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.

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!!