A Christmas in Fulton

By my dad, Jody Daniels

Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year. Growing up, I spent every Christmas vacation but one in Fulton, although I did come to Fulton the day after for the remainder of my release from Mobile. This was my fourth grade year, & I remember getting a gold bicycle with a leopard skin banana seat & high handlebars.

Fulton for the holidays was always so much fun because I was with my grandparents, who were the greatest, and my aunts, uncles, & cousins. My grandparents loved their children and grandchildren & loved our visits. My grandfather, Joe Hudson, was a fun guy to be around. He was a jokester to some degree. He loved pulling our legs, & was always up to something.

When I was a young boy of hunting age, my grandfather, who we called “Pop,” wanted to take my cousins, Bob, Stan, & me, squirrel hunting. Pop would drive to Chance, AL, & borrow a squirrel dog from an old black man named Mr. Duke Dotson. This dog loved to hunt as much as we did. After several hunts with the dog, Pop decided that we needed our own squirrel dog. During this time there was a popular outdoor magazine named “Sports Afield.” Pop looked through the magazine & came across an advertisement that showed some trained squirrel dogs for sale for around $150. Pop must have thought his grandsons were worth buying a dog, so that’s what he did. He contacted the seller, who to my recollection was located in Arkansas, to make the purchase. The seller told my grandfather that the dog would arrive at the airport in Mobile, AL at noon on Christmas Eve of that year (‘67 or ‘68).

My Uncle Griffin, who worked at Pensacola NAS, was unable to come to Fulton earlier in the week with all of us, agreed to stop by the airport to pick up the dog on his way to Fulton that Christmas Eve. He waited from noon, the dog’s scheduled arrival, until 6:00 pm, but the dog’s plane never landed. After his six hour wait, Griffin decided to make his way to Fulton. When his car pulled up at POP’s house, Stan & I ran out to see what the dog looked like, but there was no dog. Griffin told Pop about the wait & no dog, & my grandfather was sick over it.

Pop went straight to the telephone, called the seller at the kennel, and inquired as to where the dog was. The kennel owner told my grandfather “I shipped the dog to Montgomery, & it’ll be there in the morning.” Early Christmas morning, Pop & my Uncle Griffin drove to Montgomery & picked up the dog, who was actually there. After half day of traveling, they made it back to Fulton with the dog & in time for lunch with the family. My cousin Stan & I were so excited over the arrival of the dog, a handsome male Feist whose name was Mack.

After spending as much time as possible, familiarizing Mack with each of us and his new home, we prepared for the initial hunt the next day. This hunt was to take place near Clarkesville, just west of Zimco, on my grandfather’s cousin Louie Wilson’s land. The time had finally arrived for Mack to show his stuff, so Pop, Bobby, Stan, & I, along with Mr. Dotson’s dog, headed to the woods. It wasn’t long before Mr. Dotson’s dog treed. We all moved in and around the tree. When the first shot was fired, Mack took off, and not in search of another squirrel. He was hightailing it out of Dodge. Quickly, we realized that Mack was gun-shy and had never had any training. He was history, so we thought. The hunt continued for a while without Mack with my grandfather feeling aggravated and very disappointed. We returned to the truck rather quietly, knowing how Pop had to feel about his recent purchase being a failure.

As we loaded up and were leaving the woods, a car approached us and the driver asked if we had lost a dog. We were very happy to have Mack back, but needless to say, for the rest of his life, Mack was just a friendly yard dog. We did continue to hunt for several years until my grandfather developed hardening of the arteries, similar to Alzheimer’s,  and he declined mentally.

I am so thankful for all of the good times Pop provided for us, the time spent with my cousins and for being able to live and raise my children in the big city of Fulton, Alabama.

49 Years of Hard Work

After 49 years, today is the last day my dad goes to work. It's hard for me to think of his not being at Scotch or at work, but I am very proud of and thankful for him and all that he and my mother have done for our family. Daddy, Joe Michael "Jody" Daniels,  is a 1974 graduate of the first class to have gone through St. Paul's Episcopal School in Mobile. As soon as graduation was over, he left Mobile to begin his adult life in Fulton. He started work at Scotch the next day, I believe, and has been there ever since.

Daddy in front of the scale house. He took inventory of the log yard on Sundays, and he would take us and our bikes. We had so much fun riding our bikes on the log yard as he worked. 

