Evil thoughts always lurk in my mind. At the place we were vacationing, there was a community pool that families would gather around and enjoy the beautiful North Carolina sun. Most of the guys represented a cross section of male figures. There was the group of guys who should never ever be shirtless or in speedo but were. There were the middle aged guys who were at one time in shape but the years of hard work and late nights comforted by long meals and quick desserts (This was my tribe I hope) rendered them round.  Then there were the guys who were either Navy Seals or former professional athletes. Buff and tan. Now I usually don’t hate the “playa” just the game but this one guy broke a rule. He was a show off. The diving board was the focus of much attention and fun. Most of the middle aged guys that went off the board were having fun. The usual cannon balls or can opener with the sufficient splash of a middle aged man. This one dude gets up on the board and has his wife take pictures of him. I hated him right there. Never have your wife take pictures of you. Worse than that, he had great blond hair and was athletically trim and tan. Another reason to hate this guy. Worse than that he approaches the diving board with an air of Greg Luganis. What did he think he was doing trying out for the Bejing Games in Nags Head North Carolina - Hey buddy there is a code of conduct when you are in the presence of middle aged fat people.  Testing the board he gathers the drama and  I think to myself I might doggie paddle over to him when he enters and get on his back so that he sinks to the bottom of the pool never to be seen again. He dives,  he performs a perfect twisting gainer without the required fat man splash caused by the other guys. Some people actually clapped. That was it. I took off swimming ferociously to try and piggy back him to death when I looked up and he was gone. He swam past me with the speed of a shark. I caught some of his wake and lonely bobbed in the water. Catching the shaking of some of the spectators heads at my feeble attempts of retribution, humiliated, I went back to my tribe of unpopulars  where judgment did not exist. Maybe next year I will accidentally cannonball into him and teach him a lesson. His wife can get a picture of that for her vacation memory.AH

Here is an update on the EBAY saga with my wife. Now it is a tea cart. Hold on, I did not identify this correctly. She said, “I am on the hunt for this adorable retro tea cart. It will be perfect for that tea set that I found packed away a couple of days ago. You have to see it.” First of all this tea set was in hibernation for at least 13 years. EBAY has presented an opportunity to bring things out of the grave for no apparent reason and search for new things to add to old things. George Carlin was right, a house is a place to hold stuff. When you fill it up you a need a bigger house to fill up with more stuff. Be clear, I am not poking fun at my wife because her sincerity is palpable. I am sure if I saw this tea cart, I would have to acknowledge that it is adorable. My wife’s taste is impeccable however I am quite concern that someone at EBAY has locked into my wife’s email address. EBAY will begin sending subliminal email suggestions about a rug for the living room or an additional set of dishes for the christmas set we never use. This brainwashing will trigger her relentless search for other hibernating items that have been entombed in our house for years. As she unearths them like Lazarus from the grave, her computer will come alive Dr. Frankenstein plugged in to yet another bidding war. The FED EX guy will know our house like the Schwann’s man does. We will be on first name basis with our delivery guy as he brings in the kill for my wife to create adorable matches from across the country. Help!
AH
AH

 A person with a competitive streak is not always easy to indentify. If you are a sports fanatic, then you are usually identified as a competitive fanatic by the way you are willing to paint your various body parts with the team colors. A competitive person might also be spotted if as the adult he argues with a 8 year old kid until the kid cries because in your words, “that kid is a stinking cheater” and “that shot was in before the buzzer.” These activities indicate a level of  seriousness around games that might need some therapy. Unfortunately for me, my sweet wife (who by the way is a very competitive person not in the way previously described but still she wants to win) has recently discovered the sport of EBAY. Now, I know you are thinking that EBAY is not a sport. According to my wife, it is her against the world. Most of the time my wife does not see the point of sports. She thinks sports are stupid. I can’t remember a game that I participated where she knew the score after we left the stadium. EBAY has become her new blood sport. On Sunday night, she was determined to out bid this other person (a nameless competitor she had determined to be enemy #1) for a set of books for my girls. The gleam in her eye as she feverishly tapped the keyboard of her Macbook is disturbing. She is not just attempting to get a good deal but she is strategizing like the Joint Chiefs of Staff during a war. I am the hapless Private and she is the merciless General barking out times that I “have to make sure ” she is up to put in the final bid. Last night, I was given orders to wake her up by “3:30am”. That is right, 3:30am!!! I asked why and she said, “because then I can beat out all the other people who have been trying to steal these books from me all day.” Do I need to comment on the obvious paranoia? I responded with a sharp, “Yes Mamm” and set the alarm. Let me set the stage for you. Her laptop is on the floor next to her bed and she is giddy with anticipation. Any other time my wife would require a bucket of ice water to get up at 3:30am. I am concerned that God has set the rapture in the late afternoon just so Amy won’t sleep through the lift off. But last night, the alarm went off and she swung out of bed with cat like reflexes swooping up the laptop and back into bed in one harmonious Alvin Ailey choreograph.  Side table light snaps on and her lap top music evolves. I am half awake and she says, “alright, lets go!”  She is a vigilant gladiator thrown into the floor of the coliseum.  Tense and tapping away at the keyboard, she waits for two minutes before the bid is over and makes her move;  a suburban lioness crouched in the internet jungle pouncing on unsuspecting retail prey. Waiting anxiously and desiring to turn the light out and return to my hibernation, I ask, “Did you get it?” She waits a second and in the most satisfactory sultry voice she triumphantly says, “I got it. HA!” She silently claps her hands applauding her EBAY victory.  I say “good night sweetheart” and roll over as she curls up like a cat that had just finished off a mighty meal.  The lioness - victorious in competition. If you listened closely I think you could hear her purring. AH 

