Mon. July 5
“Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain, and most fools do.” – Ben Franklin
July 1
That’s one thing I like about these Congolese Christians. They aren’t asking for a handout, but rather a handup. It’s the best way we Americans can support God’s work in Africa.
Praying to the Lord of the Harvest
Join us in praying for a great bean crop in Sake Village, Democratic Congo Africa. We just wired money to buy bean seeds for the entire village of Sake. Here is our prayer: ‘Lord, I ask that you’ll bless every bean planted in the soil at Sake village. I ask that a bumper crop will make the name of Jesus famous far and wide in this area of eastern Congo. We pray that the harvest of beans will open hearts for a harvest of souls. We pray believing in the name of Jesus. Amen.’ The residents have just returned after being chased away by rebel forces two years ago. After living in refugee conditions near Goma, they came home to find nothing left—crops, homes, or furnishings. You can view a touching story and photo gallery on this village at www.imb.org. We met in the dirt-floored church and were showered with love and hospitality. Congolese worship is so full of joy and emotion and knowing what these folks had been through added to the sense of worship. As we left, they requested one thing from “The Americans:” Would we be willing to supply bean seeds for their entire village? We inquired and found the price would be $700, a figure we didn’t have on hand, but promised to pursue it upon our return home. Tomorrow, I’m wiring $700 to Pastor Habimana Athanase (who works with IMB missionary Rusty Pugh) to be shared by the Sake Baptist Church among the entire village for planting a bean crop. Where did the money come from? Last week I was camp missionary for GA Girls Camp at Dry Creek. The girls gave this and more to “plant beans in Sake.” Girls gave up snacks and souvenirs to help on this project. Another one of our team members, Pastor Lonnie Gothrup (Lonnie, along with Mike Murray, accompanied their daughters on the trip.) shared this scripture on our trip, You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. –Jesus in John 15:16 We were able to “plant seeds” for lasting fruit in the lives of the wonderful people of Eastern Congo. We could not have gone without your help and support. Thanks to all who prayed, gave, and supported this trip. Curt Iles
Sat. June 26
4 reasons why I love summer country nights: Cricket concerts: Our home is surrounded by trees, and the crickets love to sing in them nightly. Frog Pond Stereo: We live between two ponds. The frogs set up a chorus on hot summer nights. Blends well with the crickets. The North Star: All things in the world are in order; the Big Dipper still points to the North Star. The moon rising behind a stand of longleaf pines. It doesn’t get any better than this.
Wed. June 23
A must-see video Visit YouTube to see a beautiful four minute video of a baptism in Congo’s Lake Kivu. A side note: The baptism site was next to a fortified UN Peacekeeping Camp. The entire baptism was watched by a guard with binoculars. (Most of the peacekeepers with either Pakistani or Chinese. Pray that this man will continue to remember the joy he watched and have dreams of who Jesus is.) Today’s Proverb: “Do not moved an ancient boundary stone, or take over the fields of the fatherless.” Proverbs 23:10. Being the son of a land surveyor, I’ve seen much heartache and bitterness over land lines. Family members have fallen out over a three foot wide strip of land along an old fence row. The story below is a story of two neighbors who didn’t let a land line destroy their friendship. It’s still one of my favorites. The Friendship Lane From the book, The Old House by Curt Iles. Copyright 2004 Creekbank Stories The most important trip you may take in life is meeting people halfway. –Henry Boye One of God’s greatest blessings are friends- People on whom you can depend in any situation. Friends who have stood steadfastly with you through both thick and thin times. My mom always told me, “Curt, always remember, you can’t have too many friends.” And as usual, my mom was right. Each and every friendship we have is a priceless jewel in our journey of life. If you ever visit Dry Creek, there is a special spot I’d like to show you. It is an overgrown pathway in the woods that bears witness to the importance of friendship and neighbors. Most people will walk right by this narrow passageway and never notice it, but it always catches my attention because of what it means. This special place is what I call “The Friendship Lane.” It is located just east of camp property, near the home of Frank Bogard. It is a ten-foot wide strip between two barbed wire fences. This path separates the land between the pioneer homesteads of Sereno Hanchey and Lionel Green. These two men, now dead for many years, were descendants of some of the earliest settlers of Dry Creek. Mr. Rufus Hanchey, Sereno Hanchey’s son, took me to “The Friendship Lane” just before he died. As we stood there, he related the following story: “Curt, at some point many years ago, there was a difference of opinion between the Hanchey and Green families over where the property line, running east and west, was between our properties. Each family claimed to own land that reached over into the other’s present field. Because there was no fence to stand