It's Been 12 Years . . .

            Today marks 12 years since Dad died. 

           Just the other night, several of us were sharing some funny stories about Dad, and we laughed ‘til we had tears running down our faces.

            We talked about the old green Studebaker Dad used to drive.  Well, actually, it wasn’t just green.  Dad had used a spray gun not far from the car to paint something white.  While he worked on whatever that creation was, white paint splattered onto the Studebaker, changing it from solid green to green with white dots all over.  He left it that way.

            And the outside of the Studebaker was the better part of the car. 

            Once the door to the car opened, one could see an emptiness – of sorts.  Dad had removed the back seat from the car.  What this meant was that we children had to either stand in the back or sit on the floor when we rode in that car.  Yes, this was before seatbelts and other modern conveniences. 

            We also had an old Pontiac convertible.  Or perhaps it was an Oldsmobile.  I just remember it was from the late 50s or very early 60s; it was tan; and it was l-0-n-g, like most cars of that era.  There was an expanse of tan between the back seat and the trunk. 

            And it was in the trunk that Dad had placed the old back seat that came out of the green-and-white Studebaker.  Dad had removed the cover or top of the trunk from the long convertible and put the Studebaker’s old bench seat in that empty cavity.  When we rode in that green seat way back in the trunk area, it was like traveling in a separate vehicle; we were that far away from the driver!

            Yep, as Mom said the other night, Dad is still keeping us laughing 12 years after his death.

Father's Day - Without Dad

This Is A Repost -- NOTE: Usually I post only light-hearted stuff, but today is Father's Day, so I'm doing something a little different. It has been 10 years since my dad died. The following is what I wrote that appeared on the op/ed page of Charleston's Post and Courier on my first Father's Day without Dad:



This is my first Father’s Day ever without a father.

He was “Dad” for 52 years and now he’s gone, but memories will cause him to live on forever, and what wonderful memories they are.

Today, on a bittersweet day, I celebrate his life – the person he was, the father he was, the qualities he shared and the principles for which he stood.

Dad was adopted as an infant and then lost his adoptive father before he started school. At the age of 6, he was the “man of the house,” with the chore of plowing the field each day. He used to tell us stories about starting his day staring at the back end of a mule.

At the 10th-grade level, Dad quit school and went to work in Charleston as an apprentice pipe fitter. In 1942, he joined the Navy, saw action in the New Guinea, Borneo, Gilbert Islands, Marshall Islands and Saipan campaigns and in the liberation of the Philippines. He survived the sinking of the USS Hugh L. Scott and a gunshot wound to the neck before receiving an honorable discharge on Jan. 6, 1947. I remember being in the back seat of our car when he was driving, looking at the scar left by a bullet on the back of his neck.

Although he earned his high school diploma while in the Navy, he returned to Batesburg-Leesville High School to “brush up: for college. It was there that he had a math teacher named Elsie Elizabeth Porth. One day, instead of turning in his assignment, he wrote a note to the teacher, asking her for a date. On June 15, 1947, she became his wife.

In the early 1950s, he became a candidate for the S.C. House of Representatives; he had never been in politics, had no relatives or friends in politics and had never been inside the Statehouse. He won, and went on to win more.

The first election he ever lost was after he was offered $50,000 to change his vote on an issue or otherwise have the $50,000 spent against him. Dad didn’t budge; he lost that election by only nine votes – and he didn’t request a recount.

Frequently referred to as a maverick, he was unconventional in his approach to numerous issues. When other committee members studying the navigability of the river system from Columbia to the Charleston harbor decided to go by boat between the two cities, Dad stayed behind – literally: He made the 180-mile trip on skis and repeated the trip later. The same journey was made in the late 1990s by his two sons (my brothers), Rod and Shawn; Dad was inside the boat for this trip.

During his 24 years in the Legislature, he became identified with several issues, most recently with the lottery. He was the first public official in modern history to promote a lottery referendum. Starting the early 1980s, he introduced lottery legislation every year until he retired in 1992. Dad traveled the state, laying the groundwork for lottery support and answering critics. [Interestingly, he was an adamant non-gambler himself.] He also held the best legislative attendance record – never missing a day – and best roll-call vote record for 23 years.