During my morning devotion, Alistair Begg was teaching about Caleb. In the book of Joshua the book recounts that Caleb waited 45 years for something promised to him but lived honorably under someone else’s punishment. At the end of his life he claims his inheritance. The leader of the Jews gave Caleb his inheritance because “he wholly followed God” (Joshua 14:14) The phrase wholly followed God struck me.  ”Wholly” - the word means completely, fully or totally. Caleb was completely sold out to God. I am not sure that someone would give me anything but if they did I am not sure that it would be because I wholly did something. The lesson for me was that life must be lived every minute every second wholly. For true purpose, we must be wholly following God because without that we start keeping score according to worthless possessions and successes. Wholly following God requires a constant attention to remain focus against the distractions of life. I think I should commit myself to my inheritance the Lord has for me on the basis of seeking out a wholly lived life. Tearing off the fear of rejections, the criticism of others and the doubt of partial living are the first steps to being whole. A lesson I need to learn - live wholly.AH 

Forty Dollars a visit. That is what it costs me to obtain “physical therapy”. The only thing missing from this “therapy” is a star chamber and the torches because for all of the semantics these visits are “voluntary torture.” Everyone there is very sweet and appropriately genteel but the reality is yesterday I saw one of the physical therapist enjoying the torture. This is what happened. The “patient” or what I call “victim” was laying on the table face down. Now this position is extremely vulnerable in a Ned Beatty sort of way so I thought I should watch the “therapist” ie “enforcer.” The enforcer placed her 5′ foot body on the victims leg and began pushing her leg toward her buttocks. This so called therapy was intended to “stretch it out.” The “it” was something I could not ascertain but what I did see was the “therapist” check to see if the “patient” was looking back at her.  Finding the “patient” face down in the pillow wincing in pain, the “therapist” craned her neck back in an almost rapturous stretch look into the mirror and say to herself “nice, nice hurt so good.” Shivers ran down my spine because I was next. The “patient” whimpered a little bit and the “therapist” said “are you ok?” knowing full well that the “patient” could not answer because she was face down in the pillow screaming her lungs out. I also think I saw the “therapist” hold this poor defenseless 85 year old lady’s head into the pillow while she added another “good stretch.” The scary part of all of his is the normalcy and sanitized feeling the “therapy” room has. I am telling you in a different era or with different outfits these “therapists” could be placed in any medieval dungeon or an interrogation roon in Guatanomo.  I am sitting there thinking, “am I the only one who realizes that these ‘therapists’ are sadistic masocists employed by the health care profession for the sole purpose of extending pain and suffering so that the health care executives can count the co-pays on a daily basis.” I imagine the “therapists” at the end of the day sitting around the credit card receipts wringing their hands eating favre beans and drinking chianti.  They tell stories of people who they get to do the most ridiculous activities in the name of “therapy” but in reality the “therapists” joke about how simple minded and lemming like the “patients” are all knowing that none of this “therapy” works or has medicinal value whatsoever. All of this occurs after hours in their khaki pants and tennis shoes. All of this for a $40.00 co-pay, the never ending co-pay. Ironically there is a sign at this location that states “If it hurts don’t do it.” I think there is another sign in the back office that says, “Patients can’t be trusted.” AH 

