I was happy our 8-year-old grandson was going to Cub Scout camp. I wasn’t too happy I was the designated adult to accompany him, especially when the temperatures were predicted to be 110 degrees on the last day.

But off we went for an adventure, water bottles, sunscreen, bug spray and lunches in hand. I didn’t realize I’d also be assigned a group of eight boys to keep track of that week.

I’ve always admired elementary school teachers. I knew there was no way I could tie shoes, dry tears or teach a child how to add. I’m too sarcastic, too math-challenged and a bit too impatient for little ones.

So when I saw I was in charge of eight kids, I was petrified. But I was with another adult each day. We successfully herded 14 second graders from station to station for five days, even though some days it seemed we were herding cats.

The camp letter advised that each child should bring a big bucket, the kind found at Home Depot or Lowe’s, to sit on and for them to store their belongings.

Most of the buckets were as big as the kids, but they bravely carried or dragged them along all day long. At least once a day, one of the boys left his bucket at the previous station, and he and a buddy had to go back and get it.

The activities were not only fun but they allowed us to see the personalities of the boys. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a kid in five days.

We had a wanderer, lost in thought most of the time. There was a complainer, one who smiled no matter what happened and one who cried on and off. There was a bully, and we showed him zero tolerance.

We had a sharp-shooter in the bunch who didn’t miss the middle of the target at the BB range. Another surprised us with his map-reading skills.

Lunch was always fun – they ate everything their parents packed, including the carrot sticks. The only thing left at the end of the lunch break was the crusts from the bread.

Little by little, we got to know each and every boy. The one who complained about others looking at him? We did some coaching, and by the end of the week, he was telling the others “Stop it. I don’t want you to do that.”

The small one who cried that first day? Turned out he had swimmer’s ear. We talked to his mom at the end of the day and she assured us he was getting drops every morning and night.

By the second day, he was feeling much better. For the rest of the camp, he was my best friend. He was also one of the smartest kids in the group, proving size doesn’t matter.

We found out the bully had an older brother who picked on him. There were lots of talks about treating others how you want to be treated and lots of time outs.

He improved a little bit each day. By the end of the week, the others accepted him, and he wasn’t such a bully.

On the last day, the kids were wild, and we let them play tag with each other, get sopping wet under the hoses and keep 10 balloons from hitting the ground, all the while climbing over and under tables.

Watching my grandson make friends and happily go from activity to activity are memories I’ll treasure. He fit right in with the boys, never complained, willingly participated and volunteered at every station.

Every day, I was hot, stinky and sweaty.

It was one of the happiest weeks of my life.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Sunday is Father’s Day, a time to honor those who serve as dads, fathers, grandfathers, godfathers, papas and more. Dictionaries are filled with the definition of father. But the title means so much more.

Books were once the protype for describing a good father. Think Atticus Finch in “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Atticus was calm, fair and loving to his two children.

Novels also showed us negative father Afigures. Consider Don and Michael Corleone in “The Godfather.” Criminals who lied in church, to their families and to the law.

Television also showed viewers what writers considered the best kind of father.

Many of us remember Andy Taylor from “The Andy Griffith Show” when we think about dads. Andy’s home-spun advice about raising children still rings true.

Ben Cartwright from “Bonanza” was tough but fair to his sons. John Amos in “Good Times” showed America a strong African American father who worked hard for his family.

So did Sherman Hemsley in “Good Times.” He was a self-made millionaire who was tough and loved his family.

Somewhere in the 1990s, television fathers went from wise patriarchs to buffoons. Tim Allen on “Tool Time” started out as a fun-loving dad who had most of the answers. At the end of the show’s run, Tim was a fool who never did anything right.

Same fate befell Ray Romano on “Everybody Loves Raymond.” He and his wife started out as overwhelmed parents of three children with overbearing in-laws.

Over the years, Debra turned into a shrew and Ray became the punchline to every joke. What a shame because both Allen and Romano resembled the everyday dad – one who made mistakes but who always loved his family.

“Ted Lasso,” a popular show that ended its third season, shows a variety of fathers.

Ted is a dad who misses his son so much he has panic attacks. He took a job coaching soccer in England because his wife wanted some space or a divorce. He called his son every day and ached when his son wasn’t with him.

One of the athletes, Jamie Tartt, has a despicable father. He’s an alcoholic who beats up Jamie. But this father checks himself into a facility to get sober, and we see that even the most wretched of fathers are capable of salvation.

Player Roy Kent stands in as a substitute father for his niece, Phoebe, and viewers see someone who stepped in to fill the role of dad for a family member. Roy adores Phoebe, and she adores him. Another form of realistic fatherhood.

There’s Sam Obisanya who has an incredibly loving relationship with both his mother and his father, but particularly with his father. Their scenes are filled with warmth and love, so wonderful for writers to finally acknowledge that good parenting knows no race or cultural boundaries.

