The Runtyun

She was born the same month that I was, forty years later though. When the excitement of the birth was over and the baby was clean and wrapped up in her birthing cloths, when I stopped feeling woozy and found a certain control over my emotions. The nurse handed me the cooing little bundle–my daughter.

She was warm in my arms. All I could see were her eyes, they were so big. I know that at only a few minutes of age there is not very much for a baby to reference, yet she looked straight at me and she had me. At the time I did not know the adventures that I would go through as a father. The things I would endure as a parent and man. At the time all I saw were eyes and a bright red pudgy face and a little bubble of saliva at the corner of her mouth.

I put her down on the birthing table and just stared. What had I done? This little creature, perfect with ten toes and ten fingers, one little head that looked too big for that little body. What had I done? I put my hand out to her to see what she would do. Nothing. I guess she could not see–being only few minutes old. My finger brushed her hand, she did not jump, but reached out and gripped my finger. She was strong!

She would have to be strong coming into the life I was involved in. We went through a few struggles before getting to the somewhat stable life we live now. During her toddler years she was very out going. Her smile in the morning was brighter than the sun at sunrise. It carried me through some of my darkest days.

Now she is so wise, yet strangely naive. She can understand things beyond her years, yet in another minute ask a question so innocent that I can only wonder. The Runtyun is growing into a fine person despite my parenting skills.

I have stumbled through this whole parenting experiment and you know what? She is doing pretty well despite me.


Thursday, March 21, 2013

A little talk


We were riding to church for an Easter egg stuffing event in anticipation of next Sunday. I am not sure how the conversation started, I think we were talking about who would be supervising the kids. No wait, The Runtyun said, “She will not be there until later, I think her friend will be there to start it off. She says that there will probably be  more candy eating than egg stuffing going on.” I heard the laugh telling me this was OK with her!
“She is her wife, right?” I inquired over the roar of the Detroit steel.
“No I don’t think they are married,” was her reply. 
“O? She seems to think so, maybe in their hearts,” not wanting to get into the intricacies of marriage while riding in traffic.
“I guess it does not really matter. They love each other, right Daddy?”
What more could I say to that?

I guess it is true that the controversy is only in the minds of us more mature people. I hope us mature people can learn from our innocent youth.

olc

A Funny Thing Happened


I finally dragged The Runtyun out of bed---around noon. Well, at least I know she slept well. The day was beautiful and we needed to get outside and enjoy the world. We shoveled food into our gapping maws, then settled into the eternal discussion: What Are We Gonna Do Today?
Before the inevitable, “I dunno” could be voiced, I said let’s go for a walk! This always gets her interested (it is forbidden to say, “Let's go for a hike.” Go figure.) So we got the bike rumbling and rolled on down to a path by the river. I guess we were not the first to have this idea. There were many bikes, walkers and runners too. My favorite was the woman on a bike with her dog on a leash. Let’s just say that squirrels are a hazard to ADHD dogs and their people leashed to them.
We walked under the high way over pass, Interstate 40. I thought I heard some birds up in the rafters, so I looked up. As usual, my sense of vertigo caused me to step backwards. That is when I told The Runtyun to be careful she might get a little… a Daddy’s reflexes are a funny thing. I truly am not sure how I knew she was about to spin out of control, but the Daddy Hand caught her just in time.
“What happened?” came the question.
“Just tried to tell about that, kid. Vertigo is a funny thing.”
“I just looked and then...what happened,” came the giggled reply. She shrugged off my steadying hand, but grabbed it with hers. 

We walked on a little further, my leg was getting sore and the limp that is been growing was becoming more prominent. I did not want to end the walk, we spend so little time without other distractions and I liked what we were doing.
“Let’s go to the river arts district. We can walk around there,” she blurted.
Walking back to the bike, I asked her if she still wanted to pursue a career in art. She said that they had taken a career test that indicated lawyer or cleric of some kind. I suggested maybe she could be an artist as a hobby.
“Daddy, let’s just ride,” a dream come true!
We made our way to Rt 151, a short road giving access to Hominy Valley and finally the Blueridge Parkway. This is a great ride with many turns and a switchback or two and a few short straights. In fact, the DOT has decided to post something like 35 speed limit signs in a 3 mile stretch on this road.
We rumbled and screamed and scraped our way up to the Parkway. The ride was nice, I had my daughter with me and she asked for the it. Of course we could not talk while riding, yet I knew she was paying attention to the ride, her reactions were perfect, she held close and read what was going on. 
The bike was running well too. It accelerated and slowed with little input from me. The roar of the engine excited my blood and mind. The three of us made it to the top and readied ourselves for the calmer ride down the Parkway. The gate was closed!
“O well, I guess we need to go back down this one,” I said.
“It’s OK Daddy, I can take it,” my helmet nearly busted, my smile was so big!