A distinguishing characteristic between living and life is passion. Merging passion and vocation should be the goal of every young person. If you are not excited about starting the day then you lack passion. Men are not passionate anymore unless it is sexual. Society has reduced men to feminized eunochs lacking the burning desire to win, conquer and lead. I want to “suck the marrow out of life” by attacking every task or obstacle with reckless abandonment. I want to be passionate about the tasks in front of me and the hope of building something lasting for those coming behind me. Kill me if I am just going through the motions in the hopes of getting ahead even though I have no desire or fire in my belly. Maybe that is when God takes us home. In Genesis, Moses records that God breathed life into Adam. I think God breathed on a spark implanted in Adam to ignite the flames of passion in every subsequent human being. When that flame flickers and wanes in the winds of life, we have to be careful not to quench the oxygen feeding that flame by cutting off the supply due to complacency and mediocrity. Kaizen!!! Men should be crying out for the flames in our souls to burn so intensely that the people around us catch fire too or burn up. BE PASSIONATE!!!! You only have one life to live. AH 

On June 14 at 7:00pm I will be attending my 21st dance recital at the Mary Ann Wood School of Dance. My daughters and I will be performing a dance together. I do not dance well, I dance in the shower and in my house when no one is around. The music of choice for me is usually Robert Cray or a Keb Mo tune fully clothed and lacking rythm but no passion, enough of that. Dance recitals are painful. Most of them could be used to extract information from the most hardened AlQueda terrorist. After the tune Lollipop is played four times in a row and the 25th little girl cries on stage Jihad is over. Now, let me qualify that statement by saying that I have attended 21 years of them so I am an authority. My kids are great and my wife spectacular. I love to watch them enjoy the crowd and music. I also attend because the most important thing happened to me at my first dance recital -  I fell in love with my wife. You know it was one of those awkward situations where the new boyfriend has to attend with the smothering family and the overbearing intimidating dad.  I showed up trying to figure out the legal size front and back quadruple folded program would take for an ADD hyperactive guy proned to sweating out of his clothes. My girlfriend’s dad fell asleep and prior to snoring somewhat inconsiderately tasked me with waking him up one number before my girlfriend came on. I marked each number and diligently went to work. Most of the night is a boring blur but my girlfriend (now wife) had a private number where she was performing ballet. I knew she could dance because she attended a special school for gifted kids so nothing new there but I had never seen her dance. As the lights went down and the stage was dark except a lone spotlight, she stepped into the light wearing a beautiful white flowing dress. She was more than beautiful. She was radiant and I was sold. I knew that she was the person for me because where I had to fill every moment of silence with useless mind numbing blather she spoke volumes to the world without saying a single word. After the recital, I stayed out until 1:00 am with her family at a Denny’s eating pancakes and two pieces of bacon with a coke. Her grandmother asked the family, “Who is the Oriental boy eating with us?” My girlfriend’s brother answered and said, “Nana that is the lawn boy, you know Albert Amy’s new friend, the boy who cuts the grass.” Thus was my introduction into the family. Everyone laughed at my expense but I knew something they didn’t. The best part of that family would be my wife someday and then my brother in law could introduce me with something like, ” This is Albert the lawn boy who looks somewhat Oriental to old people, uh, Amy’s husband.” On the evening of June 14th 2008, the lawnboy will watch his beautiful graceful wife take the stage again. He will also trip the light fantastic much to everyone’s mockery with his two beautiful daughters. I am looking forward to June 14th not because I enjoy 4 hours of buttock numbing endlessness but the opportunity to bask in warmth of my family whom I love very much. Warning to all parents, watch out for lawn boys. They work awfully hard and sometimes they want more out of you than a tip. I know I did. AH  