Quite a few cable watchers were glued to “Succession.” I watched it but not with any pleasure. The father on this show, Logan Roy, is a despicable, cruel man to all his children. This show is considered top-notch television. I don’t know who’s running that poll but count me out.

Honestly, we really don’t need television or writers to show us good fathers. They’re all around us.

They’re in the grocery store with their children, at the playground and ball parks.

They’re dropping their children off in the school carpool line.

They’re taking time from work to attend school plays, gymnastics classes with their babies and allowing their children to paint their fingernails or build a rocket and then launch it.

Happy Father’s Day to all who willingly take on the role of dad, no matter if they’re a biological dad or a dad by choice. Don’t underestimate the power you have over those who call you dad.

How you treat and love your children will last generations.

Treat them with care.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

The headlines on news stations are grim.

There’s still a brutal war in Ukraine, foreign fighter jets are getting closer to America’s shores, and drones are ready to inflict harm and pestilence all over the world.

If that’s not bad enough, our schools are in desperate shape, teachers are burnt out, there’s not enough money to fix potholes in the roads and road construction on I-10 is predicted to get even worse than it already is.

These atrocities are reality, and I know I should pay attention, write emails to congressmen, and lose sleep over the future of the world. I’m not doing enough to recycle, conserve, exercise or read enough self-help books.

I feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

Instead of trying to improve the world and myself, I distract myself with comedy, specifically people who find humor all around.

Maybe that’s putting my head in the sand, but we all need a break from the doom and gloom. The first place I visit is YouTube. There’s no shortage of comics here. Some are vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and that’s not particularly humorous to me.

Some are hit and miss, mostly because they belittle people, and they use profanity for shock value. There’s often little substance – just meanness.

There’s a comedy channel on Sirius radio, and I’ve tuned in a few times. I’m not a prude and I don’t mind profanity, but the routines I’ve heard on there are filled with rated “X” words, they’re not original and few of them are funny.

They could take a few tips from the late great Robin Williams.

The comic was an absolute genius. His routine on how the Scots came up with the game of golf will make you laugh out loud.

Choose the version of when he’s on a Scottish talk show and explains how difficult it is to understand accents in Scotland. Then he riffs into an explanation about how golf was invented. For anyone who’s confused about why golf is difficult, Williams makes it easy to understand.

I’ll watch any clip from “The Carol Burnett Show.” For over 12 years, many families tuned into the Carol Burnett show on Saturday nights. We loved the costumes, skits, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway and Vicki Lawrence. Best of all, though, was Carol.

Nothing’s funnier than the “Mama” segments. Fan favorites are the one where Tim Conway is talking about the elephant and when they play games like “Sorry” and “Charades.”

One of my favorite comics these days is Leann Morgan. She’s in her 50s with a thick Tennessee accent, and she talks lovingly, but in a joking way, about her family.

She admits to having issues with her thyroid, her love of pork sausage and her yummy grandson. She doesn’t use profanity and her routines are suitable for everyone in the family.

Morgan’s appearing at Sugar Land’s Smart Financial Center in November, and I already have my tickets.

I’ve written about the late Jeanne Robertson before. She’s a humorist with a Southern twang. Her routine about a young girl in a beauty contest who twirls a pretend baton is not only funny but is a fabulous life lesson.

The best comics or humorists tell real stories about real people and they’re not afraid to make themselves the butt of the joke.

Think about Burnett wearing the drapes when she performed a spoof of “Gone with the Wind.” Picture Lucille Ball trying to keep up on the chocolate assembly line or stomping grapes.

Take a break from the woes and troubles of the world and laugh with those who good-naturedly make fun of the bumps in the road.

Bad news will always be with us. A good laugh is often what we need to make sense of the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

The headlines on news stations are grim.

There’s still a brutal war in Ukraine, foreign fighter jets are getting closer to America’s shores, and drones are ready to inflict harm and pestilence all over the world.

If that’s not bad enough, our schools are in desperate shape, teachers are burnt out, there’s not enough money to fix potholes in the roads and road construction on I-10 is predicted to get even worse than it already is.

These atrocities are reality, and I know I should pay attention, write emails to congressmen, and lose sleep over the future of the world. I’m not doing enough to recycle, conserve, exercise or read enough self-help books.

I feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough.

Instead of trying to improve the world and myself, I distract myself with comedy, specifically people who find humor all around.

Maybe that’s putting my head in the sand, but we all need a break from the doom and gloom. The first place I visit is YouTube. There’s no shortage of comics here. Some are vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and that’s not particularly humorous to me.

Some are hit and miss, mostly because they belittle people, and they use profanity for shock value. There’s often little substance – just meanness.

There’s a comedy channel on Sirius radio, and I’ve tuned in a few times. I’m not a prude and I don’t mind profanity, but the routines I’ve heard on there are filled with rated “X” words, they’re not original and few of them are funny.

They could take a few tips from the late great Robin Williams.

The comic was an absolute genius. His routine on how the Scots came up with the game of golf will make you laugh out loud.

