This morning, someone came up to Meteorology Man and started talking about some teens he had met the previous day, while helping some folks move.

He proceeded to say~ These young men were different.  I could hold a real conversation with them.  They didn’t roll their eyes at me~ but actually looked me in the eye.  I finally asked them~ Who do you belong to? 

They told me you were their dad.

He then gave MM the typical praise for raising such fine young men.

But hold them horses dude!

As parents, we can easily be tempted to take credit for the mature way our kids respond to folks.

If I take credit for their good choices~ does that mean I have to take the blame for the poor ones?

I’ve been on both sides of this fence.

We’ve raised nine children with the same heart of love for each of them. 

Set the same boundaries for safety.

Attempted to give each of them a sense of worth~ and help them to discover their passions in life~ and lift them up to take flight.

Tried to pass on those lessons we have learned along the way~

and let them witness those we are still learning.

But some of our children have chosen to ignore the flashing yellow lights and smash through the detour signs.  They’ve chosen to ignore the insights we have gained from experience~ and encounter them on their own.

And that’s ok.    (it may be ok~ but it’s not easy.)

There are some lessons we can learn by just hearing/observing another’s experience.  But some lessons must be learned on our own~ by taking those roads under construction.

There will be bumps and pot holes.

We will careen over bridges that are out~ and sometimes even crash and burn.

Again, I ask~ If I take the credit for the good choices my kids make~ do I have to take the blame for the poor ones?

I personally choose to give my kids the credit for making the choices they make~ and let them endure the natural consequences~ and a few parental consequences~ for the not so good.

That’s not to say, I don’t believe we have great influence over our children~ we do~ but so does everything else in this world.  I also believe we bear a great responsibility to teach our children how to make healthy choices. 

But no matter how much influence I have over my children~ ultimately I have to trust what I have invested into their lives.  Forced submission,* manipulation or guilt do not reach the heart.

If I expect to receive grace on my own journey~ then I have to let it overflow over to them~ as they discover who they are~ and what they believe.

So don’t be pointing your finger at me~ or even putting me up on some parental pedestal.

Instead~ go pat the backs of some of the young folk in this world~ and tell them they were born to soar~ higher still.

* Excluding very small children~ of course~ safety must come first.

Manolito~ is quite handsome. 

Which probably explains my decision to buy him based on one lone photo and the word of a stranger.  The classified add stated him to be a gentle kid broke horse.  Exactly what my greenhorns needed.  I was too weak at the time to work him around the arena myself~ so we opted to trust the seller and have him delivered.

Our new horse calmly backs out of the trailer ~ nuzzles me sweetly.  As I lead him to the barn, he appears to be just as gentle as the advertisement had proclaimed.  Not only was he handsome, he was quite the gentleman.

On our walk through the front pasture~ I kept thinking~ Can I pick a horse or what?  I’m sure my head was spewing smugness like egotistical confetti.

How does that proverb go~ Pride comes a callin’ before a fall?

The big day finally arrives~ the kids are raring to go on their first ride with this easy going equine.

One by one

With the grace and beauty of the wild west

He bucks them off.

Wild Woman has been hoodwinked by an honest to goodness horse trader.

Since I am the only experienced rider in the bunch~ Manolito’s training has been slow~ for Meteorology Man forbids me strongly suggests his woman not play buckin’ bronco until her get-up-and-go is at full capacity again.  My bucket of tenacity overflows~ but the physical strength is still running low.

In the meantime, my 16 year old son has been the one to take on the position of horse whisperer assistant.  His riding helmet secure~ I work with boy and horse.  Just when we think it is safe to let loose a victory yee-haw, Manolito randomly breaks out into rodeo mode.

My gut tells me the horse is only able to throw my greenhorn to the ground~ because my son believes the horse has the power to do it.  The horse senses inexperience~ fear maybe~ and takes advantage.

How many times do the calamities in this life, knock folks off the saddle~ leaving them with a mouthful of dirt~ and the gritty taste of desolation. 

Insistence stirs deep within my son~ he refuses to stay down in the whirling cloud of dust~ mocking him~ daring him to get up. 

