Little Miss Model

***The 1st photo is from Madeline's first runway show. The 2nd photo is her just 4 short years ago on a daddy/daughter trip to the American Girl Store in Chicago***

There sat the contract for me to read. Lying on the table at Moe's Irish Pub, just south of the sweating glass of ice water and east of the Splenda and salt shaker. Five pages that marked a new journey, fraught with uncertainty and excitement. Pages that could be written in unlimited potential or disappointment. Pages that could launch a career, or become a quickly burned out hobby.

I can't imagine it's happening, but my youngest daughter has been sought after by, and is now signing with, a modeling agency.

L Modelz and its owner and "mother agent" Leslie, have signed my Duchess to a 2-year contract to work runway shows, catalogs, do local tv modeling appearances, and any other type of thing that these ladies do. The signing takes place after her 4th modeling gig (2 costuming catalogs, a runway bridal show and a tv appearance for back-to-school wear), several meetings and a couple lessons on how to walk on the runway. I guess she doesn't want me, as my curves are inadequate and have started to sag!

Ever since I can remember her having aspirations of any kind, she's always wanted to model. Always careful of her make-up, triple checking her clothes to insure they work in harmony, and accessorizing, hair fixing, and shoe choosing with painful consideration. Even to the point of taking a fashion class, buying a sewing machine and asking for a mannequin for her birthday so she can see just how an outfit will look before it goes on, fashion has been the passion.

While I worry about her getting used or burned, my wife assures me that this business is truly on the up-and-up. We've listed a litany of "prohibited activities" for Madeline that include any use of sexual situations or nudity (even implied) and stretched it to even include political or organizational causes we do not agree with (PETA, promoting pro-choice or gay marriage advocacy, pro illegal immigration, etc).

I'm so proud of her, the class she shows when she models and how easy she is for designers to work with. Her beautiful complexion, eyes and figure are gifts from God that we're so grateful for, but one of my main hopes is that through this foray into the world of the superficial, that others will become better people by having the chance to work with a sweet, wonderful, silly girl that makes others happy just by being around them. Now, smile for the camera and work that thang!

Project Wichita!

Just finished a 6-day marathon of a show choir camp near Wichita, Kansas. The culmination was a 2-hour performance by nearly 250 kids that we all worked with for the past week putting together full-length shows. While some kids certainly struggled, as is always the case in these camps, I was completely knocked over by the level of talent we witnessed onstage!

Butler Community College is never going to be on a "most scenic campus" listing, but this campus in the middle of virtually nowhere hosted one of the best events of its kind in the USA. It wasn't just lip service, the focus at this camp was genuinely on the kids and their growth. Growth as singers, growth as dancers, growth in confidence, growth in respect, and growth toward becoming confident and more mature young adults.

I've never been thanked so many times, had so many pictures taken with students, had as many kids come up to me with tears in their eyes to say goodbye, or handed as many heartfelt thank-you notes. And I was just one of the clinicians this was happening to, as everywhere you looked after the final show stood a clinician with a line of sweaty, teary-eyed students waiting to thank and hug them.

Too many times I become a bit jaded and hardened in my profession. Yes, the focus is on kids, but it's also on winning, making finals, getting recognition, enhancing my "street cred", whatever that means. This week reminded me that I LOVE to teach kids to perform and get excited about lights coming on as their souls awaken. This week there was no competition or awards, but simply a bunch of professionals coming together to bring some magic to kids' lives.

In addition to me, the elite staff of clinicians included a well-known professional a capella singer, a dance instructor with Duke University, the organizer of the FAME competition series, a doctor of music from Temple University, a former Miss Kansas, 2 of the top show choir directors in America, a recent inductee to the Nebraska Music Hall of Fame, and a Radio City Rockette!!! In addition, the entire week was kicked off by a concert by Christian singer Mark Schultz (Letters From War, He's My Son), and a luncheon with NY Times best-selling author Gracia Burnham. I'm humbled, blessed, and appreciative to have been deemed worthy of calling these folks my colleagues for the week.

I was a pebble tossed into the pond with a lot of pebbles more impressive than me. I pray that our ripples carry through the water of these children's lives, and that lifelong memories of joy and inspiration came from all of us. Some of these kids WILL be heard from someday as singers and dancers, and I'm privileged to have played my tiniest of parts in bringing them along.

Skygirl and the Dreams of Flight

I dream of a retirement full of bike rides, hikes, helping my church, a little golf, spoiling grandkids and hanging out with my wife. My wife dreams of not having to get up every morning at 4:30 to be able to workout before a shift at the hospital. My youngest daughter dreams of posing for the cover of a magazine and walking the runway of a Paris fashion show.

My oldest daughter decided that jumping 13,000 feet from an airplane might be a good idea!

Now that she's 18, my princess decided to ask for the second time (once last year) if I'd offer my blessing for her to skydive. My feeling was "No way! Are you kidding?" Both my heart and head were in glorious, harmonious agreement on this sentiment. But then she said probably the only things that would EVER have gotten me to reconsider.

"Daddy, I've talked to our pastor about it."

