Aqui 'toy

For well over a year now I have not posted anything on this blog or my other one.  As much as I enjoy writing, I haven't had the time to do so, and those few times I have sat down to write things I have suffered from pretty serious writer's block.  (In fact, I am having trouble figuring out how to end this post).
I guess the whole point of this post is that - I'm coming back.  I flatter myself that some people who read my blog in the past will take up reading it again but, regardless, I will begin writing again.  If nothing else it will help me "untangle the webs in my head" which is the original reason I created this blog in the first place.

Independence Day!

I am not ashamed to admit that, hands down, Independence Day is my favorite holiday of the year.  I usually follow that statement with a tongue-in-cheek comment that runs somewhere along the lines of: "You gotta love any holiday that is celebrated with explosives!"

All joking aside, Independence Day is inspiring to me on so many levels.  I marvel at the miracle of so many brilliant men not only belonging to one generation, but living in the same country.  These men were men of means and reputation who had the most to lose if their venture failed.  And yet they didn't waver.  Of all the Founders, George Washington is the most inspiring to me.  When we think of 1776 we usually reflect only on the fact that that was the year we became our own nation.  But 1776 was a very bad year for the patriot cause, and we very nearly lost everything during the battle for New York.  Any other man would have been crushed by the disaster of that battle and given up, but General Washington stayed true to the cause he had embraced.  He met emergency, disaster, rank recriminations and treasonous cabals with fortitude,courage and absolute faith in the rightness of what he was doing.  When others had given up hope, he embodied the spirit of the Revolution and kept it alive.  Because of him and the brave men who served under his command, the American Army lived to fight another day and eventually secured, in fact, the liberty we had proclaimed for ourselves at the outset of the struggle.

We are fond of saying that "freedom isn't free".  Truer words were never spoken.  The fight to become free and remain free has always cost the blood of the best amongst us in every generation.  Yesterday, at the Arizona Celebration of Freedom event I got the opportunity to visit with men who fought at the Chosin Reservoir during the Korean War.  The stories they told me were amazing, and I felt humbled by the sacrifice they made on behalf of our country.  Even as I sit here and write this in the comfort and security of my own home, the best of our nation's men and women are standing between us and "the war's desolation."  They fight to stop those people who would do us harm and threaten our way of life.  They give up time with their loved ones so we can safely enjoy time with ours.  And, over 3000 times since September 11, 2001, some have actually given their lives for this freedom we love so much.

I haven't written very much about my own cousin, SFC Jake Whetten, because the feelings are still very near the surface and so intensely and personally felt that I can't fully express myself yet.  But he has been on my mind all weekend.  When we sang America the Beautiful in church today I could't get through the third verse.  When we stood and sang The Star Spangled Banner I couldn't get through the third verse.  These things mean more to me now, and I am just a member of his extended family.  I can only imagine the sorrow that his immediate family feels at this unwanted honor they now bear.

My heart is so full of gratitude for my freedom that I can't completely express myself tonight, but I wanted to put down in writing how grateful I am for the privilege of being a US citizen.  God bless this country, God bless the memory of our Founding Fathers, and God bless and protect our men and women in uniform this glorious 4th of July.  Happy Independence Day!

The Price of Freedom

Since September 11, 2001, I have lowered the flag in my front yard on numerous occasions to honor the sacrifice of a soldier, sailor, marine, or airman who had recently paid the utmost price for my freedom. In each instance I have said a prayer for the family of the departed hero as my flag lowered to honor their sacrifice. During the official period of mourning, the sight of my half-masted flag was a quiet and eloquent reminder of the fact that "Freedom Isn't Free".

On Friday night I went out to my flagpole and, once again, lowered my flag to half mast. But the prayer I offered that night was for my own family this time. Earlier that day my cousin, SFC Glen Jacob Whetten, joined the ranks of those who have given the last full measure of devotion for their country.

The flag in my front yard flies at half mast, and I see Jake now every time I pass it. When the official word gets out and flags across the state lower to half mast, I will see Jake. And I will cry. I am more intimately acquainted with the price of my freedom now. The Hall of Heroes is no longer a nameless, faceless group of men and women from ages past. It now has the name and face of someone I know and love, someone I looked up to and prayed for.

SFC Glen Jacob Whetten, United States Army
March 19, 1978 - March 12, 2010
Operation Enduring Freedom

Changes and Challenges

Stake Conference has come and gone, and with it a new calling for me. I was called to serve as 1st Counselor in the Stake Young Men's Presidency. I am stoked for this new calling and the opportunity it will give me to work with the Varsity Scouting program in our district. While I was attending Trader Joe's funeral on the 23rd, I thought to myself: "I hope that my next Scouting Assignment involves me with the Varsity Scouts. These guys look like my kind of people, and they sure do seem to have a ton of fun." Three days later President Porter called me in for an interview and extended this calling to me.

I am looking forward to learning a ton from the amazing leaders in this district and working with our great team coaches, giving them the support they need to have a world class program for our boys.

My blood now begins to change colors from a deep red to blaze orange. Wah Pilgrim!

Brothers

On Friday my beautiful wife gave birth to a little boy, bringing our family count to 6 children (4 girls and 2 boys). I love having babies in the house. They bring a special joy all on their own, and add to the joy we feel for each of our other children. One of the things I especially love about adding a member to our family is the reaction of the older children. Seeing their excitement at a new sibling just increases the happiness in our home and gives us new memories to cherish down the road.