As a House member, he held a long-time filibuster record when he opposed price-fixing legislation; a notable filibuster in the Senate was his 27-hour diatribe on the accommodations tax.

Over the years he worked as a farmer, clerk, laborer, salesman, teacher, businessman and, for several years, was a professional boxer known as the “Blond Tiger.”

To me, he was Dad. What a family man he was. He and Mom had been married almost 54 years when he died in March. The five children never heard Dad say anything negative about Mom; he treated her like a queen. He had a glass of juice waiting for her at her bedside every morning for many years. He gave up the practice of law, which he loved, when her promotion necessitated an out-of-state move [to Tennessee from SC], and he became a real-life “Mr. Mom.”

At night, he read to all five children when we were young – and since the age span runs 52 to 32, that adds up to a lot of reading. And he continued to set an example as he spent hours and hours just reading to learn.

He taught himself to play the piano, banjo, guitar, accordion, ukulele and mandolin and encouraged us in musical fields.

He taught me how to use a sling-shot but forgot to impress upon me the direction in which to use it, so I successfully shot a rock straight back into my face. He made us swings with bushel baskets from a farm.

Dad didn’t place many restrictions and boundaries on us: There were a few basics that he expected. We knew he expected those things, not because he said so, but because that’s what he demanded of himself.

He and Mom also taught us the importance of laughter. We laughed about things we could not change – like the time he built us a three-room cement block house to live in. This was his first effort as a “builder.” He installed what we called roll-out or Florida windows – but he put them in backward. Every time it rained, we had to run outside to roll the windows shut. They were cemented in place, so there was nothing left to do but laugh.

First diagnosed with cancer late in 1974, he was almost like a cat with nine lives. In addition to surviving the sinking of his ship, the gunshot wound and his boxing career, he later was diagnosed with three kinds of cancer, suffered a light stroke, suffered with arthritis and had three pacemakers. When he received his first pacemaker, the doctor advised him to go home and not use his left arm for a while. Instead, Dad drove to the golf course and played a round of one-handed golf.

Up until a few months ago, he played golf often, learned to use a computer and kept reading. The garage is full of stuff that he “almost invented “ – a/k/a contraptions. And then, in March, he slipped away, finally at peace and out of pain. But before he left us, he wrote “good-bye” notes to each of the five children and a final note to Mom, his high school math teacher and wife.

After he died, someone described him as a “character with character.” Indeed, he was a character; and, indeed, he had character.

Just before he died, he asked for watermelon and a small bottled Coke. After a frantic search, I returned to the hospital with those items. He slowly ate three pieces of watermelon and took three sips of that small bottled Coke. These were the last things he had.

Such simple requests – but so very typical of him. He never asked for much for himself in life; he was a giver.

Oh, Dad, I miss you.

Happy Father’s Day.

Love,

Sherry

~               ~                ~                ~

The Teacher and the Cow

Mom and Dad always told us it was important to have a sense of humor, and I agree.


But not everyone enjoys a sense of humor and not everyone has the same idea about what’s humorous.

I just happened to have a teacher in high school who didn’t share my own sense of humor.

She was a legendary teacher at Lexington High School – Miss Myrtie Harmon. She was there in the classroom for decades. In fact, she taught Mom and she taught me. I had her for biology.

Well, one day she asked how many teeth a cow has. No one answered.

She asked again. And again. And again.

Finally, Miss Myrtie said she hoped someone would find out.

The next day she asked again. And again, no one answered. She said she was certain someone must have a cow at home to check the number of teeth.

After one more exasperated request by Miss Myrtie and after enduring an uncomfortable silence for a while, I blurted out, “Well, my daddy calls my momma a cow.”

The class laughed. Miss Myrtie did not. In fact, she took me out in the hall, which was most definitely not a good thing.

By way of background, you should know that Mom’s name is Elsie. You know, as in Elsie the Cow. The Borden cow. And Miss Myrtie knew Mom’s name was Elsie.

Still, she found no humor in my comment.

She berated me. She said it would be awful and would damage my parents’ reputations if classmates went home and told their own parents that “Sherry’s daddy calls his wife a cow.” She also said Mom was one of the brightest students she had ever taught and such a comment was an insult to my mother.