As a child, Sundays were a special and reverent day. There were many reasons for this but I will only mention a couple. My father worked 6 days a week. He still works six days a week but Sunday mornings were special because this was the Sabbath or as my mom described as “The Lord’s Day.” I would wake up to my father whipping up waffles in the kitchen. I can remember stirring in my bed listening for the clanking of glasses or the cabinet opening and the waffle iron being removed. He would develop his batter and cooking equipment with chef like authority. I would steal some chocolate chips while he tasked me with jobs such as chopping the nuts or stirring the batter. We would talk politics, school, work or whatever we needed to catch up. My mother would lumber down when he was finished and he would serve the whole family. All of his care and attention seemed normal as a child until I realized that many fathers who worked as hard as he did for six days would have approached Sundays with selfish arrogance. My father loves us too much to be selfish. Sundays were weekly examples of Christian fatherhood - a bear of a man cooking cleaning and caring for his family. As I got older, I respectively called him Hazel because of his devotion to the domestic duties in the house. After breakfast, he would announce that it was time to “get ready for church”. The rest of the family would scurry upstairs to ready ourselves for worship all being followed by my father’s rich baritone singing and whistling praises to God. I never actually saw him get ready but he was always  first leading us to a committed day of worship. Sundays with my own family are very similar. I cook waffles for my family on Sunday morning and announce for them to get ready for church. I don’t sing them upstairs but my IPOD plays praise music wrapping them hopefully in anticipated preparation of their hearts to hear something life changing from God’s word. Some Sunday mornings when I get up early, I will change clothes and drive to my parents for a nostalgic waffle prepared by my father. We talk about movies, work, politics, grandchildren and God. 35 years of waffles. There is not a Sunday morning where I think that those waffles will not be there if I drive to my parents. If you are in need of a good breakfast and some loud baritone stop by one Sunday morning.AH 

I have agreed to speak at an academic awards banquet on May 19th at my high school. At 5:05am, I was struck with what I would like to say to these young achievers. I want to tell them that most of the information that they have learned is useless. All the studying they have endured of math, English, dates, concepts and history is useless in and of itself. Have you actually learned from it? That is the question I want to throw in their face. Have they learned that their parents are probably right or have they learned that their parents are completely wrong?In other words, if you have read Shakespeare’s Hamlet and you know “What a piece of work is man” as a quote but you don’t know what Shakespeare was really talking about then you have missed the point of learning. Studying for a perfect SOL test or a 5 on the AP does not prove that you have learned anything. Shakespeare, Galileo and the other masters of the past explored uncharted territory trying to give us a map to answers that although feeble yet brilliant are merely suggestions to questions only God answers.  If the student has learned the old answers but is too scared to come up with new answers then the student has achieved conformity and nothing else.I would also like to tell them that they should be careful not to consider high school the peak. It is really just the start. It is up to them to formulate a new dream because the sand in this hour glass has emptied. Learning something about yourself and the world around you every day is the best remedy for taking your life too seriously. At 5:07am I realized that talk would be too existential.  I should just read a Dr. Seuss Poem and eat my chicken slyly holding inside my head the irony of life.  ”What a piece of work is man.”AH 

I think the federal government should create FEPA. The Federal Emergency Pet Association so that middle class families can petition for aid when their pets have to go to the vet. I have 3 people that I know that have spent an average of $1416.00 in vet fees in the last week. Money well spent to stop the puking, defecating and urinating caused by a sick pet, however, if the Feds are going to be bailing out people who took out negative amortization loans and stopped paying their mortgages (because of vet bills probably) I think the middle class needs a hand out so that their pooches can receive better health care than their owners receive. Maybe Hillary can add a Universal Pet HealthCare to her platform that way when illegal immigrants come to the United States they can bring their pets. AH 

I would like to share with everyone my struggle with consistency around food. If you compared my life against others (a practice I am never in favor of but for argument sake will suggest), I would probably be considered a consistent person. Food is my downfall. I am overweight because I choose to be overweight. I eat food that I know is bad for me. Last night for example I abstained from getting dessert at the restaurant. When I came home, however, I saddled up to a bowl of ice cream like a crack addict on a crack pipe.I am not talking about normal bowl but a bowl large enough for a NFL linebacker. My wife, looking at me with astonishment as I sat in the dark making love to this bowl said, “are you ok?” I looked up ashamed and said, “look away, I am hideous”. She laughed and I continued eating. Unfortunately for me I was eating unconsciously to allow my food to handle my emotions. This is a very self destructive excersize.I wonder if people could have seen this 35 year old, attorney, entrepreneur and father eating ice cream in the dark like an obese gollum from the Lord of the Rings would consider me consistent? Good thing I don’t have a Krispy Kreme near my house or things could get publicly ugly. For now, I will seek the precious in the privacy of my own home.AH  

SOMEONE HAS TO DRAW THE PLANS   

In our fluid liquid on demand society fortresses seem out of place. However, the institutions that built this fluid liquid society were fortresses of commerce, government and education. The internet started by the military to communicate. Educational institutions provided intellectual environments as a bedrock for the necessary trial and error to create all of our modern conveniences. Layers upon layers of successes and failures performed in safe environments so intellectuals could venture out and then return to the safety of the fortress. These fort builders created plans first then decided on materials and then built. No microwave meals. No pop in the microwave push a button and 15 seconds a meal. Preparation, planning and perseverance are the ingredients for a great fort. Have you taken the time to plan out the type of fort you want to build or are you hoping that the tent that you are currently shivering in will be strong enough to build a life on. Maybe you should think about sitting down to build a legacy by becoming the architect of the life you want instead of the life you have.