 My great-grandparents, Joe "Pop" and Bonnie "Gaugy" Hudson, lived in Fulton. Pop "worked in the woods" for Scotch, and Gaugy worked in Fulton for Dr. Jack Dozier. Their youngest daughter, Joan "Nanny," is my grandmother, and she was a single parent to my dad. They lived in Fairhope and Mobile, but my dad made it his goal every week as long as he can remember to get to Fulton and spend the weekend with his grandparents, cousins, and friends. My Aunt Maxine Fendley told me that he would say "It's not long 'til Friday, but it's a long time 'til Sunday." Daddy loved Fulton and still does. Even after moving to Fulton for good after getting his diploma, Daddy said that he would sometimes dream on Sunday nights that he was on his way back to Mobile to live his weekday life there. He would awaken in a panic, only to be relieved that he was in Fulton for good.

I love Fulton, too, for the same and a few other reasons. My parents have lived in Fulton since before I was born. I have lived here my entire life, with the exception of the ten years I was in Mobile and Orlando. I love Fulton because it is my home, it's where my memories were made, and because of Scotch. The lumber company is now under different ownership, but it will always be Scotch Lumber Company to me. The plywood mill is still Scotch Plywood Company. Daddy worked in the sawmill until serveral years after I was out of college. Fulton comes alive about 5am during the week. There are lights, steam, log trucks, and workers changing shifts. I swear that Fulton and Highway 178 are busier early in the morning than Airport Boulevard. I love those sights, sounds, and the smell of pine. When my brother and I were too young to tell time, we would be playing in Gaugy's yard or riding bikes in the neighborhood. The 11:30 whistle would blow, and we knew that Daddy would be home soon to eat the feast of a lunch Gaugy cooked for us every day. Before that, we lived in the house behind the log yard where Mrs. Sharon Hicks lives now. Daddy would tell me that he was going to put me in his pocket and take me to work with him. I definitely would have taken him up on that! When I lived in Mobile as a young adult, we had a deck added to the house. I was asked how I liked it. I verbalized my first thought- "it smells like Fulton!" 

 For years, my brother and I would look for Daddy's truck parked at the far north end in front of Scotch's office. At first, it was a blue Ford, then a red Chevy, off of which he drove many mufflers, lol. We would look for his blue hard hat under the mill when our mom drove us to the store. After school, we would sit on the front porch and wait on his truck to come across the bridge. I have no idea how, but he always had the time and energy to play with us, then do what seemed like hours of homework. If it was basketball season, we shot hoops and did endless drills. During softball season, he hit hundreds of grounders to me on third, and I threw them to Jared on first. He would pitch to me, too. Poor Jared was always on defense, covering the whole field. We also had backyard football and baseball games with the neighborhood kids. We had go carts and four wheelers, too. We always had fun. He even convinced us that it was fun to put polyethylene under the house. I remember doing that when I was probably in third grade and pretending I was a tunnel rat in Vietnam. 

 Daddy taught us the value of hard work and how to do it. My mom had a hand in all of this, too, but this is his retirement. He taught us how to think, troubleshoot, make wise decisions, and handle pressure. He taught us how to be good employees, and to treat the lowest man on the totem pole with the same respect as the owner. Even in my 40s, I often find myself thinking "I'm so glad he taught us that" as situations arise. I've blogged before about how he taught us to work, save, tithe, etc. That cancelled the chance of our having a sense of entitlement, and I am so thankful. He taught us to be courteous of others, and to be dependable.  

My dad has worked 49 years in hot, dusty wood products mills to provide for his family. We've not been spoiled, but we've always had more than we needed. We've been thankful, and still are. My parents sacrificed for many years to provide us with a good life and education. He still goes to my house every day at lunch and after work to see about my animals before I get home. We may have to make new Friday breakfast plans, though, since we have had Friday breakfast together since I moved back in 2009. If Jared were here, I know that he would agree with me when I say that we are so thankful for our hardworking, loving parents. So, if you see Daddy cruising in the Shelby, fishing, playing with the dogs and cats, riding his new bicycle, listening to 60s music, serving his church family and community, or just being lazy, know that he earned it- whether through 49 years of hard work, or because my mom has had enough and got him out of her hair for a few hours!

