is just about to be killed when he turns down the chance to pray and says, “I’m ready, and you boys want to get it over.”  Belcher has been miserable and is complacent of his life.  He has accepted that he will die, which makes it easier for him to die.  There are some people that put great religious faith in God, and pray for eternal life.  This group views death as a transition toward heaven, not a complete end.  Although people can escape death temporarily, it is inevitable that everyone will die sometime.  The responses to death reflect the attitudes of certain people toward death, whether it is positive or negative.

Confronting the problem of death, analyzing the emotional development of the stages of death, and presenting solutions to these problems help people to understand a little bit more about death.  Death has always been feared because it is unknown.  Is death really supposed to be a topic to be concentrating on?  Death comes across negatively in almost every way.  Life is of much more importance and should overshadow death, but unfortunately humans focus on negative themes because usually the positive themes are taken for granted.  Personally, I believe in everlasting life with Jesus Christ and I must state that I have experienced the greatest eighteen and a half years that I could have ever asked for.  I believe that my life will progress even more as I live.

 

*************

Ben Krehbiel

November 7, 1995

English 101    

 determinaTion = SUccess

My decision of choosing Troy State University to continue my education was unique.  I received athletic (basketball) and academic scholarships from Bethel College, an NAIA division school located in central Kansas.  I would still have to pay $8000 for one year to attend that college.  Yet playing basketball for a Division One school has been my dream ever since I fell in love with the game at a very early age in my life.  My other reasonable option was to attend Troy State University on an academic scholarship that would cover tuition expenses, and I would try to make the basketball team as a walk-on.  I could pursue my dream, and attend a university for $3200 per year.  I felt as though this option was an inexpensive risk, and I thought I had everything to gain by coming to Troy State.  My determination to play NCAA Division One basketball is what brought me to Troy State University, and this determination allowed me to succeed in making the Troy State Men’s Basketball Team, joining the Sigma Chi Fraternity (EO), and declaring a major of great interest to me.       

Making the Men’s Basketball Team at Troy State has been amazing for me.  One must have determination to put on basketball shoes every day, run up and down the basketball court with athletes of much greater talent, and compete with their level of play.  Because of my lack of foot speed, I must always be in the best position on the floor according to the situation.  My physical abilities are not equal to my teammates’ abilities, but I carry some of the “intangibles” of athletics.  I am very teachable, and I maintain a good attitude that expands to my teammates.  I also do not drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes, which keeps me one step ahead of the rest of the players.  Going to school without the benefit of playing basketball would make college life less fun.  I will become a better player, and one day I will contribute to the team.

Joining a fraternity was one of the last things on my mind as school started. However, a few of my good friends are members of the Sigma Chi Fraternity, and they asked me to come to the fraternity house.  I really enjoyed talking to the brothers of the fraternity, and I decided to become a pledge.  Pledgeship requires one to strive each day to meet his goals.  Pledgeship has taught me to manage my time wisely during the week.  One must be determined for more than four months to be initiated as a brother after pledgeship, and I will do it.

After choosing to attend Troy State, I had to select a major.  Although I was not sure of what I wanted to do in my career, I reluctantly chose Computer Science as my major because I really enjoy computers.  I love to solve problems, and computer programming is really exciting to me.  I will continue to chase this degree for the next few years.  A computer programmer is usually not the type of person that owns a sociable personality.  I do not have a typical computer programmer’s personality.  I get along with many different people, and I believe this will be a huge advantage for a company that wants good relations with people.

I have maintained determination in basketball, in the fraternity, and in my classes throughout the first quarter at Troy State.  Without determination, a person has no drive or purpose, which makes everything meaningless.  I want to win at almost everything in life, and I strive to be the best person that I can be.  I think that Troy State was definitely the best place for me, and with determination, I will succeed in my collegiate career.

*************

Ben Krehbiel

Turkey Day ‘95

On Thanksgiving of 1995, I received an incredible surprise.  I was watching college football games at my grandma’s house in Kansas, when all of the sudden, the coach for the University of Kansas Football team walked through the front door.  My heart stopped in excitement because I really did not believe that he was actually coming to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us.

The story behind Coach Glen Mason coming to the small town of Minneapolis, Kansas, to eat Thanksgiving dinner with my family is quite simple.  He was dating my aunt.  I was aware that there was a chance that he would come, but it seems like he is always on the move, so I was not really sure that he would actually make it.  My ears were focused into everything that he said, which was not much, in front of my grandparents.  He talked about his two kids, and gave us a few stories about cute things that they have done.  I was really nice because he did not talk about himself all of the time, as one might think that a football coach would.  The thing that surprised me the most was the way he cannot stay in one place for too long.  We were watching the Michigan-Ohio State football game on television, and Ohio State was suffering its first loss of the season during their last game of the season, and Glen Mason grabbed the phone and called a couple of his buddies.  Coach Mason played football at Ohio State and there had been rumors that he was leaving Kansas to coach at Ohio State.

I had met Coach Mason earlier in the year at my aunt’s house, but that stay was only about 20 minutes long.  He gave me his T-shirt that he was supposed to wear to the practices because it was too large.  It was an athletic shirt, with the letters XXL in the middle of the front part of the shirt.  I saw a picture of him during practice, and he was wearing the exact same shirt, but it was an XL.  I have the shirt that he was supposed to wear.  In fact, his name is even written in marker on the inside of the T-shirt.  This is probably very insignificant to anybody else, but I thought that it was very neat.

On Christmas Day, the Kansas Jayhawks went to Hawaii to play in the Aloha Bowl against UCLA.  The big story at the time was that Coach Glen Mason was leaving Kansas to go to the Georgia Bulldogs.  He had already committed to Georgia earlier in the week.  My aunt went to Hawaii with the team.  Christmas morning my grandpa called me and told me that Karen, my aunt, had called him and said that Coach Mason had decided to stay at Kansas.  This was a shock to me, and the media did not even know yet.  Sure enough, it was announced right before the game was played, and I knew something that the whole country had to wait for.  It was a very neat feeling to know the inside track on something important like this.

In order for one to grasp how much this meant to most of us, you would have to understand that my family eats, drinks, and breaths the University of Kansas Jayhawks.  This was really a highlight for me in 1995.  After eating Thanksgiving dinner with him, I will always remember Coach Glen Mason, and I will always respect him as a person and a coach in the future.

 

*********

 

 

 

Joyce’s Memories of Her Grandparents

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• What are some of your early memories of your grandparents?
• Where were your grandparents raised?
• What careers did your grandparents have?
• What did they do to make a living?
• What is a favorable trait you received from your grandparents?
• If you could write a thank you letter to your grandparent(s), what would it say?

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