Are you ready to prepare, plan and persevere?

If your home is not a fort where you, your wife and your kids can venture out into the world exploring and conquering things all while knowing that they can return to the fort for protection, training, and provisions; then you are gypsy tent makers declaring permanence but constantly on the move.

If you don’t know how to build then find a master builder and apprentice for a time until you can build on your own.                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

ANATOMY OF THE FORT – SIMPLE BUT EFFECTIVE                                                                                                                   A traditional fort has four sides. On the four corners a tower was usually built to house guards or sentinels. A sentinel‘s job was to watch the horizon for danger. If the sentinel saw a stranger or a dangerous situation then the sentinel sounded an alarm to warn the inhabitants of the fort and call the people outside the fort to come back inside the protection of the fort.  All sides had to be watched. In our families the four sides of our forts are:  

1. Financial/Occupational
2. Emotional/Spiritual
3. Intellectual
4. Historical/Traditional

Kids love to build forts. Tree forts or sheet forts in their rooms. It does not matter if it is inside or outside kids love to build enclosures where they can feel safe and secure. This innate desire comes from the need to build something that stands the test of time. Divorce and absentee fathers eliminate forts because they destroy foundations for kids to naturally gravitate to building forts. Some of you are reading this are thinking, No my divorce worked out great. WRONG!  Divorce is the worst thing that can happen for a child.  Some times it is inevitable realistically the ripping and tearing of a critical foundational structure of family destroys kids desire to build forts, family and futures. I think a study should be done if kids from divorced families build forts. I bet they don’t because they don’t know how. This lack of desire might come from the thought that it will get torn down anyway so why build. Challenge to you. Build a fort in your life. Fort is defined as a permanent army post. A fortress is a strengthened fort where troops can go out and come in for safety provisions and refreshment. If enemies attacked a fort the building withstood arrows, flames and intruders. Huge gates locked the right people in and kept the wrong people out. Usually a benevolent ruler or commander decided who came in and who was ready to go out. Think about your fort. Is it fortified?

High above the football field an interesting contrast existed during the game. Tom Brady’s “girlfriend” Gisele sat beautifully supporting her boyfriend. On the other side, Peyton Manning sat watching his brother. What struck me about this contrast was more than the obvious differences of desire and beauty.  Juxtapose the superficial ideal of cultural “hotness” against a representative of years of family dedication to professional athletics.  Brady was quoted this week as saying “ultimately none of this stuff means anything. I am still looking for ultimate meaning.”  Manning watched over his brother like a cheering torch bearer lighting the path of legacy. He represents years of physical discipline encouragement and brotherly mentoring. Gisele sat representative of the worst of humanity: superficiality, celebrity and shallowness. Peyton sat representative of his family legacy. He watched over the entrance of greatness cheering his brother on to victory. Can Brady’s cheering section even understand the level of commitment, teamwork and grit required of a professional football player? I doubt it. Brady lost Sunday night and although he has achieved greatness on the field, you have to wonder if he will be able to sit at the entrance of greatness ushering in his legacy. Hopefully beauty is more than skin deep.

 10 WEEKLY GOALS

1. FOCUS ON SOMEONE ELSE’S NEEDS.

2. CARVE OUT TIME TO SPEND WITH SOMEONE (30 MIN).

3. SAY THANK YOU TO SOMEONE WHO HAS NOT HEARD IT.

4. CLEAR SOMETHING OUT OF MY LIFE THAT TAKES UP SPACE

5. IDENTIFY SOMETHING I HAVE DONE THAT WORKED

6. IDENTIFY SOMETHING I HAVE DONE THAT DID NOT WORK

7. REPEAT THE THING THAT WORKED

8. INCREASE MY POSTIVE WORDS AND DESCREASE MY NEGATIVE WORDS

9. CREATE EXPONENTIAL RESULTS BY SEEING BIG

10. DON’T TAKE MYSELF TOO SERIOUSLY