Photos by Melanie Andress

RIP, David Crosby, & Long Live Rock & Roll!

I was saddened to read this morning that David Crosby of Crosby, Stills, & Nash, and The Byrds passed yesterday. He was 81, but it seems as though your heroes will live forever.

I (somewhat, lol) joke and say that God knew I would be too powerful if I could do math and dance. I say that because I have no rhythm or musical talent, but I love music. As far back as I can remember, my dad exposed us to the oldies. I firmly believe that the best music was made in the 1960s, although I like rock & pop music from the 50s-90s, and a lot of country music, mostly classic, 90s, and Red Dirt. My dad, though, is having no part of country music.

He had more 8-tracks than one can imagine, and many cassette tapes, too. I wore out his oldies cassettes when I was a kid. The first that comes to mind, of course, is The Beatles. Daddy is a huge Beatles fan, and we have seen their tribute band, The Fab Four, perform many times. Some of the bands I remember especially enjoying as a child are The Beach Boys, The Four Seasons, CCR, BTO, Grand Funk, and many more of “The ___(insert random noun)___ bands from the 60s. He taught us the importance of that music, its importance in history, the talent of the musicians, the members of the bands, etc. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. I remember watching Tour of Duty and hearing The Rolling Stones sing Paint it Black in the theme song. He taught us about the 60s music during Vietnam and Woodstock. I am thankful for that knowledge and appreciation. I was able to use my position as a history teacher to pass that on to my students. When I read that David Crosby died, I thought back to the first time I remembering hearing him. My parents took us to “the mountains” in Gatlinburg, TN. It was the summer after my 3rd or 4th grade year. We were driving down the mountain and Southern Cross was on. I remember Daddy telling us about it being a constellation, pointing out the beautiful harmonies, and about the members of the band. We also listened to Wasted on the Way. Southern Cross and Suite Judy Blue Eyes are my favorites of theirs. I also love that many of my favorites were at Woodstock.

On that same trip to the mountains, my brother, Jared, was a little guy. He was 3.5 years younger than I was. We were at a venue watching a motorcycle do tricks in this big ball thing (my 3rd grade memory, right?). The venue was playing oldies over the loud speaker. Help Me Rhonda by The Beach Boys came on, and Jared sang every word loudly. The people around us were marveling at such a little fella knowing the words to that old song. I think it was Clint Black who sang something along the lines of “It’s funny how a melody can bring back a memory.” Truer words have never been spoken. Just like when my dad said he remembers exactly where he was and how he felt when he first heard CCR do Proud Mary, I remember these songs and certain memories, even more so after Jared’s death. Speaking of The Byrds, Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 was the first passage read at Jared’s funeral. That is also the main line in Turn Turn Turn by The Byrds. Sometimes I can listen to it, and sometimes I can’t.

Although so many of those songs and musicians were great, I know it’s the memories and love for my dad and brother that make them so special to me. I will never hear Suspicious Minds, Daddy’s favorite Elvis song, and not think of him. I will never hear Help Me Rhonda and not think of Jared. I wish I could tell David Crosby, John Lennon, George Harrison, Elvis, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Chuck Berry, Ronnie Van Zant, Sam Cooke, Levi Stubbs, and so many others just what their music means to me. I think that’s what it was all about to them, and it’s what it’s all about to me, too. RIP David Crosby, but long live rock & roll!

My Very Special First Duck Hunt

I am not a hunter. I am not anti-hunting, assuming good sportsmanship is practiced and the animal is respected. I went as a kid with my dad and brother, but just because I wanted to be with them. If my memory serves me correctly, I have only dove, deer, and squirrel hunted. I have seen videos of duck hunters, but I had never done it. I’ve heard how addictive turkey hunting is, but I just haven’t had the desire to go. Nothing about being still, quiet, and cold have ever appealed to me, nor has killing an animal.

My brother was an avid outdoorsman. He has hunted most game around here, with the exception of hogs, as far as I know. I enjoy doing things that allow me to feel his presence or as if he is living through me. The river, particularly, the Alabama, where he spent so much time, is a place where I experience that feeling.

