done

There were a few tears, a little pausing to make the moment last, and hugs that seemed to want to keep holding on without letting go. My baby,....my first child,.....my princess,.....has been dropped off and surrendered to the care and loving arms of California Baptist University. I've been steeling myself for this cord to be cut for a couple years, but just like when a relative dies after a bought with a terminal illness, you can never be fully prepared for the goodbye. The preparation helps with the logic, but not with the hurt.

I'm so blessed that my youngest daughter still has 3 more years at home before a similar, albeit distinct, pilgrimage will take place. Independence will be grudgingly granted. An alcoholic surrendering the last precious bottle they've kept hidden from the world. Knowing it has to be done,....needs to be done, but hating every moment of the surrender as it occurs. Fully aware of the beautiful life spreading it's wings and flying with newfound freedom away from the comfort of the nest, but wishing it didn't have to be that way. God's logic. God's pattern. God's challenge to every parent. "Did you raise them right, my son? Well, let's see."

There was a final glorious day for the 4 of us today. Newport Beach, Crystal Cove Park. Hiking, tidepools, laughter, Peet's Coffee, a picnic on the beach, and Pinkberry. We bought an ethernet cable, met her sweet and spunky roommate Cece (who seems to be a very together young lady), and bought them supper at Cheesecake Factory. At some point I became numb. Maybe numb is the wrong word, as numb isn't accompanied by nausea, sadness and loss. Numb is numb, and I suppose in hindsight, this wasn't it.

She's had an amazing music camp, practicing just south of 30 hours in 3 days, and learning more than 20 songs in that time. She's made friends and already started to fit in, as I knew she would. Thankfully, she was also picked from many auditionees, to be in a small feature group named "Joy!" that travels to churches across southern California performing. She's developed the beginnings of a new rhythm to her life on the west coast, and I know she's gonna excel magnificently. This knowledge both pleases and hurts at the same time. Is that strange, or normal?

There will be millions more memories with her, God willing. Memories of saying prayers before bed and playing frisbee with the dogs. Memories of frozen yogurt, car sing-a-longs, pointless family laughter, vacations, board games, and trials. Memories of standing next to her singing in church, and watching with unabashed pride as she lifts her voice to the heavens in her new choir.

But today was goodbye to the way we've known her up until now. Our girl is now our lady. Our baby is now our adult. She who once depended on us for every morsel of her life now is starting a life of her own. It is right. It is normal. It is what should be happening. But dear God, it still hurts.

Vegas baby!

Las Vegas is a city of total contradiction. Some of the nicest hotels anywhere built for some of the sleaziest purposes. Amazing, expensive restaurants sitting next door to abhorrent $3.99 "all the salmonella you can get" buffets. Mountains interrupted by skyscrapers, family entertainment next to a strip club, street ministers preaching beside people handing out cards to get you a hooker in 20 minutes or less, stifling heat with no humidity, friendly and warm people standing beside drunk jerks. Contradiction.

Morgan and I have had a blast in the midst of all this. A beautiful suite at THE hotel at Mandalay Bay (they capitalize the letters for some odd reason) was home base four our 2-day adventure of food, fun and relaxation after our monster drive west.

Le Reve and Phantom were 2 of the most spectacular shows I've ever laid my eyes on. Every detail carefully crafted with amazing athleticism, tremendous God-given talent on display, and theaters perfectly befitting of such amazing presentations. We literally could not take our eyes off of these shows, and I treasure the fact they were both family-friendly and very tastefully done, proving you don't have to be vile to entertain folks.

Okada sushi restaurant at the Wynn and Canaletto at the Venetian were wonderful culinary setting to stuff ourselves with delicious foods. Okada gave us memories of one of the best waitresses the world has ever seen, fire-roasted veggie skewers and hand-held sushi rolls. It also gave Wooda her first taste of sake', which she unfortunately liked. Now, I'm faced with the proposition of her lying in a gutter holding one of those tiny sake' cups out as people pass by, begging for some Sumayami Plum, vintage '66,...oh, the humanity!

Canaletto saw us being crooned by strolling singers as we sat in St. Mark's square in the heart of Venice. Sheep and goat milk cheeses, with pear chutney was our appetizer. We ate as a stilt-walker passed, trying to make human statues break their poses and laugh. Supermodels from around the world were walking by talking about the World Fashion Expo being held this week, looking at us and our food longingly,......for they cannot eat. "Shame",.....sigh.

Fjording our way back from the shows each night, we saw the neon lights of the Vegas strip. Speaking of strip, we passed about as many ads for strippers and hookers as there were people in the street. That's part of this city's great shame. Other cities seems more able to conceal their darkest sides, while Vegas embraces and promotes theirs.

Other highlights included our spa day at the Mandalay Bay, where Morgan got the pedicure/manicure special for FREE!! Walking the Venetian and Palazzo grand canal shoppes listening to gondoliers row and serenade their passengers, spending an hour at the wave pool beach where Morgan got hit on the second I left her for a chaise lounge, and losing $48 in the casino just add more layers to the onion of memory this trip provided.