"Even though I'm 18 and could do it anyway, I won't if you don't give your permission."

When your biggest goal in your life has been to raise your children the right way, these words simply melt your heart with pride and love. Let me be clear (which, ironically, is what Barack Obama always says before he tells ANOTHER lie!), but let me be clear anyway. I'm a total screw-up failure sometimes as a parent. On various occasions, I can be a pouty child, the king of over-reaction, a brought-to-life drama skit or a bit of a manipulator. But I've always worked hard as a team with my wife to raise our daughters to love Christ, respect adults and be good young ladies. This is one of those times where God said, "Damon and Tina, pretty decent job with the girls". Please note, it's 99% God's grace, and 1% us, so I'm not taking credit where it a'int due!

After doing a bit of investigation, having a few conversations, talking to our pastor myself, and doing a whole lotta praying, I consented and off she went with one of her best buddies, Nick. She went through a short lesson, strapped herself to an instructor, took a few deep breaths,.......and jumped!!! At this point, I would've showered the ground below with a colorful and astounding pee/poop fireworks display, followed by random clicking and gurgling noises, a massive aneurism, and finally become a 190-lb dead weight for the instructor to negotiate to the ground in preparation for my funeral.

But not Morgan, SHE LOVED IT!!! The free-fall lasted about a minute she thought, then the jerk of the parachute and the refocusing of her eyes on the ground. Wind gloriously ripped through her hair like a dog with it's head out the window of a freeway drive. Dots became colors, checkerboard farmland became easily defined red barns and grazing cattle, and the ground slowly came into focus. The only thing that got to her was all the dizzying steering that had to take place with the parachute. She's ready to do it again! Let me be clear, I'm NOT!

Now she has a story to tell her friends, kids and grandkids. A story of daredevil proportions that had to be inherited genetically from her mom, as her dad never possessed any gene that extended beyond the occasional zipline or rollercoaster. A lesson, though, has also been taught to me. It's a lesson I knew already, but needed to be reminded of.

God will protect us. He'll protect us because he loves us and wishes joy for each of our lives. For some, that joy is a quiet lemonade on the front porch or peaceful sunrise fishing on a secluded lake. For some it's a Paris fashion show or a day at Disney World. For some, it's yelling "Bonzai" and taking the ultimate leap of faith.

Damon's Little Tune-Up

Not that I want too many days like today in my life, but I guess it went okay for what it was.

Since I was a kid, I've had a pretty big cyst on my head. Never caused any trouble, just minded its own "cysty" little business. Barbers have noticed it for decades, and always thought they were unveiling some heretofore unknown, mystical, cystical newsworthy event. "Hey buddy, did you know you got a big bump on your head?" "Why, no Sherlock! Thanks for discovering it for me. I've never actually combed, washed, brushed, moussed, towel-dried or TOUCHED my own hair, so how would I have ever known without you!!!!!" Actually, that's the INNER monologue. The actual response is usually more along the "Yeah" lines, which simply doesn't sound as funny or creative.

But there I sat today, in the office of a PLASTIC SURGEON (you should see my new boobs!) After pin-sticking my scalp about 6 times to numb things up a bit, he started carving into my scalp, digging for gold,.........or a puss sac, whichever. Amazingly, no real pain at all, but I got totally weirded out by the sound of a scalpel SCRAPING MY SKULL!! Freaky-deaky is a term designed for such occassions! All's well that ends well, though, and when he asked me at the end of the procedure if I'd "like to take a look at the culprit", I stupidly said "sure".

IT LOOKED LIKE A BLOODY PEANUT M & M WITH A TAIL!!!!!!!! EEEEEEWWWWW!!!

Did I mention that I was flossing yesterday and popped a filling out? (Funny slip of the keyboard, as I originally typed "pooped" instead of "popped" on the 1st try. That woulda stung!) Point is, I'm walking the dogs while we had an open house and decide in my boredom to floss my teeth. Why I was punished for this responsible behavior is beyond me, but I was.

So, hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to the dentist I go about an hour after leaving the plastic surgeon, with my brand new boobs tantalizingly bobbing along in front of me (PLEASE realize I'm kidding!)

Another 45 minutes in the dentist chair, a few shots of novocaine, a new filling, $400 in out-of-pocket expenses, and I was off to pick up prescriptions for pain killers and antibiotics. Next week, it's time to schedule an appointment for new contacts and glasses, but I'm glad the tune-up is done for now. Colonoscopies are gonna have to wait for awhile!!

The Cedar "Pointer Sisters"

Rollercoasters are a bit of a marker in my life.

-As a little kid I wasn't allowed to ride because, as everyone knows, I would die.

-A bit older, and the rush of the wind across my virgin rollercoaster hair allowed me the thrills of my first exciting coaster at King's Island,....THE SCOOBY DOO!!!

-Teenage life brought me great ride memories that included trips with friends and school groups to Kings Island, the Delaware County Fair, and Santa Claus Land (yes, a REAL place for many years)

-College Damon became the rollercoaster expert as I worked in lots of amusement parks as a photographer and Papa Berenstein Bear (Cedar Point, Opryland, Six Flags in St Louis and Atlanta, Magic Mountain, and Sea World). There wasn't a coaster I wouldn't go on or thrill ride I wouldn't stare in the face and yell a defiant primal scream.