We are currently experiencing an “Arctic blast,” as the meteorologists call it. Saturday evening, my boyfriend, Randy, asked me to go on a duck hunt with him the next morning. He said he would be disappointed if I didn’t go. He is so good to me, so I never want to disappoint him, and I appreciate that he wanted me to go. I told him I didn’t want to be cold. He told me that I would be in the cab of a boat with a heater. He also told me that he was going to cook deer sausage. I thought he was joking about cooking. I agreed to go. We launched at the Peach Tree landing, where my brother launched countless times. I wore his faded camo duck jacket, took a thermos of “special” coffee, lol, and a book. We went to “a place” off the river, the hunters got situated, and we waited on the sunrise (30 minutes before sunrise, to be exact). It was a bit foggy, but as the sun rose over the Alabama, I immediately knew why my brother loved duck hunting. I’ve seen the sun rise over the river many times on fishing trips, but it was even more beautiful yesterday. I thought to myself “so this is why these guys get up so early and face the cold, and it is so worth it!” The hunters had decoys out, the trees were hanging over us, the fog was rising, and the sun was starting to shine. It was one of the best, most special times I have experienced, especially since my brother’s passing. We saw a lot of ducks and bagged three. Animals are beautiful to me, but my favorite duck is a male wood duck. One was killed, and the hunter gave him to me. I will have him mounted to commemorate my first duck hunt. I know I didn’t kill him, but I was there. It was so exciting seeing the ducks fly and the hunters raise their shotguns. Again, even though I wasn’t hunting, I felt like I was hunting for Jared. I know that he was smiling down even bigger.

I made sure not to be the annoying girlfriend/wife tagging along making noise, talking too much, asking stupid questions, and getting in the way. Randy broke out the Blackstone, and sure enough, grilled deer sausage right there in the boat. I drank my “rise and shine,” but never cracked the book. I didn’t want to miss the beauty of the experience. I am not a legalist who thinks one is going straight to Hell if they “aren’t at church every time the door is open,” but we missed Sunday School. With no disrespect to Sunday School, admiring God’s creation was way more church than one can experience in a building. I also thought, as I do often, about how thankful I am that I will see my brother again. I can’t wait to tell him about my first duck hunt. I can’t wait for him to meet Randy. On earth, they would have been the best of friends, and would have helped me keep the other straight, lol. Jared would be so happy that I am with someone who treats me so well and likes to do the same things he did. My garage attic is full of Jared’s decoys. We plan to take a few and go back. This spring, I hope to kill a turkey with Jared’s gun. It means a lot to me to do the things he did and with his equipment. I am very protective of it, though, as it cannot be replaced. I am thankful to have had such a brother, and I am also thankful to have such a boyfriend.

Be Punctual and Keep Your Word

Dependable is defined as trustworthy and reliable. I saw a quote that defined integrity as “doing what you say you’re going to do, because you said you would.” I agree with both definitions. Sadly, those traits are becoming endangered. 

 The scarcity of these traits in daily life is everywhere you turn, but have you hosted a party lately? Been invited to one? Given any thought to what it takes to host a party? These are topics worth visiting after my experiences lately. 

 In 2020, my parents hosted a birthday party for me. It was well planned and organized. They grilled lots of great food and bought a huge cake. We even had live entertainment. Over 60 people were invited. Fewer than 15 were present- that’s including my parents and me. Now, this was during the first year of the pandemic, but there were dozens of people who verbally told me or texted their intentions to attend. They were no-shows. Some even told me that they were coming, but then were not because other non-emergency things came up. More on that soon. 

 Opening weekend of college football season this year, I hosted another party. The same thing happened. People who went out of their way to tell me they were coming did not. And, unless it’s an emergency, telling the host just hours before is no good. They’ve already counted heads and bought the food, drinks, and other necessary items. Luckily, the guests who did show up brought other guests, so not much was wasted.

 And most recently, I hosted a watch party for the season premier of Yellowstone. I had previously learned the hard way that on Facebook, “going” means nothing. I do, however, count the “not goings.” I think people feel guilty about clicking that. If you do, don’t. That is what you are supposed to do if you know you can’t attend. You are doing the host a favor by letting them know so they won’t “count your head” in preparation. You owe no explanation, but there’s nothing wrong with giving one. You are not obligated, though. 

 On the other hand, if you say you are going to attend and you don’t (unless it’s an emergency), your word is no good. You are as good as your word. 20 people told me they were going to attend. I don’t mean by clicking “going” in the event. These people either told me in person or texted me. Please understand that I am very thankful for those who attended and for those who told me they couldn’t make it. 