The response I am always most interested in is the one from the next youngest child - the one whose position as the baby has just been passed on. When our second child, Sweet G, was born Teeny Bopper was thrilled to have a real live dolly to play with - until she had been home for a couple of days. At the end of the second day home she kept telling my wife that "It's time for the baby to go home now" and "Take the baby back to its mommy." We thought it was hilarious. Fortunately Teeny Bopper got over her jealousy in about a week, and her and Sweet G. have been the best of friends since then.

Two and a half years ago our family was blessed with our first boy. He has been so different from the girls, and has received a lot of attention from his four "other mommies" as a result. We were hoping that Baby Bean would be a boy so that he and Dr. D. could be buddies growing up. Our wishes were granted, and we now have two little boys in our home. Yesterday we brought mommy and Baby Bean home from the hospital, and Dr. Destructo began bonding with gusto. Just a few minutes after we had settled down I was holding Baby Bean on the couch when Dr. Destructo came running up with some of his toys to show Baby Bean. Then, in the most earnest and sincere voice he could muster he looked directly at his new brother, called out his name and said: "Play ball, me?"

Memorial Day

I couldn't let the day slip away without acknowledging the tremendous debt I owe to the brave men and women who have fought and died for my freedom over the 200+ years of this nation's history. I am grateful not only for their tremendous sacrifices, but for the sacrifices of the families that they left behind. It is fitting and proper that we should take a day each year to remember those who paid the last full measure of devotion so that we could enjoy the freedoms we do today. One of the headstones we looked at today described the RAF cadet interred there as his parents "much loved and only son". This inscription really touched me as I realized how much this particular family had given up in defense of freedom for themselves and their countrymen. This young man never married or enjoyed all of the wonders of parenthood. He didn't have a career, finish his education, or live to ripe old age. Instead, he was cut down in his prime while doing his duty.
I am grateful for the opportunity Memorial Day gives me to take my children to visit our local cemetery and pay our respects to brave soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines who have put it all on the line so that we could enjoy the life we now have. I am thankful for this wonderful land we live in and those who have fought to establish it and keep it free. God bless their memory!

The cycles of life...

Earlier today I was scanning some pictures of my children, my wife, and I as babies.  Aparently my wife is putting together some sort of collage of all of us.  The only picture we had of me as a baby was firmly pasted into a baby book that my mom put together for me when I was, well, a baby.  Since the book is as old as I am and carries the only copy of my birth certificate, it is seriously beat up.  After scanning the picture my wife wanted, I proceeded to scan all of the pictures of in the book so that I wouldn't lose them.  (OK - not all of them, one of them involved nudity so I left that one to rot in the book)

I had a blast scanning these pictures and then reviewing the memories associated with them.  What stood out in my mind as I looked at these pictures was how many cycles of life are represented in these pictures and the people in them.  Several of the people in the pictures are no longer with us and I have moved up the "generational ladder" as a result.  I thought it would be interesting to post of few of these pictures, showing how the cycles of life keep rolling around. 

The first picture here is of my parents family right before we moved to Mexico in 1980.  This is only half of us, four more siblings would show up over the years in Mexico, but it is a good representation of my parents when they were just a little younger than I am now.  (In the picture of my family I am only two years older than my Dad would have been in the first picture.)  In case you are wondering, yes - I am the good looking boy in the picture.

I have to say that Dad looks pretty distinguished in his checkered vest.  And, not to be outdone, Mom looks great with her 'fro.

 As I was scanning these pictures and reviewing them one really touched me.  It is a picture of me and my Grandpa and Grandma Whetten who were visiting me on my first birthday in California.  Fortunately I am old enough to have a lot of memories with my Grandpa and Grandma Whetten, but in all my memories I am an older child that is too big to be held.  In this particular picture my Grandpa Whetten is holding me.  Although I don't remember it, I like the thought of Grandpa Whetten holding me in his arms when I was little. 

Seeing this picture reminded me of a picture I have of my son spending time in his Grandpa Whetten's arms.  I hope when he is as old as I am that this picture brings him the same warm feelings of love for his Grandpa Whetten as the one above does for me.  And I look forward to holding each of my grandchildren and continuing the cycle.  (When that time comes, of course.  I am not in a big hurry for that just yet!)

This picture was taken of me with my Grandpa and Grandma DeWitt on my blessing day in California.  I was nine days old in this picture.  The painting you see behind my Grandpa hung in our home until we moved to Mexico.  I remember thinking of all kinds of adventures that I could have in the woods and the river depicted in that painting.  I wonder what happened to it?

Although he isn't a baby in this picture, here is a picture of my son being held by my Grandpa DeWitt.  It is cool that my son has been held by my Grandpa just like I used to be.

Last but not least, this picture is of me with my Great-Grandpa and Grandma Lamoreaux in front of our home in South Gate, California.  Because I am one of the older members of my generation (and because the Lamoreaux's have a thing for longevity) I knew my great grandparents.  I have always felt blessed by this association with Grandpa and Grandma Lamoreaux.  Being first definitely has its privileges when it comes to memories of people.  Grandpa Lamoreaux was a World War I navy vet.  Grandma Lamoreaux was a little girl during what is known as "The Exodus" from the Mormon Colonies in Mexico during the Mexican Revolution.  

My daughters are fortunate enough to know their Great Grandpa and Grandma DeWitt.  They will carry their own memories of these great people with them and will be able to tell their children about their great-great grandparents.  Grandma DeWitt passed away just a few days before my boy was born, so he didn't get to know her here.  He does know and love his Great Grandpa DeWitt however, and I am grateful for this gift.

I am grateful for the memories I have of my family, and I look forward to the cycles of life that still lie ahead of us all.