-Married Damon took the wife and little kids on the mini-coasters to introduce M & M to the joys I loved.

-Nowadays, I'm cautious, middle-aged Mr. Brown. Willing to still reclaim fleeting moments of youth, but afraid of what might happen if a loose bolt catapults us to our death as we ride. Still able to do it, but with a slight increase in nausea with each passing year.

Yesterday was one of those days. I took my gorgeous girls on a two-day trip to Cedar Point. The first night spent in Lima, where we had a wonderful evening of frisbee, basketball, trail walking, Cracker Barrel and "So You Think You Can Dance" audition watching. The next day found us at my old stomping grounds of Cedar Point, where I've faithfully brought my girls for about 8 years now for a complete daddy-daughter getaway that we all treasure.

Proudly I proclaim to all that I successfully rode, without vomiting, four large rollercoasters. Millineum Force, Magnum, Wildcat, and the Maverick all fell victim to my courage, and we had a ball. Morgan took her first ride on the Top Thrill Dragster, while Madeline and I debated over how much money it would take for us to ride it with her (I decided on $50,000, so if any of you want to ante-up,...I'm just sayin'). 126 mph and the height of a 40-story building, with a 90 degree fall over over 300 feet,.......I just threw up in my mouth a little, sorry!

Cobb's Drive-In provided slushies with gummy worms and 32-ounce root beer floats for the drive home, $5 was lost on basketball shooting, walking tacos were devoured, dippin' dots munched on, and I can look back on a wonderful, albeit too short trip with the 2 coolest teenage girls in the world! Hope I can do it again in a year, but first I gotta let my stomach calm down just a bit.

Running the Mini!

26 miles per hour sustained winds in our faces for the first 5 miles! A WIND CHILL IN MAY! 37 degrees after it was figured in. Everyone around me complaining, making me feel colder and colder with each pronouncement of "Wow! It's cold!!!" DUH, I SAY,.......DUH!!!!!!

And yet the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, the port-o-potties are dutifully filled to overflowing with,...I digress. Gatorade is guzzled, sipped, slurped, puked, spilled, poured and inhaled like power gels and energy bars we all think will miraculously catapult us all to the finish line in record time, or at the very least keep us from keeling over.

Through a maze of blowing paper bags and 5th grade heavy metal boy bands playing "Werewolves Of London" so disgustingly that they had the inadvertent side effect of speeding up everyone's time who came within earshot, we ran. Through 70-year old Circle City Cloggers stamping their way to the shrill sound of Alvin and the Chipmunks, regaling us with their version of "Single Ladies", we trudged. Through puddles and potholes and pain, (OH MY!), we soldiered on. Around the Indianapolis 500 track we ran,....and ran and ran and ran and where the hell do we exit, huh?

When the wind hit our backs instead of our front, we knew we were gonna be alright, and we sensed a great finish over the last 4 miles. The great part didn't really pan out, but we sure did finish. Out of almost 35,000 that started, almost 31,000 finished (the rest are obviously strewn about the streets of Indianapolis, waiting for the street cleaning crew to sweep them up come Monday). I ran a 1:59.32 and finished in 6,933rd place. Beaten by a town, but victorious over a small city!

And now I hurt in places that don't like hurting. Sore muscles, blistered feet, a 2-day headache, and a day-long argument with my left calf concerning whether its decided to go into full spasm or just keep the low "maybe" tension going for a few more days. Problem is, I've been dumb enough to do it 20 times. Next year, count me in for number 21.

Senior Prom

As she glided down the stairs to meet the awaiting Prince Charming

I saw eighteen years pass in a flash before my eyes.

Gone was the little girl watching Barney the Dinosaur and using the show to measure time.

Replaced, in bittersweet reality, by a beautiful, golden-tanned member of the prom court.

What happened to the 3rd grader who stuffed homework in her desk until it over-flowed?

The giggling girl who wanted oatmeal and called it "al-pee-no"

She's pinning a white orchid on her special man, ready for a night of laughter and slow dances

In a gorgeous blue gown, with fancy new heels and perfected hair and make-up.

Pictures are taken,......and taken,....and taken,...as if these precious memories could ever

be in danger of fading away into a fog of no remembering.

Each smile must be caught. Each look preserved. Each friend recaptured on a camera

that will serve as a tiny porthole into never forgetting the night.

Mommy presented a special touch, as fresh strawberries and sparkling juice in wine glasses

served as couture embellishments to the two-hour getting ready processional.

Daddy kept dropping by to watch the lady becoming a princess, then ducked out to avoid

being a distraction to a series of moments best shared by the ladies of the house.

And then they were off to Senior Prom. To memories that will be all her own.

I used to be a bigger part of those moments, but my role as caretaker became provider.

Provider became advocate. Advocate become disconnected father looking for ways to talk.

And finally assuming my role of friend, advisor, and shoulder that will always be there.

The shoulder of a father that will always long to stay close to his little girls.