One Buggy Love

This Week's Song - In Spite of Ourselves - by John Prine (accompanied by Iris DeMent) This one is a real classic. Hilarious. I'm sure there is some "One Buggy Love" in there. 

"She's my baby, I'm her honey,

I'm never gonna let her go"

One Buggy Love

The fellowship room at Concord Presbyterian Church filled up on Valentine’s Day for the annual Sweetheart Banquet. Mike Berger made a special Chicken Cordon Bleu with rice and roasted vegetables. There was a Strawberry Pretzel Salad. I’ve never been to a church social or potluck dinner where  Strawberry Pretzel Salad wasn't on the menu. Perhaps its origins can be found in Leviticus. The director of the night’s festivities called in November to invite me to serve as the featured speaker at the banquet. “You’ll follow Peggy, who will play a few pieces on the piano,” Jim Shawn told me. “And, of course, we’d love for you to bring your sweetheart.” 

Given the occasion, I knew what Jim was asking me to do. Jim’s daughter, Amy, was my first wife’s best friend growing up. Amy and the future Cheryl Pryor grew up in the same Farragut neighborhood where skinned knees were healed with a mother’s kiss and the sounds of children at play danced on the branches of the Pines and Sugar Maples. Mrs. Shawn was my 7th Grade teacher. Jim relayed that I was her favorite student in a long and distinguished teaching career. No surprise there. She did say “favorite,” not “best.” The Shawn’s loved Cheryl, and in the Fall of 1984 I began to join in the sentiment. What Jim Shawn was asking me to do on this day of Love, was talk about Cheryl and Nancy, the only two sweethearts I’ve ever had, and the compelling story that goes along with us. He expected me to inspire, to cause laughter and tears. I suppose I shouldn’t complain. When you are crazy enough to write about your life, you should expect to be asked to talk about it. I accepted. When my kids asked what Nancy and I were doing for Valentine’s Day, I told them I was giving a speech about LOVE. “Why?” asked the always inquisitive Cori. “Don’t ask silly questions, girl. I am an expert in the field.” Eyes rolled.

There has been one constant in my life for 48 years - Love. My story is not a secret - Boy meets beautiful girl, they fall in Love. High school romance turns to Marriage. They have babies and start to build a life. Girl dies unexpectedly, boy is broken. Sadness ensues. Then, lightning strikes - boy meets another girl, and an unexpected and great Love follows. If you want the details, read my blog (One Last Prayer, parts 1 and 2) or stop me on the street. The first Epistle to the Corinthians proclaims “Love is not proud,” but give me a minute or two and I’m sure to disappoint the Apostle Paul. I love telling my story. It celebrates Nancy, the most magnificent and remarkable woman on the planet, and it keeps Cheryl present and warmly remembered as the special woman, wife, mother, daughter and friend that she was. Not to mention, I get to brag a bit about the two amazing women who had plenty to choose from but chose ME. So I sat down to craft an inspirational oral history of my life and the great Loves that have been visited upon me when the phone rang - It was my Dad. I set my pen aside and listened as he told me about taking my mother to the grocery store. During the recounting of that momentous event, I was reminded of the origins of my understanding of Love and the fact they came along way before Cheryl and Nancy graced my life.

"She's My Baby, I'm Her Honey"
One Buggy Love

“You take half the list, and I’ll meet you at the register,” my mother told him. Her knee needs to be replaced. She’s already had one of them replaced and avoids the subject. My father struggles with recurrent Atrial Fibrillation and some arthritis in his knees. “Nope,” he said with enthusiasm, “we’ll take one buggy and do the whole thing together.” The two of them meandered through the grocery store, aisle-to-aisle, each grasping the cart and each other at times for support as they carefully selected the ingredients for a meal they would prepare together. During the trip to the store and while making dinner they talked about their children, grandchildren, and their two golden retrievers (Maggie and Molly). As Dad shared with me the major event in his day, the subject matter took me back 16 years when I first heard him speak of this kind of Love. 

I sat across from him in his office in the Winter of 2001, just weeks after Cheryl died. We were trying to understand something incapable of understanding. The focus had been on the children, but my father took this opportunity to tell me how he mourned for me. He spoke of his sadness that I hadn’t been able to experience the ultimate stage of love. He described it as the Love that is formed in the fires along life’s road, that takes a place above and beyond the puppy love of adolescence, is far superior to the life-altering passion of youth, and more transcendent than the work-horse love of raising children and seeing them to adulthood. I made the connection between the two conversations as I listened to him, smiling through the phone, talk about his walk with my mom through Publix. After 54 years together, they are in love. It is a love forged by time, perseverance, and patience. Those who have acquired it celebrate with linked hands and walks on the beach. It is found in the aisles of grocery stores and in the silence of reading the Sunday paper next to one another. It was also noticed within the confines of the banquet hall at Concord Presbyterian Church on Valentine’s Day while Peggy’s hands dance on the pearly keys as I watched these older couples smile at one another. It is a peaceful and quiet Love, confident in its origins and strengthened by the battles it has won. In its purest form, it is incurable and contagious. As I looked around the room from the podium and spoke of it, I saw it. I was in its midst.

While a story about my path must include my beloved Cheryl and Nancy - the heartbreak of loss, the solitude of grief, the rising of hope of new romance and, without doubt, the dress Nancy wore to a Latin dance class in the spring of 2001- Man, that dress was something else - it is Bob and Norma Pryor who deserve the ultimate salute. Simply put, they have shown the way. My siblings and I were raised in a home where love and dance and laughter resided, where we bore witness to the power of love and the light it could shine into the world. I told the people at the Sweetheart Banquet as they moved on to their coffee and chocolate lava cake.