After our “conversation” in the hall, Miss Myrtie Harmon put my desk in the corner of the room for the remainder of the six-week grading period.

And, to this day, I don’t know how many teeth a cow has.

 
 
 
---------------------------------------

Thank You to Our Veterans

America! America!  God shed his Grace on thee.

And crown thy good with Brotherhood

From Sea to Shining Sea!

Thanks to our veterans for our "sweet land of liberty."

May our liberties always remain and may they never be taken for granted.


A special thanks to some of my personal favorites:

Hubby, Karl J. Duppstadt a/k/a Dupp & The Duppster

 

 

 

Daughter, Tiffany Martschink - US Army

 

 

Dad, the late Ryan Shealy - USN

The Dawg, the late Carroll T. Smith - USAF

Numerous family members/relatives,

 including Ross Shealy, Ted Koon, Jack Buyer,

Steve Buyer, Pat Spence, Jud Spence, the late Judson Spence;

Veterans in my Sunday School class and church;

Countless other friends and acquaintances.

To ALL Veterans,

THANK YOU!



~    ~    ~    ~

 

 

 

Remembering Rod

Ever since we learned Wednesday morning that it might be brother Rod’s last day here on earth, I think some of us have been moving like robots, going through motions, doing what we needed to do.

It’s around midnight now, and I can’t sleep. I’m tired. Very tired. But I still can’t sleep. So, I'm writing what I'm thinking - and posting without proofing.

It’s just hitting me that Rod is gone – forever. Some wonder what it’s going to be like on the political scene without him.

I wonder what it’s going to be like at Christmas, Thanksgiving, family gatherings and such. I wonder what it’s going to be like not having him to call, e-mail or text when I have a question. I wonder what it’s going to be like not having him making fun of me – good-naturedly, of course. (I think.)

Fun times, crazy times, tense times – all of these come to mind tonight. All kinds of random thoughts.

I think back about the two times when our family was on “Family Feud.”

I think back to the 1980’s when our parents had just moved back to South Carolina from Tennessee; Rod was chairman of the county Republican party and was trying to recruit candidates. Dad had to go out of town for something; Rod asked him to sign a blank form as a candidate before he left town, just in case Rod couldn’t find a candidate for some office. When Dad returned, he learned he was a candidate for the state Senate. Rod ran his campaign. They won.

I remember playing board games with family members. Rod was fun to play with – and also frustrating to play with. He knew too much, especially insignificant things.

I remember a “fuss” we had when I was driving in California (when we were out there taping “Family Feud”) and Rod had to go to the bathroom; he wanted to stop at a service station. Instead, I stopped at a hospital, insisting this was a clean place and better than a gas station. He protested, but finally went in. And he was gone forever, it seemed. Back and forth, we wondered if someone had caused a problem for him or if he was just being stubborn by not returning to the car promptly. (Use your imagination to figure out why he was gone a while.)

Rod and I didn’t always agree on candidates. There were times I didn’t want to know which campaigns he was running.

We didn’t always agree on the best approach in a campaign either. During one of my candidacies, he told me that if I wanted to have a shot at winning, I should just leave town so people wouldn’t get to know me.

I remember him describing an easy job one time.  Bear in mind, he was often controversial and colorful.  He said he had been retained by a candidate to "do nothing."  In other words, don't work for him, don't work against him.  Easy money, huh?

I remember some of the great campaign slogans he came up with - for me and for others.  He was a creative genius!

I remember when his favorite color was “geen.” He just couldn’t pronounce “green” and called everything “geen.”  (By the way, this was a long time ago; he eventually learned to pronounce "green.")

I remember when I won a spelling bee in school. He ran to Mom that night and told her my news first – and I was SO mad at him for not letting me tell my own good news.

I think back about delivering the eulogy at Dad’s funeral without breaking down. This was probably because Rod told me beforehand that I wasn’t going to be able to do it.

(photo "lifted" from Wolfe Reports blog)

I recall when he took me to the golf course to teach me how to play golf, ending the day by saying he'd never do that again.

I remember that, for a long time, he drove the junkiest van in the whole world.  Returning from a political meeting in the Charleston area late one night, he realized he couldn't see through the windshield clearly.  The windshield seemed dirty, maybe blocked with a multitude of papers, notes and books.  After a while, though, he realized a snake had taken up residence on his dashboard. 

