Heart Touchers

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{SFTH} *Wake-Up Call* 6/14/01

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I know you will enjoy today's story today by Bob Welch. Be sure to e-mail him
and let him know what you thought of his story, and then take a look at his
upcoming book! May his writing touch your heart today...
Michael
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Wake-Up Call

By Bob Welch

     I was sitting in a bathtub full of moldy sheetrock when my
13-year-old son asked the question. "Can you take me golfing
sometime?" he said.
     I had a bathroom to remodel. It was fall, and the forecast
for the next week was for a 100 percent chance of Oregon's
liquid sunshine. I wanted to say no. "Sure," I said. "What did
you have in mind?"
     "Well, maybe you could, like, pick up Jared and me after
school on Friday and take us out to Oakway."
     "Sounds good."
     Friday came. The showers continued. Looking out the window,
moldy sheetrock seemed the saner choice. But at the appointed
hour, I changed from home-improvement garb to rain-protection
garb and loaded the boys' clubs and mine in the back of the car.
In front of the school, Ryan and Jared piled in. Ryan looked at
me with a perplexed expression.
     "What's with the golf hat, Dad?" he said.
     It was, I thought, a silly question, like asking a scuba
diver what's with the swim fins.
     "Well, I thought we were going to play some golf."
     A peculiar pause ensued, like a phone line temporarily gone
dead.
     "Uh, you're going, too?" he asked.
     Suddenly, it struck me like a three-iron to my gut: I
hadn't been invited.
     Thirteen years of parenting flashed before my eyes. The
birth. The diapers. The late-night feedings. Helping with
homework. Building forts. Fixing bikes. Going to games. Going
camping. Going everywhere together -- my son and I.
     Now I hadn't been invited. This was it. This was the end of
our relationship as I had always known it. This was "Adios, Old
Man, thanks for the memories but I'm old enough to swing my own
clubs now so go back to your rocking chair and crossword puzzles
and -- oh yeah -- here's a half-off coupon for your next bottle of
Geritol."
     All these memories sped by in about two seconds, leaving me
about three seconds to respond before Ryan would get suspicious
and think I had actually expected to be playing golf with him
and his friend.
     I had to say something. I wanted to say this: 'How could
you do this to me? Throw me overboard like unused crab bait?' We
had always been a team. But this was abandonment. Adult abuse.
     This was Lewis turning to Clark in 1805 and saying: "Later,
Bill. I can make it the rest of the way to Oregon without you."
John Glenn radioing Mission Control to say thanks, but he could
take it from here. Simon bailing out on Garfunkel during "Bridge
Over Troubled Water."
     Why did it all have to change?
     Enough of this mind-wandering. I needed to level with him.
I needed to express how hurt I was. Share my gut-level feelings.
Muster all the courage I could find, bite the bullet, and spill
my soul.
     So I said, "Me? Play? Naw. You know I'm up to my ears in
the remodel project."
     We drove on in silence for a few moments. "So, how are you
planning to pay for this?" I asked, my wounded ego reaching for
the dagger.
     "Uh, could you loan me seven dollars?"
     Oh, I get it. He doesn't want me, but he'll gladly take my
money.
     "No problem," I said.
     I dropped him and Jared off, wished them luck, and headed
for home. My son was on his own now. Nobody there to tell him
how to fade a five-iron, how to play that tricky downhiller, how
to hit the sand shot. And what if there's lightning? What about
hypothermia? A runaway golf cart? A band of militant gophers?
He's so small. Who would take care of him?
     There I was, alone, driving away from him. Not just for
now. Forever. This was it. The bond was broken. Life would never
be the same.
     I walked in the door. "What are you doing home?" my wife
asked.
     I knew it would sound like some 13-year-old who was the
only one in the gang not invited to the slumber party, but
maintaining my immature demeanor, I said it anyway
     "I wasn't invited," I replied, with a trace of snottiness.
     Another one of those peculiar pauses ensued. Then my wife
laughed. Out loud. At first I was hurt. Then I, too, laughed,
the situation suddenly becoming much clearer.
     I went back to the bathroom remodel and began realizing
that this is what life is all about: change. This is what
fathers and sons must ultimately do: change. This is what I've
been preparing him for since he first looked at me and screamed
in terror: not to play golf without me, but to take on the world
without me. With his own set of clubs. His own game plan. His
own faith.
     God was remodeling my son. Adding some space here. Putting
in a new feature there. In short, allowing him to become more
than he could ever be if I continued to hover over him. Just
like when I was a kid and, at Ryan's age, I would sling my plaid
golf bag over my shoulder and ride my bike five miles across
town to play golf at a small public course called Marysville
that I imagined as Augusta National.
     I remember how grown-up I felt, walking into that dark
clubhouse, the smoke rising from the poker game off to the left,
and proudly pluncking down my two dollars for nine holes. Would
I have wanted my father there with me that day? Naw. A boy's
gotta do what a boy's gotta do: grow up.
     I went back to the bathroom remodel project. A few hours
later, I heard Ryan walk in the front door. I heard him complain
to his mother that his putts wouldn't drop, that his drives were
slicing, and that the course was like a lake. He sounded like
someone I knew. His tennis shoes squeaked with water as I heard
him walk back to where I was working on the bathroom.
     "Dad," he said, dripping on the floor, "my game stinks. Can
you take me golfing sometime? I need some help."
     I wanted to hug him. Rev my radial-arm saw in celebration.
Shout: "I'm still needed!" I wanted to tell God, "Thanks for
letting me be part of this kid's remodel job."
     Instead, I got one of those serious-dad looks on my face
and stoically said, "Sure, Ry, anytime."