as the dividing line, the actual land line was open to dispute.” Mr. Rufus continued, “My dad and Lionel Green had always been good friends, and they valued their friendship more than any piece of land and showed it by their actions. They met pretty close to where we are now standing and came up with a solution to this problem. They decided to declare the disputed ten-foot wide strip a “neutral zone.” Each man would build a fence on their respective side of the strip. Together, they agreed to use the strip as a pathway, but neither would claim ownership. Due to this agreement, both families were satisfied and no further problem ever occurred.” As the son of a land surveyor, I’ve seen some pretty nasty fights between landowners over the difference of a two-foot strip along a fence. Some of the saddest things I’ve ever seen have been the sight of brothers and sisters falling out with each other over inherited land. I’ve seen family members go to their graves still holding a grudge against a brother or sister. How sad it is when we will let anything material or temporary break a priceless relationship with our families or neighbors. Standing today at this overgrown path I call The Friendship Lane, I’m appreciative of these two men who placed friendship above an easily forgotten piece of land in the woods. People, and the relationships we develop through friendship, are much more important than any land title we can store in a bank safety deposit box or possession we can claim. This “Friendship Lane” teaches me another lesson– If we are going to get along with others, we need to give them a little room. Young people today call it “cutting some slack.” If we push against, and rub on others, friction will result. And friction always generates heat, and heat can generate the fire of anger that, in time, harm and can ruin longtime friendships. By simply giving others some space and walking away instead of fighting, the “friendship fences” in our lives can stay mended and in good shape. If we always have to “win” by getting our way, we will leave behind a trail of broken relationships, many of them with those closest to us. I’m often reminded of the saying, “You only have so much blood to spill, so choose your battles carefully.” Darkness is now approaching as I turn and leave The Friendship Lane. Glancing back one last time, I can visualize in my mind the long ago scene of Sereno Hanchey and Lionel Green walking their respective fields at sunset. They come upon each other and stop to visit. Each leans against his own fence, separated by the ten feet of land they share. First one, then the other, crawls through his respective fence. They meet in this grassy neutral area where they shake hands and share a plug of chewing tobacco. As the sun sets behind the pines, they visit until it is so dark you can barely see them standing there. Only from the sound of their voices, as they visit and laugh, can you tell they are standing back there, somewhere in the middle of the Friendship Lane. The richest man in the world is not the one who still
A Spent Bullet Chapter 1
Chapter 1A Spent Bullet Wednesday, August 13, 1941 DeRidder, Louisiana The shiny bullet bounced on the sidewalk at Elizabeth Reed’s feet. As she bent to examine it, a blond soldier leaned out of the crowded Army truck. “You’re beautiful. Write me.” Pointing at her feet, he yelled, “The bullet—write me.”Hearing a chorus of wolf whistles, she flinched, refusing to pick up the empty shell cartridge. There was no way she’d give the truckload of soldiers the satisfaction of stooping to retrieve it. She smoothed her dress and shyly nodded at the laughing men. The truck rattled across the tracks and disappeared in a cloud of dust and smoke. The whistling and yelling had grated on her like fingernails across the slate board in her classroom. Fanning the dust away, Elizabeth coughed and mumbled, “Stupid soldiers.” She’d watched DeRidder’s population double with soldiers, construction workers, and outsiders looking for a quick buck, and was sick of it all. She saw that her ten-year-old brother Ben, standing beside her, hadn’t seen the tossed object, being preoccupied pumping his arm for each truck to blow its air horn.One driver tooted four quick notes followed by two more and Ben took a step forward. “Shave and a haircut… two bits.” Elizabeth grinned at her brother. He loved town trips, especially with military vehicles, cavalry horses, and soldiers filling the streets. He whistled at a passing cavalry column. “Sister, this is better than the Beauregard Parish Fair Parade.” It was then he spied the shell on the sidewalk. She tried to cover it with her shoe, but Ben was too quick, kicking the bullet with his bare foot. “What’s that, Bethie?” “One of the soldiers threw it. It’s a spent bullet with a slip of paper in it.” He knelt to pick it up, but Elizabeth pulled him away. He protested, “Hey, if we—” His words were drowned out by the shrill whistle and shrieking brakes of the three o’clock train.Ben jumped up and down. “Our train’s here.” As the whistle faded, the caterwauling from the convoy’s last truck took its place. She clamped her hands over Ben’s ears. “Sometimes what they say isn’t for fresh ears.” “My ears ain’t fresh.” He twisted loose from her grip. “Benjamin Franklin Reed, you’re impossible. It’s aren’t—not ain’t.” “Well, either way, my ears ain’t fresh.” A soldier