I remember family Charades games and one particular time when we played a joke on Rod, giving him something embarrassing and almost impossible to act out – and with his own team members planning ahead NOT to guess the correct answer.  Can you picture him trying to act out "The Vagina Monologues" while his team members played ignorant?  It was hilarious!

I remember when Rod and Shawn (my other brother) made the trip from Columbia to Charleston by water, skiing behind a boat, emulating what our dad had done on a few occasions many years earlier.

Which reminds me of something else: when Mom was pregnant with the fourth child after a10-year-break of not having children, the three of us already in existence got to help pick names for the new baby. Rod wanted to name him Sidney after our dog. Rod’s choice didn’t win, but he called the new brother “Sidney” instead of Shawn for quite a while.

I remember him rounding up as many people as he could to go to bowl games in an old delivery truck, complete with printing press, ink and all sorts of stuff. As a game ended, they’d start the presses, printing bumper strips and signs with the final scores, and selling them to happy fans.

I remember him playing his guitar and singing, often entertaining crowds and never meeting a stranger.

I remember his laugh, especially when he got started laughing and couldn’t quit.

When I got the call Wednesday morning about his sudden and dramatic change, I was with my two-year-old grandson. No doubt, he could sense that something was wrong, and he looked at me quizzically. I told him, “My brother is sick.” Harrison said, “Go get him.” I told him I couldn’t because my brother was in the hospital. Again, he said, “Go get him.” I told Harrison that I couldn’t, that I thought my brother was going to live with Jesus. In a typical two-year-old style, he said, “Come sit ‘side me.” I did, and he rubbed my back.

Rod singing to Shawn's daughter, Kendall.

Rod would have liked that, because there was a side to Rod that I remember so well which many people never got to see. He was very sensitive and tender-hearted. Oh, yes, he fought hard in political races, but he had a heart of gold.

Our family will never be the same, but we’re a richer family for having had him in our midst.

                            December 22, 1953 - August 18, 2010

~             ~              ~                  ~                 ~

Father's Day - Without My Dad

Father's Day - Without My Dad

NOTE: Usually I post only light-hearted stuff, but today is Father's Day, so I'm doing something a little different. It has been 9 years since my dad died. The following is what I wrote that appeared on the op/ed page of Charleston's Post and Courier on my first Father's Day without Dad and has appeared on this blog previously:

This is my first Father’s Day ever without a father.

He was “Dad” for 52 years and now he’s gone, but memories will cause him to live on forever, and what wonderful memories they are.

Today, on a bittersweet day, I celebrate his life – the person he was, the father he was, the qualities he shared and the principles for which he stood.

Dad was adopted as an infant and then lost his adoptive father before he started school. At the age of 6, he was the “man of the house,” with the chore of plowing the field each day. He used to tell us stories about starting his day staring at the back end of a mule.

At the 10th-grade level, Dad quit school and went to work in Charleston as an apprentice pipe fitter. In 1942, he joined the Navy, saw action in the New Guinea, Borneo, Gilbert Islands, Marshall Islands and Saipan campaigns and in the liberation of the Philippines. He survived the sinking of the USS Hugh L. Scott and a gunshot wound to the neck before receiving an honorable discharge on Jan. 6, 1947. I remember being in the back seat of our car when he was driving, looking at the scar left by a bullet on the back of his neck.

Although he earned his high school diploma while in the Navy, he returned to Batesburg-Leesville High School to “brush up: for college. It was there that he had a math teacher named Elsie Elizabeth Porth. One day, instead of turning in his assignment, he wrote a note to the teacher, asking her for a date. On June 15, 1947, she became his wife.

In the early 1950s, he became a candidate for the S.C. House of Representatives; he had never been in politics, had no relatives or friends in politics and had never been inside the Statehouse. He won, and went on to win more.

The first election he ever lost was after he was offered $50,000 to change his vote on an issue or otherwise have the $50,000 spent against him. Dad didn’t budge; he lost that election by only nine votes – and he didn’t request a recount.

Frequently referred to as a maverick, he was unconventional in his approach to numerous issues. When other committee members studying the navigability of the river system from Columbia to the Charleston harbor decided to go by boat between the two cities, Dad stayed behind – literally: He made the 180-mile trip on skis and repeated the trip later. The same journey was made in the late 1990s by his two sons (my brothers), Rod and Shawn; Dad was inside the boat for this trip.