Bob Welch
bwelch1@concentric.net

Send Bob an e-mail and let him know what you thought of his story!
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Bob is the features editor of the Register-Guard Newspaper in Eugene, OR
and the author of many books, including Father For All Seasons (Harvest
House Publishers). Bob's wonderful stories have also been published in Sports
Illustrated, Readers Digest, and Focus on the Family.

You can pre-order his upcoming book: The Things That Matter Most:
Choosing Family, Faith and the Simple Life by visiting:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0736903763/qid=992454865/sr=8-1/straighfromthe0a/107-5931457-7011735

AOL Users Click Here: Bob Welch
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From the E-mail Box!

I live in Oklahoma, just 2 hours from the "bombing" site. I have never been to visit and admire you doing so. Why haven't I visited? It is too heart wrenching. The thought sand memories of that day tear at my heart and tears flow at the images. No, I didn't have any friends or relatives lost in the "bombing" and I don't know anyone that has. But, I have had pictures of the Memorial e-mailed to me and I was devastated. Thank you for sharing your wonderful story (Referring to Bob Perks' story, "Numb" on Monday) with us and for giving me courage to travel that short 2 hour drive for the visit.
DKN
Bartlesville, OK
Ccmokla@aol.com

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Dearest Michael
Just thought I'd drop you a quick note to say thanks for the wonderful
story about you and your son Caleb and the Bathtub. It was really sweet
and I'm starting to thing that I may just be missing out on something,
not having any children myself.
Have a wonderful day
Regards,
Yvette de Jager
Benoni Gauteng, South Africa

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Michael -- thank you so much for the smile that I so sorely needed, you just
don't know how much.... I just read your Tuxedo Swimming story and I praise
you for having the stamina to take your son to swimming lessons, they will be memories you will have forever. My son Keith was killed at the age of 15 in an auto
accident and it is through my memories that I keep my sanity. If I had the
chance to do it over I would write every memory down in a book so that I
could capture all my memories forever...
Thanks,
Margaret
margaret@nac.net

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Ok Michael,

I know I keep telling you this, but WOW, can you write. I just re-read the anniversary letter you wrote to Kristi and you have left me sitting here crying like a child. I cry happy tears for you and her. As you are lucky to have her, she is very lucky to have you as well. I know you aren't perfect, no one is, but I do believe she is lucky in that you express such love and your thankfulness for her and acknowledge all that she does. I am sure that Kristi has faults too, but I have yet to hear about one of them from you and I think that is a beautiful thing. Continue to love her and cherish her always.
Miriam
Miry316@aol.com
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Thought For The Day:

"Swallowing angry words before you say them is better than having to eat them afterwards."

Verse for the Day:

"From the fruit of his mouth a man's stomach is filled; with the harvest of his lips
he is satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love
it will eat its fruit." Proverbs 18:20,21

Kid's Thought For The Day:

"Before you trade sandwiches, check between the bread."

Parent's Thought For The Day:

When your first baby drops her pacifier, you sterilize it. When your second baby
drops her pacifier you tell the dog, 'Fetch'.
(Bruce Lansky)

Coach's Thought For The Day

"To fight a bull when you are not scared is nothing. And to not fight a bull
when you are scared is nothing. But to fight a bull when you are scared --
That is something."

Deep Thought For The Day

"Why is there so much month left at the end of the money?"
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REQUESTS:

Michael--Could you ask for prayers for my husband Bill? He had bypass
surgery this past Monday (six bypasses!). It will turn out to be a blessing
as the surgery probably will give him many good years of life, but of course
it was scary, and a shock.
Joan Wester Anderson
angelwak@mcs.net

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I have a prayer request for a true "Super Hero". His name is Doug and he
is seriously ill. In the last 15 years, he has undergone 2 heart transplants.
Due to complications, he is now on a ventilator. Please keep this wonderful
and generous father of twin boys, Seth and Daniel, step-father to Tracy,
husband to Kathy, son of Johnella, and brother to Gail, Anthony, Glenda
and Nina in your prayers, as well as his family. God Bless you all.
Kim McCormick
UnionUMC@aol.com
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_
/_/\/\    MICHAEL T. POWERS
\_\ /    THUNDER27@aol.com
/_/ \    "For I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but
\_\/\ \   Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body I live for the Son
   \_\/   of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me." Galatians 2:20

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Video Imagery (Michael's Video Production Business.)

"I thought of you first after my family sat down to watch the video we gave
them. They loved it, to say the least! Within thirty seconds my mom was
crying and my dad did too. They said it was the best Christmas gift we
could have given them!! You did such a beautiful job! They were so
surprised and so touched---they really, really, really loved it. Thanks
for helping to make it so special to us all. My mom mentioned how
the songs were perfect for the video too! Thanks again!"
Kelli-- College Station, TX

Let me make you a video from your pictures or home movies!
Check out the web page for Michael's video production business!
http://members.aol.com/Videoimg/index.html

AOL Users click here: Video Imagery
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Writer's guidelines can be found on our Web site here:
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AOL Users click here: Writer's Guidelines
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Purchase your copy of Michael T. Powers' new book! For a sneak
preview, visit:

http://www.storiesfrommyheart.com/order_our_book_

AOL Users Click Here: Straight From the Heart: A Celebration of Life
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Do you feel as if life has no meaning for you?
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