yelled, “Miss, Miss, are we in my hometown of Detroit yet?” The truckload of soldiers laughed at his joke. Ben, who was allergic to silence, said, “Nope, this is DeRidder, Louisianer.” The train whistled again, silencing further conversation. The Detroit soldier cupped his hands, trying to be heard above the train. Ben waved, as Elizabeth shook her head. “Not just a Yankee, but a city slicker Yankee, and a smart aleck one to boot.”Then she turned her attention to her little brother. “Ben, we live in Louisiana. It’s not Louisianer.” “Ain’t that what I said?” He winked. “Is this the way you’re gonna treat me in your classroom all year?”She grabbed him in a headlock and goosed him, as he flailed his arms yelling like a scalded dog. She stopped and looked up into the grinning faces of a dozen soldiers watching from their truck. One soldier, with a deep west Texas drawl, said, “I’ll wrassle you next when you’re through with him.” Heat filled her face, and she turned away. “Come on Ben, our train’s here. Let’s go.” He pointed toward the sidewalk. “But what about the bullet?” “Leave it.”She started across the street, then looked back to find Ben kneeling, rolling up the cuff of his overalls. “Come on, Ben—a dollar’s waiting on a dime. If you’re coming to town with me, you have to keep up.” Ben scampered forward. “Bethie, are you mad at me or those soldiers?” She froze. “What do you mean?”“I just want to know if you’re mad at me.” She regretted her earlier harsh tone. “I’m not mad at you.” She licked her fingers and tried to tame the unruly cowlick in her brother’s dark hair. “So, it’s the soldiers?”“I’m not mad at them, just tired of them.” “Is it ’cause they’re men?”“What do you mean? Who’s been talking to you?”“Well, Momma said…” He stopped. “She said you got hurt by some soldier up in Natchitoches, and ain’t got over it.”“Listen, our mother doesn’t know everything.” Holding firmly to her brother’s arm, she marched across the street toward the depot. “watch closely for those army trucks.” “I will, I will.” He seemed more concerned with digging around in his pocket than listening to her. Her mother’s words, just quoted by her brother, hung like the dust in the air. Hurt by a soldier. She bit her lip, holding back the tears. It would not happen again.
Tues. June 22 Thoughts on Generosity
Proverbs for the day: “A generous person will be blessed, for he gives some of his food to the poor.” Proverbs 22:9 On Girls and Giving I’ve never seen a more devastated village than Saki, Democratic Congo. Situated in the middle of a civil war zone where rebel soldiers and government troops have fought over control of the mineral-rich mountains, it has seen its share of trouble. The residents have recently returned after being refugees for an extended period. Their wood frame church was one of the few structures still standing. Homes were gone, crops destroyed. It was a matter of starting over. As our team of Louisiana girls left, they requested a gift. “If you Americans could help us, we could plan a bean crop for the entire village.” “How much would this cost?” “For $700 US dollars, we could supply everyone in our village, Christian or not, with ample seeds. This would feed us and we would save back crop seed for next year’s crop.” It was the kind of request that I love to hear. They were asking for a hand up, not a handout. If we helped, it would be a lasting gift that would feed hungry folks who weren’t afraid to work. Both the local pastor and American missionary agreed this was a worthy accountable project to invest in. We returned home to Louisiana and went straight to GA Girls Camp at Dry Creek. As we shared about the needs in Saki village, the camp girls took this project to heart. They didn’t raise $700. They gave over $1400. Many of them bypassed snacks or the gift shop to help “put in a bean crop for Saki.” I look forward to seeing photos of the beans growing in the rich soil of eastern Congo. With its equatorial location, they can grow several crops per year. A group of girls took a project to heart. The best girls in the world: generous Louisiana girls. However, there’s more to the story: The extra money will go to run a feeding center near the Congolese city of Bukavu. Our Louisiana girls visited two such centers where a church sponsors a daily meal for selected malnourished children in groups of 60 and 30 respectively. It was touching to see this ministry going on. A nurse regulates who gets the meals. Whenever a child’s health returns, they “graduate” (i.e. they’re no longer part of the program) and others needy children receive food. Two scenes from these feeding centers are etched in my mind. One was the sight of dozens of children watching from the doorway and open windows of the feeding center. It was evident they were hungry too. She carefully spooned the porridge into his mouth, never feeding herself. Her only food was to lick off the bottom of the spoon if any of the precious meal was dripping. I’ll always know the girl as “Sissy” and will never forget her unselfishness. So some of the Dry Creek money will go to the feeding center. It takes $17 to feed a child per month. This will help. Our Dry Creek girls on the trip also made T-shirts emblazoned with “Mzungu.” That’s “White Man” in Swahili and it is the word that any American visitor to Central Africa hears repeatedly. Wikipedia says ‘Mzungu’ from a contraction of words meaning “one who wanders aimlessly.” I can readily identify with that. The wandering Dry Creek girls sold dozens of the shirts. The profits were the Mzungu shirts are going to the feeding center. That’s pretty neat. Some stories of generosity. Taught by a group of Dry Creek girls. Proverbs for the day: “A generous person will be blessed, for he gives some of his food to the poor.” Proverbs 22:9