During his 24 years in the Legislature, he became identified with several issues, most recently with the lottery. He was the first public official in modern history to promote a lottery referendum. Starting the early 1980s, he introduced lottery legislation every year until he retired in 1992. Dad traveled the state, laying the groundwork for lottery support and answering critics. [Interestingly, he was an adamant non-gambler himself.] He also held the best legislative attendance record – never missing a day – and best roll-call vote record for 23 years.

As a House member, he held a long-time filibuster record when he opposed price-fixing legislation; a notable filibuster in the Senate was his 27-hour diatribe on the accommodations tax.

Over the years he worked as a farmer, clerk, laborer, salesman, teacher, businessman and, for several years, was a professional boxer known as the “Blond Tiger.”  (He's the one in the middle in the picture.)

To me, he was Dad. What a family man he was. He and Mom had been married almost 54 years when he died in March. The five children never heard Dad say anything negative about Mom; he treated her like a queen. He had a glass of juice waiting for her at her bedside every morning for many years. He gave up the practice of law, which he loved, when her promotion necessitated an out-of-state move [to Tennessee from SC], and he became a real-life “Mr. Mom.”

At night, he read to all five children when we were young – and since the age span runs 52 to 32, that adds up to a lot of reading. And he continued to set an example as he spent hours and hours just reading to learn.

He taught himself to play the piano, banjo, guitar, accordion, ukulele and mandolin and encouraged us in musical fields.

He taught me how to use a sling-shot but forgot to impress upon me the direction in which to use it, so I successfully shot a rock straight back into my face. He made us swings with bushel baskets from a farm.

Dad didn’t place many restrictions and boundaries on us: There were a few basics that he expected. We knew he expected those things, not because he said so, but because that’s what he demanded of himself.

He and Mom also taught us the importance of laughter. We laughed about things we could not change – like the time he built us a three-room cement block house to live in. This was his first effort as a “builder.” He installed what we called roll-out or Florida windows – but he put them in backward. Every time it rained, we had to run outside to roll the windows shut. They were cemented in place, so there was nothing left to do but laugh.

First diagnosed with cancer late in 1974, he was almost like a cat with nine lives. In addition to surviving the sinking of his ship, the gunshot wound and his boxing career, he later was diagnosed with three kinds of cancer, suffered a light stroke, suffered with arthritis and had three pacemakers. When he received his first pacemaker, the doctor advised him to go home and not use his left arm for a while. Instead, Dad drove to the golf course and played a round of one-handed golf.

Up until a few months ago, he played golf often, learned to use a computer and kept reading. The garage is full of stuff that he “almost invented “ – a/k/a contraptions. And then, in March, he slipped away, finally at peace and out of pain. But before he left us, he wrote “good-bye” notes to each of the five children and a final note to Mom, his high school math teacher and wife.

After he died, someone described him as a “character with character.” Indeed, he was a character; and, indeed, he had character.

Just before he died, he asked for watermelon and a small bottled Coke. After a frantic search, I returned to the hospital with those items. He slowly ate three pieces of watermelon and took three sips of that small bottled Coke. These were the last things he had.

Such simple requests – but so very typical of him. He never asked for much for himself in life; he was a giver.

Oh, Dad, I miss you.

Happy Father’s Day.

Love,

Sherry
 
 

I'll Bet You've Never Had a Car Like This One!

To describe my dad as unusual would have been an understatement. He was a Mr. Fix-It of sorts, especially when things didn’t need to be fixed.

Dad always wanted to build the proverbial better mouse-trap but his efforts were more like turning something regular and usual into something irregular and unusual, which he called creative usefulness.

In other words, he was really good at making things that didn’t work or didn’t look right. Some might call them disasters.

For example, way back yonder (for all of you non-southerners, this usage of “yonder” is a reference to time) we had a green Studebaker. (For all of you young folks, a Studebaker was a car.)

I don’t know what model our Studebaker was; I didn’t even know they came in models back then.  (Below is a picture of a 1966 Studebaker; I think ours was older.)