Choose the version of when he’s on a Scottish talk show and explains how difficult it is to understand accents in Scotland. Then he riffs into an explanation about how golf was invented. For anyone who’s confused about why golf is difficult, Williams makes it easy to understand.

I’ll watch any clip from “The Carol Burnett Show.” For over 12 years, many families tuned into the Carol Burnett show on Saturday nights. We loved the costumes, skits, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway and Vicki Lawrence. Best of all, though, was Carol.

Nothing’s funnier than the “Mama” segments. Fan favorites are the one where Tim Conway is talking about the elephant and when they play games like “Sorry” and “Charades.”

One of my favorite comics these days is Leann Morgan. She’s in her 50s with a thick Tennessee accent, and she talks lovingly, but in a joking way, about her family.

She admits to having issues with her thyroid, her love of pork sausage and her yummy grandson. She doesn’t use profanity and her routines are suitable for everyone in the family.

Morgan’s appearing at Sugar Land’s Smart Financial Center in November, and I already have my tickets.

I’ve written about the late Jeanne Robertson before. She’s a humorist with a Southern twang. Her routine about a young girl in a beauty contest who twirls a pretend baton is not only funny but is a fabulous life lesson.

The best comics or humorists tell real stories about real people and they’re not afraid to make themselves the butt of the joke.

Think about Burnett wearing the drapes when she performed a spoof of “Gone with the Wind.” Picture Lucille Ball trying to keep up on the chocolate assembly line or stomping grapes.

Take a break from the woes and troubles of the world and laugh with those who good-naturedly make fun of the bumps in the road.

Bad news will always be with us. A good laugh is often what we need to make sense of the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Most people don’t like attending funerals. As a society, we know we should attend to pay our respects to the person who passed away and to show support for the grieving family.

Our grandmother, Marguerite, was specific about how she wanted her funeral plans carried out.

She wanted the visitation and funeral on the same day so people wouldn’t have to stay overnight.

She wanted a happy event, and we were instructed to make the eulogy fit that mode. For the closing song, she wanted “When the Saints Come Marching In,” and we obliged.

My cousin, Sylvia, and I gave the homily sporting Mardi Gras beads and sunglasses as Grandma was a native of New Orleans. She always signed letters to us “have fun along the way,” and we felt the service needed to fit her philosophy.

This past week, I attended the funeral of Theresa Elizabeth Schulte McGarry, the mother of our brother-in-law, Jimmy.

Mrs. McGarry had been in ill health for the past few years, and people say it’s a blessing when they pass.

That’s not so.

It’s one of the hardest goodbyes in the world, but especially for this incredible woman.

Siblings, cousins and in-laws sat around my sister’s living room and watched a slide show with pictures from Theresa’s life. They had so many stories to tell.

First of all, there was a happy marriage for 67 years to Rod McGarry. Theresa was the love of his life and he was hers.

Photos showed a couple that went from a typical 1950s small home to filling a house with cribs, toys and children. Siblings said their mom made most of her own clothes and theirs, even when there were seven of them.

Whenever they went on vacation, Jimmy said they knew to pack a bathing suit, casual clothes and their Sunday best. Theresa always knew where Sunday Mass would be celebrated, and the entire family went to Mass.

Her son, Mike, wrote her obituary which revealed a life of service and love. She’d considered becoming a nun, but changed her mind and became a teacher and then a mother. She was active in her church, and ran their home like a brigadier general.

Along with rearing seven children, Theresa was a Girl Scout leader and volunteer for over 25 years. She served as president of the Baton Rouge Girl Scout Council for two years. She got her commercial driver’s license, Mike said, so she could drive the troop around the country on a school bus.

She and Rod visited all 50 states in their RV, often taking a grandchild or two along. They also visited the same number of foreign countries.

Once their children had families of their own, Rod and Theresa rented condos at Gulf Shores, Ala. every summer. Everyone attended because they knew the importance of keeping in touch and making sure the next generation was as close as the uncles and aunts were.

After the service, their daughter Kay asked the grandchildren to raise their hands if Grandma and Grandpa had attended their graduation from high school or college.

All 21 grandchildren raised their hands. She asked if any of them had received funds from an educational grant the McGarrys set up. A sea of hands went up. They said they might not have gone to college without the encouragement of their parents and grandparents.

When some of the grandchildren came up to talk to Mr. McGarry, who lost his sight a few months ago, there was only love and interest. It was “I’m so glad you’re here. Tell me everything you’ve been up to. I can’t wait to hear all about you.”

Theresa’s priorities, Mike said, were never in question – faith, family, education and adventure. As I looked around the room at the McGarry children, spouses, cousins, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I knew this family had sewn a legacy of love and friendship that was continuing into the next generation.

What an incredible life you lived, Mrs. McGarry. You will be remembered with laughter, cherished, loved, emulated and never forgotten by family, friends, the many girls you inspired and those lucky enough to have known this gentle yet strong woman of God.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.