Only a Dad

I grew up visiting my Grandparents' houses fairly often. I enjoyed those times. I can remember most of the pictures on the walls, the knick-knacks, and the personal touches.

As I've grown older I've taken more notice to what all those things mean. When I moved in with my Grandfather about eight years ago I read this poem on the wall and it left an impression on me.

It turns out that its only the last stanza of a longer poem. Its entitled "Only a Dad":

Only a dad, with a tired face,

Coming home from the daily race,

Bringing little of gold or fame,

To show how well he has played the game,

But glad in his heart that his own rejoice

To see him come, and to hear his voice.

Only a dad, with a brood of four,

One of ten million men or more.

Plodding along in the daily strife,

Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,

With never a whimper of pain or hate,

For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,

Merely one of the surging crowd

Toiling, striving from day to day,

Facing whatever may come his way,

Silent, whenever the harsh condemn,

And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a dad, but he gives his all

To smooth the way for his children small,

Doing, with courage stern and grim,

The deeds that his father did for him.

This is the line that for him I pen,

Only a dad, but the best of men.

- Edgar Albert Guest

A Code and a Race

It was sometime in the early hours of Saturday morning and the sun hadn't even begun to hint at a new day.

"You go get it, hero!"

"Hero? Me? Why do yo say that?"

"We know what you can do.  There's no getting out of it now."

I couldn't help but smile a little at that.  Rob was about ten years older than I, in good shape, and had  pushed hard through his first leg of the race earlier during the heat of the day.  The truth was that I admired him for the sheer grit and determination it had taken to finish that leg.

The first annual Epic Rocky Mountain Relay, traversing the distance from Colorado Springs to Mt. Crested Butte, began Friday morning the 22nd of July.  I awoke at an hour whose existence I usually ignore to meet with the members of our relay team and carpool to the starting location.  In my mind it was something of a coincidence that I had joined the team and found myself headed towards this adventure.  I had offered to be a substitute for the team a month and a half before when I met a girl that mentioned that her family would be participating in it.  Two weeks before the race, the improbable became reality.

The relay consisted of approximately 200 miles of roads, trails, and paths through desert, along rivers, and up and over the Rocky Mountains.  There were twelve members, with each running three legs of the race, for a total of about seventeen miles per person.  We were divided up into two large vans to facilitate dropping runners off at the right time and providing water and encouragement during the race.

I was runner number six.  I waited my turn and cheered on numbers one through five.  Excitedly, adrenaline pumping, I neared the exchange point at high noon as I watched our teammate speed towards me.  I fastened the fluorescent Velcro band that served as the baton around my ankle and kicked it into high gear, racing down the main road into Cañon City - the wrong way!  Half a mile down the road, the team van came to a halt in front of me and I needed no further explanation.  They dumped me off on the right road but I had lost valuable time and I still had 6.3 miles to go.


I was nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit and farmland and the Arkansas River's close proximity only made it worse by adding humidity to the mix.  By the time the exchange point came into view, I was near my breaking point.  I've done a lot of running and I know when I've given it everything and I had.  Still, I poured it all out with 200 meters to go, racing into the finish and handing off the bright band to the next eager runner.

I stumbled around, realizing that heat exhaustion had set in, but elated beyond words because I had reached a transcendental point.  I had given it my all.

In that moment there was a connection, a communication - the most honest I can give.  The excitement from my teammates and bystanders verified that the message had arrived.

The story now comes full circle.  Rob and the others in the other van went to catch a few hours of sleep as the other half - including myself - began our final legs of the relay Saturday morning.  I had earned respect.  There is no greater prize for a man who deals in the currency of respect than to suddenly find that he has become rich.

Determined and now lifted up by the faith of my team, their sacrifices, and hopes, I raced down the Western Slope from 10,500 to 9,500 feet for 8.4 miles during my final leg.  I passed ten teams, coming from behind from a mile or more away.  I was on a mission of no mercy.  I struggled up the last slopes to make it to the exchange point.  I raced with gusto down the last 50 meters to the finish, passing one last runner.  There was no way I would disappoint any of the expectations that my team had built for me based on my past performances.

Now, some reading this might say, "Joel, you are full of yourself.  You've got a mean case of hubris".  I don't tell this story to "toot my own horn", as Gramps says.  Rather, this is an analogy.

Its a simply lesson.  You've most likely already guessed what it is since I haven't tried to hide it.  You cannot expect trust from others until you give - not just an "honest" effort - but a full effort.  You can't expect to be a hero unless you give it your all.  You can't communicate greatness unless you do something great.

When you do, the excitement is infectious.  The realization that great things are possible expands minds and hearts, and there is nothing people so motivated cannot do.

At the top of Crested Butte Ski Resort, Team Kan'dōō sprinted across the plaza and across the finish line.

End of an American Dream

A veteran grade school teacher began the school year like many that had gone before: assigning desks, student numbers, and passing out the obligatory ream of informational papers for the children's parents.  Finally done with organizing the class, she looks over the class and asks the simple, all-important question - the question she knows is the most important for her young students.  It will dictate their direction in life for a time as they pass from one interest and curiosity to another.  What's most important is that they begin the journey of dreaming, hoping.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" she asks.