Nor do I know how many people had owned the car before we had it. Dad always got used cars; these were things he could customize or modify.

Or ruin.

The Studebaker was green with white – to which Dad added more white. This addition was not on purpose, though. One day, he was using a spray gun to paint something nearby, much too nearby, in fact. White paint droplets splattered all over the side of the Studebaker. From then on, the car was green and white with one side covered by irregular white polka dots across it.

The major customization, however, was one Dad performed on purpose. He had a need for an extra seat from a car. (That’s a whole ‘nother story.) So, he took the back seat out of the Studebaker for his other purpose.

From then on, when we rode in that car, we had to either stand or kneel in the back or simply sit on the floor where the seat had been.

No seat belts, no shoulder harnesses, no airbags, no child car-seats. No automatic anything.

And I guarantee you no one ever tried to steal that car!

Ah, those were the good ol’ days.

~                               ~                             ~                              ~                            ~

WW: Do You Think the Price Was Right?

Do you think the price was right for this bedroom furniture?

It was over 40 years ago, perhaps 45, when our family had some now-forgotten reason to be in New York City.

Mom saw this as an opportunity to try to become a contestant on “The Price is Right.” She was confident she could win if she could just get chosen.

We all were excited about going to see a real live show. Alas, we learned when we arrived that children weren’t permitted in the studio audience, so Mom and Dad went without us, i.e. the children.

As relayed to us later, show personnel were out in the audience looking for people they thought would be good contestants. Mom waved her hands excitedly, trying to get their attention. Dad held up Mom’s sweater, swinging it around in hopes that Mom would be seen.

The sweater worked: Dad was picked!

But Dad didn't want to be picked.  Dad didn’t want to be on a TV show. He didn’t even know how to play or how the show worked.

I think he tried to explain to show personnel that Mom was the one who wanted to be a contestant – all to no avail. He was the one on the show.

These pieces make up the bedroom suite he won all those many years ago. It’s in an extra bedroom now, no longer used on a daily basis, but Mom and Dad certainly got their money's worth.

After all, the price was definitely right

~ ~ ~ ~

PS - If you happened to look closely at the third picture and noticed all of the trophies on the headboard, they belong to the person written about in the previous post on this blog. See post below.

Other Wordless Wednesday participants here.

Other Wordful Wednesday participants here,.

          * * *

I Am SO Thankful: For These and So Much More!

    

I am thankful. Not just today but every day.

For three fantastic children who are wonderful adults - Tiffany, Tree and Mandy shown here just after Mandy's marriage to Adam.

For a fabulous mom and for memories of a fabulous dad.

For two sisters (Christy & Lorri) and two brothers (Rod & Shawn) I wouldn’t trade for anything (most days.)

For a great son-in-law, Adam Brantley.

For an adorable grandson, Harrison Cothran Brantley.

For remarkable friends, both old and new.

For a warm and caring church family.






For 60 good years of life.

For God-given talents and abilities.

For health.

For a wonderful extended family.

For a sense of humor.

For our military who serve us.

For law enforcement and firefighters who protect us.

For educators who touch and help shape the future.

For the power of prayer and faith.

For the freedoms we enjoy in our country and for the hope those freedoms will be around for a long time.

For volunteers who give so much of themselves in so many ways.

For the beauty of nature - colorful rainbows, glorious sunshine, majestic mountains, rolling oceans, chirping birds, laughing children, refreshing rain, seasonal changes and so much more.

And, this year in particular, I am thankful for the time I had with Carroll a/k/a “The Dawg.”

As odd as it may sound and as much as I would like for him to still be here with me, I am thankful for the way in which he left us – a peaceful death; opportunities to say good-bye to family and friends; no lingering, on-going suffering. I am thankful I was with him and in his arms as he took his last breath. What a blessing!

May you enjoy counting your blessings today - and every day!
~                ~               ~                   ~                  ~                 ~                    ~                       ~

WW: Thank You, Veterans!

In Thankful Appreciation

Veterans Day 2009

With special appreciation to two of my favorite veterans no longer with us:  Dad (Navy) and the Dawg (Air Force); and to active military daughter Tiffany (Army.)

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Wordless Wednesday participants here.

PH: Surprise!!!!

Surprise is the theme for this week's Photo Hunt. Life is full of 'em!!!!