As a young child, he hid under the bed, as his birth father stabbed his birth momma to death.  His birth momma is dead, his birth father in prison~ and he is plucked from the only family he has known.  That’s enough to knock the wind out of anyone.

Eventually, I start writing his birth father in prison.  I find~ ironically~ the man who brought about death to my son’s birth momma~ now has the capacity to speak life into his son.

While in prison, his birth father is diagnosed with lung cancer~ and is given a very short time to live.  Under normal circumstances, we prefer our children to seek out birth parents when they are adults~ when they feel personally ready~ to deal with any unresolved issues.

There was no time to sit back and simmer until ready~ the pot must be pulled from the fire.  We would not steal our son’s opportunity to savor the taste of extending his forgiving hand to his birth father~ face to face.

He rises up~ a bit more confident~ and knocks the dust off his Levis.  He grabs hold of the horn~ spits the grit from his teeth~ and enters the prison~ to take back what calamity had stolen.

Insistence 100

Calamity 0

Man~ that greenhorn cowboy can ride!

We threw tradition out the window~ a long time ago.

Our Family is a far cry from the traditional two kids, one dog, picket-fence family.  I am thankful we have been able to come together despite the attitude of authoritarian thinking.

As a Caucasian couple, we’ve faced our fair share of opposition when deciding to adopt eight African American children as our own.

A picket fence wouldn’t come close to holding nine kids, nine horses and five dogs. We prefer wide open spaces.

Our Holiday Meals won’t be found on the latest cover of

Bon Appetit.  As I child~ I looked forward to eating the traditional turkey and stuffing~ while sitting at flimsy card tables at grandmas.  I even prepared a few turkeys myself, as a young Martha wannabe.  But a few years back~ after the 142^nd pumpkin pie~ something broke. 

I am thankful, this year’s menu will consist of Chicken and Spinach Enchiladas, Taco Salad w/Casa Dressing, Black Beans, Guacamole Dip w/Blue Corn Tortillas. 

Maybe~ somewhere in Guadeloupe, this is a traditional meal.

Our Church is not the typical stone throwing church.  You won’t find our pastor rebuking folks for not wearing suit and ties~ in fact~ it’s likely he drove up in his Hummer, wearing jeans and boots~ drinking a Red Bull.

He’s famous for saying~ If I don’t hear cussing in the lobby~ then we aren’t doing our job. 

I’m thankful to be part of a church that hasn’t turned God into some arrogant beard wearing troll~ trying to knock hurting folks off the bridge. 

Our Way of Living brings quite a bit of controversy as well.  Meteorology Man and Wild Woman were raised with pretty similar backgrounds.  As young parents~ we decided to shake up the traditional overindulgence way of bringing up children.

Our kids don’t have video games~ i-pods~ cell phones~ tvs or laptops in their own rooms~ cars~ parents that drop them off at the mall.

What they do have are parents that are actually happy to spend time with them and count it a privilege to invest into their lives. 

I am thankful for kids that return that sense of admiration~ and all try to squeeze into the laundry room with me at the same time~ talking, sharing, laughing~ until I make them leave because someone farted.

I am thankful they are confident enough to walk away from the pressures of unhealthy peers~ and seek out fun that doesn’t require us to come up with bail money.

I am thankful for their resourcefulness~ as I discover a redneck bench press made from a poop scoop handle, horse shoes and heavy coils of extension cords.

I am thankful they are full of vision~ as I watch my daughter research what it takes to be a firefighter.  She has what it takes~ because she believes she can do anything. Her thinking has not been persuaded by the boundaries of traditional roles for women.

Please don’t think I have anything against family traditions~ my oldest daughter is a stickler for tradition~ and is in a tizzy that she will not be with us this Christmas season.  To hang around us~ her people~ who have no traditions. 

I guess what I am trying to say~ people should have far greater weight in our lives than tradition.  If the tradition keeps you from getting down in the dirt to help hurting folks~ for fear of soiling your Dolce & Gabbana suit~ maybe its time to open the window.