Today we head to Cal Baptist. Bed, Bath and Beyond and Wal-Mart stops along the way to pick up dorm room essentials, then off to the airport to pick up Tina and Madeline, as they arrive from Indy for tomorrow's drop off of our oldest. The finality has hit me like a ton of bricks, but I know she's ready for this. I can't begin to think how I would've felt without this special time to spend with my first-born on her excursion into a new frontier of life. Every memory of the trip, from the trivial to the terrific, will be etched in my mind with appreciation that's unspeakable. Thank you, God. Thank you.

Notes, Tears, and Teachers Past

The president of the group stood there in the hall after chasing me down as I left the choir room, headed to the Albuquerque airport. She seemed a bit awkward and not knowing what to say, but got it out anyway:

"Mr Brown, I just wanted to,...um,...you've really made a difference for all of us. Here's a card we wanted you to have. You don't have to open it now. This was so much fun and our group wants to thank you. Even though you don't like Katy Perry! (I teased her mercilessly for 3 days about her confessed obsession.) Dang it, I feel stupid, (starts to get teary-eyed). I just wanted you to know how much you mean to our group,..(hugs me)"

Don't know why, but this has been the summer of notes and tears for me as a teacher. I've always tried to be a mentor, coach, comedian and motivator to my students, as I think too many teachers just don't care enough. Mind you, there are THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS who care exceedingly, agonize when they know kids are struggling with health or emotions, and dedicate their lives to making the lives of others richer, happier and fuller. It's just that too many don't.

Dr Sharon Seager was one of my history profs at Ball State back in about 1984. Perhaps the worst teacher in the world! Each day was filled with the spell-binding proposition of her walking into the classroom with her gaze thrust into the floor, as if a naked man she lusted for was laying there waiting for her. She'd take a cursory glance up at the class to make sure she wasn't alone (or more accurately, in hopes that she WAS!), sigh with disappointment, then she'd pull out an American History book that looked like the Yellow Pages of Greater New York City. And then,....breathlessly,...wantingly,....with a monotone that can never be duplicated by even the most perfect machine-generated operator tone at the welfare office,....she would read directly out of the book for 55 minutes! My bosoms still heave in sweaty, erotic passion as I recall her voice,.....NOT!

No, is the answer to your question, she didn't look up,....EVER!!!! In fact, I'm not even positive that she stopped to breathe. Perhaps she did, or legend has it that she may have had gills that made it unnecessary. Point is, the lady read from a book without pause, voice fluctuation, chalkboard usage, point stressing, or question-asking until a group of young adults in the prime of life, were stifled into a zombie-like catatonia. Praying, in-fact, FOR nuclear war to ensue at that very moment to bring an end to the suffering we all endured. No joke, when I cleared my throat one time to ask a question, she looked up, sighed heavily,.....and read the paragraph over again!!!

I reported her to Morton Rosenberg, dean of the department, who didn't believe me. After convincing him to check it out for himself, he sent a "grad ass" to class one day undercover. True to form, she didn't even know that somebody else was in class that day, even though there were only about 25 of us. After reporting back that the class had made them contemplate imaginative ways to commit suicide, Dr Rosenberg had a meeting with Ms Seager (I only assume she wasn't married. Simply not possible!) Next class, CHARTS,...HANDOUTS,...Q&A...and all the FALSE enthusiasm one could ever desire! I hope she's locked in prison now, being submitted to the torture of listening to audio-tape replays of herself teaching,....until she dies.

Thank God there were some brilliant and inspirational teachers mixed in there along the way. Fritz Mountford, Larry Boye and JoAnne Keesling are largely the reason I do what I do for a living. They instilled passion for music, laughter and dedication to the art in my soul. They taught me so much about the intricacies of performance, but even more about love of the craft that is entertainment.

Terry Nelson was another. My yearbook advisor and journalism teacher from Yorktown High School. She was filled with daily giggles and jokes that always put everybody around her in a good mood. She LOVED news, LOVED debate, LOVED controversy, and LOVED her students. Class with her was always an adventure of discovery, with her pushing you ever deeper into the journalistic jungle to discover more than you'd known the day before. Although my grammar and syntax have suffered from severe atrophy over the years, I still love to write. This blog, for better or worse, will always have a mental image of Terry Nelson standing over it offering thoughts on how it could be even better.

But back to my point in this entry,....finally! I've always had grateful students. Facebook messages, handwritten notes, hugs at concerts, notes from parents, occasional tears of gratitude, e-mails are so appreciated and often saved in a rainy day file I keep. But this summer has been different and more intense. Probably three dozen notes, and at least half a dozen kids clinging to me crying and thanking me. Why!? Is it the difficult times we live in? Is it coincidence? Is it the fact I've been in some new locales around the country? Is it the fact that music is stupidly being removed from curricula around the nation and kids sense the end of an era approaching? Is it the fact that I'm unashamed and unafraid to share the fact that I'm a Christian, even in public schools? Is it empathy from having 2 teenage daughters of my own? Am I learning more about teaching? I hope so, but I frankly don't know.

Whatever it is, I hope the flood increases. It makes me feel whole as a teacher. There are things about my job that I honestly detest. The nightly staring at music wondering "What the hell do I do now?", the 140-150 days spent in motels eating continental breakfasts that suck every frickin' morning, or the days and days and days spent away from my family. But teaching is still awesome. At its core, it's still about shaping lives, role modeling, and inspiring. Though some would disagree, those are all more important than the course material. Igniting a hunger to learn and making kids know you care about them,.....that's the point of it all.