Several years ago, the folks at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, were surprised to have the tallest soldier and the shortest soldier to ever go through MOS training there at the same time. The short one is Tiffany, one of my daughters.



I was surprised when part of my eBay purchase arrived like this!

I was surprised when I forgot that I was boiling eggs on the stove!

Grandson Harrison is surprised about something!

Sometimes people are surprised to learn how one of my brothers, Shawn, teaches children to water-ski. He pulls them on the ground first, behind him running!




This is Shawn's daughter, Kendall. Can't tell if she is laughing at the joy of skiing or at how tired her dad is getting while doing the running & pulling!

My dad took the easy way out years ago, but folks were just as surprised to learn that he pulled us on skis behind a car!!

~ ~ ~ ~

Photo Hunt participants are throughout blogland. Click here to see other surprises this week!

Is Social Networking IMPERSONAL?

Is social networking impersonal?

Critics often complain that we are becoming a society of recluses, hidden behind computer screens, fearful of human interaction.

I absolutely and strongly disagree.

There’s no question that I spend a lot of time at the computer. In fact, I’m beginning to believe the laptop is an extension of me. Borrowing Karl Malden’s words, I’d say I "don’t leave home without it.”

I’m addicted to the computer; I have withdrawal symptoms if I have to do without it.

I use Twitter, Facebook and Blogspot, currently updating three public blogs and one private blog.

Do I fear human interaction? Oh, no. I love human interaction.

Social networks have allowed me to find old friends, people with whom I had lost contact. Social networks have allowed me to make new friends, some of whom I’ve never met face to face but who seem just as close and familiar as some others. Social networks have allowed me to keep up with what friends and family members are doing, even those things I'd rather not know.

Sitting at a computer doesn't inhibit conversation any more than reading book, working a crossword or perhaps even being engrossed in a TV program.

Many of us are more personal with our writing than we are with our speaking. Perhaps we get to know more about others and share more of ourselves this way.

When Mom sends an e-mail to all of the family members, we know exactly what she's thinking! She writes the same way she talks.

When “The Dawg” got sick and was hospitalized several times, I kept a blog about him to let family and friends keep up with his condition. It was so much easier than calling 20 to 50 people, especially since I was usually in the hospital room and he was often sleeping or watching TV. We posted pictures of hospital staffers and got to know them much better by doing so.

His last days were described on the blog and even his death.

(http://www.carrollsmith.blogspot.com/)

I shared my heartache at losing my husband and soul mate but also shared his desire not to linger and suffer. These were bittersweet postings, of course.

At the same time, I heard from hundreds of people, first wishing him well, offering prayers and then expressing condolences. Yes, there were some “traditional” cards that came through the mail, but there were many more expressions of sympathy on his blog and on mine, on Facebook, on Twitter and through e-mail.

These were no less personal than hand-written cards. What’s more, they were instantaneous and helped with the grieving process, just as writing helped me with the grieving process. I wouldn’t trade those communications for anything. I felt caring and concern from the senders.

When my dad died of cancer just over 8 years ago, I didn’t have a blog; there was no Twitter or Facebook, but there was e-mail. I notified loads of people about his death by e-mail and received many sympathy messages by e-mail.

One good thing about the e-mail communications was that I was able to print copies of the messages for each family member. That’s something I couldn’t do with traditional cards and phone calls.

In some ways, social networking has advantages and may even be preferable.

Etiquette experts may frown on the use of a computer for anything connected with emotions. I don’t, but, of course, as those who know me will attest, I’m certainly no etiquette expert!
Social networks are convenient. No trips to the post office. No worrying about calling someone who may be sleeping or busy. Messages are sent at the sender’s convenience and read at the recipient’s convenience.

One person sent an e-mail expressing sympathy when Carroll died but also apologized for using e-mail, saying she couldn’t find a current mailing address. I assured her this was fine. Her message was the same, regardless of the format. I felt no less comforted by words that were typed rather than hand-written.

What do you think? Do you offer sympathy, greetings, congratulations, best wishes and so forth by way of computer?

Is this a way to show joy at someone's good news and celebration? Is this kind of communication less personal?

Is it okay? Is it acceptable? Or, are we really humans fearful of “personal” communications and interaction?