 I think a lot of times, people feel guilty about not being able to attend. You shouldn’t. If you had a previous obligation, you should keep it. I also understand social anxiety. That’s a legitimate reason for which you owe no explanation. I used to not attend things because I just didn’t want to deal with the hassle of getting ready and being away from home. After having my parties of disappointment, though, I try to attend every function to which I am invited. Have you ever thought about being invited to an event? Someone thought enough of you to want to invite you to their home or venue, prepare or purchase food and drinks for you, to enjoy your company, and to include you. Being invited is a privilege. I didn’t see it that way until I was let down by so many people. Let me reiterate that the people who told me in ample time that they couldn’t attend are top notch. That’s what RSVP/No Regrets means. It lets the host know how to prepare. It prevents them from wasting money, as I have done 3 times now, but never will again.

 Also, let’s say that a friend invites you to McDonald’s for lunch on Monday. Later, friend #2 invites you to The Oyster House for lunch Monday. The second invite is more appetizing, but you have already obligated yourself to friend #1. You don’t cancel those plans. You keep them and tell friend #2 that you appreciate the offer, but you already have plans. Ask which other day you can do lunch. This happened to several non-guests at my birthday party. They told me they were coming, then didn’t come because other things came up. They should have told the second invites “no” because they had previous obligations. In doing so, they would not have been rude to anyone. It is not rude to say you have previous obligations. There is nothing wrong with that.

 Since we’re on the subject-ish, let’s talk about being on time. There are two-ish acceptable reasons for being late: sickness/family emergency and car trouble. Otherwise, being late is rude. People can be on time for work and things that are important to them, but are often late to other things with less accountability. If it’s important to you, you will be on time. When you are late, someone is having to wait on you. They have stopped what they were doing or gotten up early to be on time. If you drag around and cause them to wait on you, you are being rude to them and disrespectful of their time. You disrupt events by showing up late. You are saying that your time and tasks are more valuable than theirs when you are late and cause people to wait on you. However, the way to break chronically late people is to leave them! LEAVE THEM! Start without them. DRIVE AWAY in your own vehicle. Don’t feel bad. They should feel bad about not being on time. Chronic lateness is a sign of laziness, incompetence, disorganization, and selfishness. I choose to not associate with chronically late people. It puts me in a bad mood just anticipating their lateness, even though I am going to leave on time with or without them. They will either up their game if you are important to them, or they will get tired of being left and find likeminded incompetent friends. 

 I’m sure some will read this and say I’m overthinking it, but people’s actions show you what’s important to them. If someone continuously tells you they are attending your party and they continuously don’t show, they do not care about you, so stop inviting them. Spend your time and energy on those who show up for your or let you know they can’t attend. If someone is always late, they are taking advantage of you and your time. They don’t care that you set your alarm and got up early or stopped what you were doing so you could be courteous and on time. As much as it hurt my feelings, it was an eye-opening lesson that culled out those who don’t care about me enough to keep their word. My word means so much to me that I am going to do what I said I was going to do because I am that kind of person, and I want people to know that I can be counted on. Those are the kinds of people I want in my life. I don’t have positive things to say about those who have proven that their word means nothing and that they are not dependable. That’s okay, because they lost someone dependable and loyal. I lost someone who never really cared about me and that I would never be able to depend on anyway. Now I know where to focus my energy and love. 

 Does that mean I hate the slackers? No. But it does mean I know where I stand with them and that I will never invite or depend on them again. I write this out of hurt, frustration, and disappointment, but also because I don’t think some people are aware of how rude it is to not keep your word and to be late. I don’t think they are aware that they are showing people what they mean (or don’t mean) to them.

 I’ve been told I was “militant,” which I took as a compliment. That means I’m dependable, organized, structured, punctual, and stand behind my word. I prefer “militant,” direct people. They are real. They are not perfect, but they try to be. They are not unorganized slackers. They are courteous. They are separated from the rest. These are going to be the people who have or will achieve things through hard work, discipline, and by doing the things others are unwilling to do. That’s the kind of person I am and want to continue to be.

Divorced at 40- A Reflection of the First Year of My New Chapter

Disclaimer: This is only meant to share my experience and NOT in any way speak ill of anyone, except maybe gossips and sin-rankers.