After finishing the talk and another helping of Strawberry Pretzel Salad, Nancy and I said our goodbyes and headed home, stopping by Kroger for a bag of dog food, a gallon of milk and some ice cream for Cori. We used one buggy. 

The Push

This Week's Song - Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle - Ya, I know. I hate this tear jerker too, but Shelby and I loved it when she was a pup. Never thought I'd end up with two girls, but boy am I lucky. 

In the dawn of a new life, after a bold move by Nancy and I to marry and merge families after less than six months of dating, we loaded up our Ford Expedition with our four young children and new puppy and headed off to the panhandle of Florida. This would be our first vacation as a family. My children (Shelby and Andy) and her children (Cliff and Cori) had become acquainted during our whirlwind courtship, stood with us at our wedding, and lived with us during our brief time prior to the trip. We were slowly becoming a family. Kids don't get to choose, but I was going to do my best to make this an extraordinary family.

The Push

The SUV was packed tight. Bicycles hung on the rack attached to the back of the car as we made our way down highway 331 in lower Alabama. The drama and psychology of traveling with four newly-acquainted kids at the ages of 9, 6, 6, and 3 was a daunting task, and a magnificent and frustrating experience. Nothing amplifies the flaws in familial relationships better than an eight-hour drive with a beagle pup crammed in one vehicle, followed by 5 days in a condo. We knew the trip would be important. It would help forge our relationships for years to come. Nancy and I would exchange plenty of "What-have-we-gotten-ourselves-into" looks that week. Each child’s struggle to establish identity within a new order was apparent and something Nancy and I had discussed before deciding to merge our families. We even visited a child psychologist to help prepare. It was like preparing for a tsunami. Things had gone smoothly, all things considered, but the relationships between the kids were evolving. 

Shelby and Cori are the same age, but our daughters could not be more different. They had actually been classmates in preschool before Shelby’s mother tragically died and Cori’s parents divorced. For a child, divorce is a different kind of death. It requires its own adjustment and form of survival. Death and divorce must both be grieved and they must be accounted for in each step of forging on. Johnny Cash would say that Nancy and I had been married in a “fever,” but we were adults (at least we thought so) and we knew that throwing four young children in a stew and mixing them in could turn out delicious or utterly unpalatable. 

Tybee 2016

After a day in Destin, the seven of us went on a walk to a place called Jolee Island where there are swing sets, hiking trails and plenty of places for all to run about and get exhausted. When kids are that age getting everyone exhausted is an integral part of the plan.  As the kids were climbing on the playground equipment, Shelby posed the idea of a foot race with Cori. Shelby was the child who planned what everyone was going to do. Even at 6, she always had an agenda and was pleased to offer up the schedule for the afternoon. She also looked for advantage in every situation, like the time she would leave Cori a letter in her stocking, supposedly penned by Santa Claus. In the blocked and broken script of a child, the letter read “I saw what you did to yur sister. If you do it agin you’ll never get prezents.” This portended a level of brilliance I’m still grasping. Cori was sensitive, athletic and competitive. If you’ve ever had a sensitive and competitive child you know that wins come with a great sense of inner well-being and losses…well, they are simply unacceptable and a catastrophic event bordering on the end of the world. Cori was fast, Shelby was calculating. Shelby negotiated a head start which Cori graciously, if suspiciously, conceded. Nancy and I eyed each other with absolute dread.

Wedding day 2002

The race meandered through palm trees and tropical brush along a sandy path. We could hear their footsteps and Shelby’s giggles as Cori closed the gap. We caught glimpses of them in the trees under a warm Florida sun. If God has a favorite song it is the sound of six-year-old girls laughing and running. They emerged in a clearing closing on the designated finish line. I held up the camera taking photos furiously as they approached. They both held looks of determination as they gained on the end of the race, fighting as if their lives depended on the outcome. As they crossed and Cori claimed victory, Shelby raised protestations of cheating, “She pushed me at the end!!” she claimed. “I did not!” Cori retorted. I counseled the girls on the values of competition and their bond - the fact they had each other to compete with and talk to the rest of their lives. I told them the value of having siblings. They always cause you to try harder, to be your better self.  I thought it an unbelievable opportunity to impart this lifelong wisdom to two beautiful and loving girls and counsel Shelby on making excuses, especially in light of the fact she received a head start. "I did not push her!" Cori continued to insist.

Shelby is now 20. Cori is 21. Both are Juniors in college. When I toasted them at their graduation, I said, "To the father of daughters, they are always 10 years old in pigtails," but I should've said they are always 6 racing through palm trees. Each is an honors student at their respective college. Shelby is my spiritual baby, following her heart and her savior wherever they lead her. Cori was on four-state-championship-finalist soccer teams and is a social butterfly. They could not be more different, but they love each other as…sisters. They competed with grades in middle and high school. Despite their differences and the lack of shared blood, they have made each other better. They have been the best of friends and watch out for each other. They keep up with how the other is doing in school and in other aspects of life. As I write, they could not be farther from me unless they were on the moon. One is in Idaho, the other is in Australia for a semester. As far away from each other and me as they are, they are so close to each other. Their relationship is a great source of pride and one that will survive my existence on this planet. This is a meaningful consolation given my selfish and broken heart.

I sat down later that evening after the big race and looked at my photos from the day. The photo above is legend in our family. It is blown up and has had a prominent place in every home we’ve owned over the years. In it you can find the joy, the determination, and the competitiveness that defines my girls. In it you can find the very essence of my happiness. It never fails to make me smile...or cry. It is simply called, “The Push.”