Budding doctors; firemen; policemen; baseball, football, and basketball players; a few ice cream men; a president or two, and some astronauts are all present.

Their teacher can't help but smile.  She'll do her part to help these young dreamers.

But now at least one of those dreams is impossible.  At least one of those hopes is gone.  The great irony is that it is a direct result and comes under the presidency of a man whose winning slogan was "HOPE".


The exploration of space, the "Space Race", pulled not only the United States economy but its future through the times of despair during the Cold War.  Its been a matter of national pride for generations.


My father brought me the stickers modeled after the different Space Shuttle Missions he worked on, like these:

He brought home posters of the International Space Station, telescopes, and constellations.  We spent time looking for satellites, the space station, and dreaming.  Dreaming like humankind has dreamt for thousands of years about exploration and the greatness of the cosmos.  I was always a pretty timid kid, so I never thought about actually go up in a shuttle, but I loved them and I was proud of my Dad.

It was the era of Star Trek and Star Wars, the time of patriotic innovation, and to prove the principles that our government was founded upon.  It was an era defined by the firm resolve that life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of liberty was better than the farcical communist world regime bent of the violent overthrow of peace everywhere.                      
Even after the Cold War, as the world began again to define itself and settle into a new order of democracy, the beacon of accomplishment shone bright, a hope and reassurance that success is indeed possible.

Is that now over? The democrat party encourages domestic manufacturing production, ends the Space Shuttle program, and enslaves ethnic minorities through billions of dollars of welfare programs that serve only to make them ever more dependent on the Federal Government.

The era of hope, innovation, and success will continue only if and when the will of free men and women remains strong (Ronald Reagan).

Independence Day and a Weekend Getaway

I arrived in Colorado about a month ago and began my summer work as a budget analyst for the City of Loveland.  Its not glamorous work, but its been a good experience so far.

Let's face it though, you don't want to hear about budgets, interdepartmental politicking, or even the latest gossip from the office.  You want to know what I've been doing for fun.

I decided to take the Independence Day weekend and visit friends in Utah.  At first, I didn't know exactly why but it didn't matter.  I was hitting the road!

I flew out of work Friday the 1st of July and soon the miles became a blur.  North central Colorado and southern Wyoming were beautiful and green still because of the extra snow and rain.  I wouldn't mind putting all my cares behind me and settling down on a ranch out there.  Wide-open spaces, blue skies, and tall mountains - it calls to you.  Maybe this is what so many Americans felt and drove them to settle the West.

I'll spare you all the details of my trip.  Suffice it to say that there was a lot of closure for me.  I had felt remiss that I hadn't opened up more to roommates and friends, hadn't been as friendly as I could have been, and maybe left an impression I would be ashamed of.  I suppose some folks don't worry what others think of them, and to a degree you shouldn't, but I valued these people's respect.  I deal in the currency of respect, you see.  That's all a man really has in reality.  Money comes and goes.  Family can be near, far, live, or dead.  But a man's legacy, his pride, the respect he has earned from good, honest people - men, women, children - this is the most fulfilling thing he can achieve.

I had the opportunity to chat with friends and former roommates between swimming and other things, and came to the conclusion that I didn't fail, that I'm actually at least a decent guy.  Well, imagine that...

I tried to get a group to go down to the Freedom Festival's hot air balloon exhibition on the 4th but it ended up being just Dave Horan and I.  It was cloudy and windy, and, as a result, they only inflated the dozen-or-so balloons.  A strong gust of wind managed to blow most of the balloons over and they all decided that Mother Nature's hint was a good one.  The Darth Vader balloon was by far the most enjoyable.

Dave and I had the IHOP "Red, White, and Blue" special at IHOP and then I hit the road again.

About 100 miles into the trip back to Loveland and a mile or so southwest of Evanston, Wyoming, my engine heat went through the roof and I pulled the car off the the shoulder.  I got it towed into Evanston and, through my vast knowledge and experience with cars, deduced that it was the alternator belt.  What tipped me off, you ask?  Well, it was gone.  I figured that meant I should got buy one and put it one.  I walked through town to the Auto Zone, bought the belt, read the manual they had at the shop, and figured I'd take a crack at it.

I have a decent tool kit in my trunk and started working on it, but lacked the confidence to just follow the instructions.  A guy named Kurt came on over from the bar that was within eyesight and said he had a mechanic friend that could help me out.  Sure enough, his friend came on over and we/he worked on it for about an hour.  Maybe it was one of those blessings in disguise - because I learned how to change my belts.  Also, I learned a secret mechanic's technique - if you swear at the part, bolts, nuts, etc. it works out a lot better.

My mechanic friend wouldn't take any cash and he was just a decent guy that loved the small town.  It was a great lesson on the goodness of Americans.  We're not shmucks, lazy and fat freeloaders, or welfare-sucking or shameless hillbilly ignoramuses.  We're honest, hard-working, God-fearing good people.

I got in around 9:30 that night just as all the fireworks starting going off.