Mon. June 21
A Proverb for your day. Proverbs 21:31 The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but victory rests with the Lord. It’s really simple. God is in control. In the end, it’s going to be the way He wants it. John Chancellor, longtime NBC anchor said it well, “If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans.” This truth of the sovereignty of God shouldn’t irritate us. Rather, it gives peace. God is in control. Nothing, or no one, will thwart his plans. I think of three decisive battles in history. Napoleon at Waterloo. Several minor changes in the positions of the warring armies decided the battle. You know the rest of the story… Napoleon met his Waterloo, his empire crumbled, and he found himself exiled to St. Helena Island. July 1863. The Battle of Gettysburg. I’ve studied it for all of my life. Several events… Joshua Chamberlain and his Maine regiment holding Little Round Top… The Southern forces failure to take the high ground. Union forces digging in behind a stone wall before Pickett’s Charge. Gettysburg was the decisive battle of the war and a nation’s destiny was changed. Midway Island. 1942. In a few short minutes in what was a “fluke,” United States planes sink three Japanese aircraft carriers and the entire direction of the Pacific War changes. Each of these examples show that the most prepared, largest force doesn’t always prevail. In the end, God’s will is done. Proverbs 21:31 assures us of that. It doesn’t have to be a decisive battle in history to illustrate God’s sovereignty. He displays it daily in our lives. We can rest assured that He’s in control. That’s something I want to know as I live this day. June 21, 2010
Tues. June 15
New video on Sake Village, Congo at the Creekbank You Tube page. This remote Congolese village is rebuilding after suffering damage during rebel/government fighting. Our group has committed to paying for the bean crop to be put in for the entire resident population. Because it will be done through the local church, it will bring glory to God… and feed people. I like the project because it will allow ongoing crops and food. (Their seeds are non-hybrid. They save back seeds for next year’s crops.)
Sun. June 13
Back from Africa with an empty suitcase and full heart. There is no way photos, stories, or even video can sufficiently share about Africa. However, in the coming week, I’ll be using each of these media to try to convey what we experienced and felt. To all of you who prayed fervently, thanks! It was a great trip and God really blessed. Your prayers to the Father were heard and heeded. The Power of Story Why use stories? It’s summed up in this fine quote: “If you want a boat built, speak not of plans and budgets, speak of a love of the sea.” -Antoine de St Exurpey Stories connect our hearts to others. It touches us. I’ll be sharing stories and photos from our recent trip to Africa. “Lord, I’m a little child.” Pastor Desiree takes my hand and leads me through the mud, shouting, loading/unloading, arguing, yelling, and whistling that is the utter chaos of the Port of Goma. We’re here to buy tickets for tomorrow’s ferry ride down Lake Kivu to Bukavu. There is a mass of humanity pushing and swaying on the narrow pier. Dozens bump into me, the only white man in sight. Instinctively, I feel for my passport and wallet. Pastor Desiree squeezes my hand walks me to each of the places I need to be for tickets, permits, and information. In Africa, men holding hands with men (and women with women) are very common. (One of my favorite sayings is “It’s all right to hold hands in public in Africa, just as long as it’s not your wife.”) I feel a little uneasy as he pulls me along through the hawkers and sweating workers hefting bags of charcoal and cassava into the ship’s hold. I’m reminded of what I call the “humility of travel.” Daily you are dependent on others to guide, interpret, negotiate, and take care of you. It goes against the ‘John Wayne-independent man attitude’ I grew up with. Pastor Desiree won’t let go of my hand. I’m not sure John Wayne would let him hold his hand, but right now, I’m glad he has me by the hand. I don’t want to be left, or lost, in this spot. Once again, I’m a little child, led along by my own father in a world of big people who are strangers. I don’t know where we’re going, but daddy—my daddy—will get me there. My job is simply not to get separated from his strong grip. Pastor Desiree’s grip is as strong as my father’s was. It reminds me of another grip I’m in: the grip of my Savior Jesus. Jesus Christ (my Savior whom I’m here in Africa representing) himself said it best, “And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” (John 10:28 KJV) That’s the best grip of all. It’s the grip this little child wants to be in. This little child (who turned 54 on this trip) can recommend the strong grip of my Jesus. He’s never dropped anyone yet. Not even a wandering Mzungu (“White Man” in Swahili) walking along the pier at the Port of Goma.