 I hope to let people know that they are not alone, as well as share some things that helped me and some experiences that taught me. One year ago this week, my husband of 16 years and I said our goodbyes (to our marriage), on good terms. As I look back, I see that I have learned and grown a great deal in this fast year. 

Prior to making the decision, I made sure I was emotionally ready. I also made sure I was able to support myself. My ex makes significantly more money than I do, so I knew that my lifestyle would change. Life is all about tradeoffs, and I was willing to accept the changes. I knew that I may no longer be able to afford to get my nails done, eat sushi as regularly as I would like, etc. Those were sacrifices I was willing to make for my happiness.

 My dad has always told us that God has a plan for our lives. The Bible also says that in Jeremiah 29:11-13. It’s really neat how things work out. As I was nearing my decision, I picked up a great side-hustle to help meet my financial needs. I was asked to join a college football podcast that took my mind off things and kept me busy during that time. I started a new fitness and nutrition program that gave me a goal on which to focus. 

 We remained peaceful throughout the whole process (and still do). He bought a house in his hometown, and the way the closing and moving plans worked out, he had to move on 10/20, which is the anniversary of my brother’s death. The 22nd is my birthday, and the 23rd is his. I made it through his move okay. The next day was a little weird coming home to an empty house, but my dad turned the lights on for me. As soon as I drove up and saw that, I knew that everything was going to be okay. The next day was my 40th birthday. My work family decorated my office, my godson and his family came to visit, and I went to visit one of my best friends out of town for the weekend. It was a good birthday, especially considering the circumstances.

 The next several months were strange. I am glad they are over. They can best be described as an emotional roller coaster. My mentor son and I made several trips to Mobile and across the (Mobile) Bay to get things to “make the house my own,” so to speak. The holidays were fine, as I enjoyed the time with my parents. Christmas was a bit sad, though. Although I was with my parents, I felt alone at times. 

 Around the same time, a classmate of my brother’s was also going through a divorce. She and I quickly bonded, and still enjoy talking and doing things together. She and the rest of my support system have been crucial to me through this. I have friends I talk to often and do things with, one whose office I visited and cried regularly. He handed me tissues and told me if I had visible snot. Others sent non-prying messages of support. 

 I wasn’t in search of or desperate for a man, but I tried my hand at dating. Total nightmare, do NOT recommend. People, for the most part, do not do what they say they are going to do. They may show up, they may not. They probably aren’t going to be on time. TRAINWRECK! After a few months of that foolishness, I declared Cat Lady status. Also during that time, I started spending time with friends and doing things I had always wanted to do. I will forever treasure these times and friends. I went to concerts, planted gardens, redecorated my home and yard, etc. Just after declaring cat lady status, I took a girl trip to see my non-biological sister in Louisiana. We had a fantastic time. I came back totally pumped and solid and okay with being done with dating. It wasn’t a decision I made, but a place where I arrived mentally. It’s just like arriving at the place where I no longer care what people think. Those things are beyond freeing. 

 Along the lines of no longer caring what people think, I did not post anything about my new chapter until months later. I only told the most trustworthy people who are closest to me. Before making my decision, I reached out to a friend for advice and to hear her experience. I still run into people who say they didn’t know I was divorced. I wasn’t trying to hide anything, but it’s no one’s business. I also didn’t want to be the topic of conversation in the small towns where I live and conduct business. People love to hear bad things about people and add their twists to it. I was not going to add fuel to their fires of pettiness and weakness. 

 I am a Christian and was raised in a Christian home. I am beyond imperfect. I don’t mean any of this irreverently, but it drives me nuts when judgmental people rank sins. Many people, legalists in particular, think that some sins are worse than others. Let’s say you have x vice. They talk about you and judge you for your vice, but their gossip and judgment are just as sinful as your vice. Whatever your case may be- don’t worry about these people. While you are making moves to improve yourself, they are talking about you. They are behind you for a reason and will always be. Your mindset is not the same. To make moves, it takes courage. It also takes turning a blind eye to the foolishness. The ones who count know better. It took years of having faced my biggest fear, life experience, and therapy to realize this. I am a different person now. WORTH IT! When I was a teacher and more involved in traditional church, I was under a microscope. My kids know me and my love for and dedication to them. Not that I’m out going wild, but not having to worry about who sees me doing what is also life-changing. A lot of it has to do with legalist beliefs as well. In terms of divorce- I don’t believe that God wants us to live miserably or in an abusive situation. All abuse is not physical. Life after divorce goes on. There are worse things in life. Don’t worry about what people say and think. To wrap it up, if you are considering making any life change- divorce, career, etc., get your ducks in a row. Talk to trustworthy people who have been there. Have a backup plan. Accept the tradeoffs. Know that everything happens for a reason. Have a good support system. I am these things and don’t just say them without backing them up. I am happy to talk to anyone who needs it. As I learned very quickly after my brother’s tragic death- Life is too short. Live your life. Don’t worry about petty things or petty people. 