The ride down was a mirror image of the one up, though the pegs scrapped more and I could feel my little one squirming more. Finally we made it to a little convenient store and we unwound our legs for a minute. Some guy talked with us. He wanted to tell me about his bike in New Orleans. We talked for a bit, then my friend Don, pulled up, guess he lives in the area. Finally, The Runtyun and I talked for a country minute. There was nothing deep or fatherly uttered from my lips, she asked no profound questions about the reason for life. We were just two people enjoying a moment.
I have always wondered how The Perfect Moments in life were achieved. We found it. It was just me and my daughter sitting and riding on an incredibly beautiful early spring day. No angels singing, no fanfare for the common biker, (or daddy), no bright lights, just a smile and trust between to people.

Olc

Monday, March 4, 2013

Let’s just forget about the kids


Anyone who listens to the news has heard about the scandal surrounding sex abuse and the Catholic Church. How horrific is it that the teachers of morality are corn holing innocent children, kids who are taught by their parents to trust and love their priests? Even more importantly though is the institutional coverup of these perverts. As disturbing as it is, the abuse of trust by both the individuals perpetrating these horrendous deeds and the subterfuge initiated by their superiors, the victims and their families seem to be only an ancillary subject, not the main issue.
Yet, the trust given to these perverted people, leaders in their communities, bastions of moral and spiritual idolatry, is betrayed by these monsters who use Faith as a backdrop for their perversions. What is worse, there seems to be some kind of institutional understanding to protect these perverts who defile the youth they are supposed to lead.
In my research for this post, I forced myself to read a number of published articles about the abuse of children, more specifically the abuse perpetrated by Catholic priests. Almost everything I read had to do with how the “conspiracy” was perpetrated. Using  statistics to illustrate, it seemed like they were trying to take the personal damage done by these perverts and make it merely numbers. Yet the truth is kids were damaged by these acts of depravity. The kids are not numbers, but real living, vulnerable children who trusted their robed and anointed leaders.
Their trust was misplaced and rewarded with vile wickedness. Maybe we could learn to forgive and forget the transgression, yet what about those who were violated, why should they forgive or forget? I think the Bible says something about an eye for an eye, I wonder if that kind of justice can be meted to those who taught that lesson. 
In my research for this post I read about cover-ups, the moving of priests from one place to another to hide their vile acts, even edicts by the “very top” of the chain to correct the problem of defiling innocent children who trusted their priests, yet in nothing did I see any explanation as to HOW THESE VILE ACTS COULD BE PERPETRATED in the first place!
Yes, I am upset about this sad state of affairs in the largest Christian institution in the world. Catholics control religious doctrine throughout the world, they control whole economies and the thinking of so many people, yet they cannot keep their penises in their  robes! Yet they feel they have the moral obligation to tell their minions what is morally right and wrong.
Who are they to be the moral compass of the world! I understand there is only a small percentage of actual vile, perverted Priests who violate their flock, but they are being hidden by the majority. There is a conspiracy to create a false image of those perverts---to make the Church look good!
All the while the innocent “lambs”---the churches flock is getting RAPED by the lies issued by Bishops and others more powerful!

The words of a band called P.O.D. in their song,
Youth of the Nation 

Maybe this kid was reaching out for love
Or maybe for a moment he forgot who he was 
Or maybe this kid just wanted to be hugged
Whatever it was, I know it’s because

We are, we are the youth of the world

Who’s to blame for the lives that tragedies claim
No matter what you say it don’t take away the pain
That I feel inside, I’m tired of all the lies
Don’t nobody know why it’s the blind leading the blind

I guess that’s the way the story goes
Will it ever make sense, somebody’s got to know
There’s got to be more to life than this
There’s got to more to everything I thought exits 

We are, we are the youth of the world

More than the boys and girls violated are effected by these vile acts of depravity, one way or another almost every one in our world is effected by them. Maybe the first step toward healing, is for the Church to admit, publicly and vociferously the depths to which it is involved in the cover up and misinformation it is involved in.

Until then there are thousands of kids suffering because the Catholic Church chooses to hide the truth. Those poor kids hurt in a way no child should.


olc