Tues. May 25
Why traveling internationally helps me as a writer. View/hear a YouTube of the Lake Kivu singing fishermen. I’m very thankful to have the privilege of traveling out of the United States. I’ve come to realize there are various benefits as a writer in my travels. I want to make it clear: I travel for the purpose of sharing about my personal faith in Jesus. Going to the “hard places” (i.e. difficult to reach, tough conditions, great physical/spiritual needs example: Democratic Republic of Congo, the neediest place I’ve ever seen) always softens my heart. I learn much more from new friends in these countries than I could ever teach them. Here are a few benefits I see as a writer: 1. Traveling abroad always gives me Perspective on Life. I see the world in a new way. I see myself in a new way. I return with much greater appreciation of the freedom and opportunities I have as an American. 2. Traveling abroad provides Perspective on my writing. I step back from the canvas and can “see” my current work in a new light. Where I’ll be for the next 2 weeks (Congo and Rwanda) has very limited and slow internet, little phone service, and no TV in English. I don’t take my laptop. It’s a chance to step back, refresh, and reflect. I always return with a journal full of ideas and a clearer mind about the writer I want to be. 3. Traveling is a great way to hear/see new stories in a new culture. I’ve come to believe that human nature is very similar throughout the world. A story from Ethiopian or Honduran culture is just as powerful as a story from Cajun, Piney Woods, or Southern culture. I go to help. I go to learn. I always come back fuller. My goal is this trip is “Return with an empty suitcase and a full heart.” On the journey, Curt Iles I’ll be blogging (as possible) on my trip at http://www.creekbank.net. Your prayers are so appreciated.
Tues. May 25 A Place Called Congo
Last night I mailed off my current manuscript of A Spent Bullet. I want to thank “my editor cousins” Joy Reeves Pitre, Julie Holland Johnson, and Coleen Roberts Ritter. Thanks Ladies! Today I shift into total African mode. I’ll be sharing openly as we plan, pray, and get ready to go on Thursday to Congo/Rwanda. “Mountains cannot go to other mountains, but people can go to other people.” -“Latif” Village elder to my friend Randy Pierce. Learn more about Randy’s missions organization at www.xmaonline.com Last week, NBC aired an excerpt on Ben Affleck’s visit to Eastern Congo. He was in Goma, the very city we’ll be in beginning Sunday. It’s an excellent report on “Making A Difference.” We’ll be working with IMB (International Mission Board) missionaries in both Rwanda and Congo. Below is a heart-wrenching link to a team that was recently in eastern Congo where we’ll be. The pastor mentioned in the article, Habimama Athanase, is the Baptist pastor we’ll be with for the majority of our trip. Pray for us!