 PS- This is for another blog post, but a week after declaring cat lady status, my other divorced friend invited me to dinner the next day. On a Thursday evening, we went out of the county for dinner and to hear a band. I was approached by one of the kindest, most respectful men I’ve ever met. We went on our first date the following weekend, and the rest is history. To be continued…

Dads, Teach Your Daughters to be Self-Sufficient!

 

Yesterday as I was working in my yard, I thought of a lot of things quickly. It started with my yard and how much I enjoy it and working in it, and that led me to think of how my dad taught me how to do it, and that his birthday and Father’s Day are next week. Those thoughts continued to develop, as this is a year of firsts for me. Dads of daughters, listen up!

My parents are still married to each other, and I love them both, but I have always been a Daddy’s Girl. We have many of the same interests, and I have always enjoyed his company and doing things with him. As long as I can remember, my brother and I were with him doing whatever it was he was doing. It usually involved work! He made it fun, and he always made it a lesson. My brother’s lifelong best friend came by for a visit last week, and he was complimenting my brother and dad on how much my dad taught my brother. My brother died at 29, but he had carpentry, plumbing, electrical, and mechanical skills, just to name a few. He learned those skills by watching my dad and being taught by him. I was usually around, too, but I was holding the light or the “dumb end” of the tape, lol.

We didn’t always work, though. Once we finished the necessary tasks, we usually practiced whatever sport was in season, fished, or target practiced. We were always learning and doing something fun. If we needed extra money as kids, my dad would help us find car washing or grass cutting jobs in the neighborhood. He would help us and show us how to do things the right way.

I have always treasured all of that time spent with us, but even more so this year, in my year of firsts. I got married in college, and 16 years later, peacefully divorced last Fall. As I was working in the yard yesterday, I reflected on how thankful I am that my dad taught me, especially as a female, how to be self sufficient. I aired the tires in the mower, fueled the two cycle engines of the weed-eater, edger, and blower, and even changed the edger blade. A few weeks ago, I got the lawn mower stuck in a low-lying area and had to pull it out by myself with a truck. None of those are complicated tasks, but I have female friends (and probably some males) who are unable to do those things because they haven’t been taught. I am not an expert by any stretch, but being able to complete many tasks myself saves me money that I would otherwise not be able to afford to hire someone else to do. I may not be able to make all of the necessary repairs, but he taught me how to troubleshoot, read the gauges on my dash, etc. Since I’ve been by myself, he has shown me how to the replace the “thing” in the back of the toilet that makes it run, how to use a socket set, and lots of other things.

It's not just the things he’s shown me how to do, either. He and my mom do a lot to help me. I live next door to them, and I have multiple pets. I have about an hour long commute one way. They take my dogs out and feed them every day. I am not scared to stay by myself, but I remember the first night my ex-husband moved out. It still got dark early, so when I got home from work that evening, my dad had turned my porch light on for me. It was a tiny thing he did, but it let me know that everything was going to be alright. I have been stood up for more dates than not, but my dad always comes in clutch. I know that I can always depend on him.

Dads, teach your girls to be self-sufficient so they don’t have to depend on a man. Sure, I still depend on my dad and other men in my life, but I am thankful for the things I can do by myself. Teach them how to use basic tools, drive a stick shift, check and air their tires, wash their cars, cut their grass, shoot and handle guns, etc. With independence comes confidence. That confidence has been a huge help to me these last few months.

Most importantly, the best way to teach them is by giving them your time. In addition to being very loving, my dad (and mom) spent as much time with us as they could. That is priceless to me.