I recently posted a blog about telephone “party lines.” These multiple lines, where several homes heard every ring, were the source of great stories (as well as great tension among neighbors.) Read and enjoy! Party Line comments The Dry Creek party line had 16 phones on it. You could listen to every call that every party line member received. Each party had a “crank” type wall phone and your ring was a combination of long and short rings. Ours was one long, one short, and one long ring. Could tell you some real stories about those phone calls!!!” -Rose Manuel “I’ll never forget my grandmother, after dementia had set in, trying to figure out how to ring “two longs and a short” with our “modern” rotary phone! It just wouldn’t work! ” Bass Brenda commented on your post: “My family lived in the north part of Starks which was the Lunita/Green Island area and we all had party lines. You could call anyone like a normal phone, but to call a party line person was the trick. You would dial their number and hold down the button and it would ring at the other persons house. When someone else on the partyline would receive a call your phone would make a grunt sound. Our party line consisted of three families, one brother and two sisters. If their sister from Lake Charles would call my mom, one of the kids would have to run across the field to tell my aunt, so they could both talk to their sister. I heard some party lines caused fights between neighbors, but not with ours.” Call or run by and visit Grandmaw Gill(Aunt Estelle) at the nursing home by the fair grounds…she knows everything and loves to talk…. Do you mean the ones where one house would get a certain ring and another house would get another?? My friend had one of those in high school and her MawMaw would pick up and listen to her conversations!! hehehe….drove her nuts!! We hadd a party line for years with Aunt Eloyce and Uncle Claude Pate in North LA and it was in the early 80’s. lol I remember that so well– she was always on there talking to her sisters especially on Sunday afternoons– and I remember PaPate coming and telling me–Your phone is off the hook and Jennifer is jabbering on it– yep– Jen loved the telephone at 2 years old– though not good when u are on a party line—lol OH– you could tell by the ring if it was yours or theirs– they had one short, one short, we had one long, one long ring— Not sure about 1941 but when I grew up in the 70’s there was a party line here in our area – if 1 person left their phone off the hook, NO ONE could use the phone! Was odd to pick up the line and hear others talking 🙂 Curt Call Randy Goleman, he’s in the Elizabeth telephone directory. He will know first hand and he has worked for the Elizabeth Telephone Company (Camtel)for over 30 years. We still had a party line in Mittie until about ’89 I think. call grandma and she can tell you. they still had one when we moved here. There were usually four households on the party line. Each household had its own ring. For example, our house was three rings. Since the ring with to all four households, you often had other folks listening in. If too many people stayed on the line, it was hard to hear. It wasn’t unusual for the called person to say, ‘get off the line.” First of all, you charge up your cell phone, then press the speed dial of all your friends and invite them to the party. After that all you have to do is wait for them to show up, oh yea, tell them not to forget the cake and presents. (In every group, there is a joker. This is from Dry Creek party line veteran and lifetime friend Don Brewer.)
Mon. May 17 The Graduation Story
“A Father’s Love” It’s graduation day at East Beauregard High. My beautiful niece Kendal Campbell graduates tonight. One of our reader’s favorite stories is “A Father’s Love” from Wind in the Pines (2004). It details a memorable graduation in 2004. It’s my most popular type of short story: it’s out-loud laughing funny but ends with a hot-tears happy-lump-in- your-throat ending. Enjoy! A Father’s Love It’s graduation night at our high school. My wife DeDe and I are sitting in the reserved seating section at the football stadium. Our son Clint is graduating tonight and it is a very special night. Most of the fifty plus graduates who’ll march across the stage have traveled throughout their school journey together. It’s hard to believe that thirteen years ago they were in Kindergarten and I was watching many of them play T-ball. I always feel sorry for kids who don’t get to attend a K-12 school. To start school with a group and finish twelfth grade with most of them creates a special bond among students. They know each other as well as their teachers. Due to this, they hold a special camaraderie that urban students can never quite understand. We’ve settled in and gotten comfortable in our chairs down on the track. I look around for our principal Mr. Cooley. Graduation night is one of the most stressful nights for a high school principal. As a former school administrator, you never know what a student, parent, or visitor may do on this night of celebration and success. I’ve seen or heard of it all – senior boys coming by, one by one, putting a pebble in the principal’s palm as he shakes their hand and presents their diploma. The principal must keep stopping and putting the pebbles down to perform the ceremonial duties of handing out the diplomas. So sitting here as an ex-principal, I can relax and enjoy the night. My only concern is that Clint is making a speech and I have no idea what he’ll say. But I’m confident our man will do just fine. It’s now about fifteen minutes before the ceremony begins. I look behind me to see the stands filling up. There is a murmur of anticipation throughout the crowd on this beautiful May evening. That’s when I first see him…. A man in a cowboy hat strides to the podium on stage. Removing his hat, he leans into the microphone and blows on it. Yes, it’s on… and he literally has the stage to himself, as well as the mike. Most people haven’t even noticed him. I look around for Mr. Cooley, but don’t see him anywhere near. For the thousandth time since I left the school ten years ago, I’m glad I’m no longer a principal. Then our man at the mike begins to sing. With no accompaniment he sings, “Son, let me tell you about a father’s love, A secret that my father said was between just us. You see, Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, It’s a love without end, Amen. It’s a love without end, Amen.” I faintly recognize the tune and remember it – It’s the chorus of a George Strait song entitled, “A Father’s Love.” Then about the same time, I recognize the singer on stage – it’s Greg Fontenot. Greg’s son David is graduating tonight. David is a favorite of all of us – a wonderful smile and winning personality, an excellent athlete as well as a good student.
