Go Fly a Kite Part 2

Timmy was so excited. His Mamaw was picking him up from school and they were heading straight for Walmart. He was finally going to get a kite. When you're a child, there are few things as fascinating as a kite. How does it get so high? What keeps it up there? Look at the colors and now a days they even have kites that have kids main characters from their favorite shows.

To say he was excited for the bell to ring would be the understatement of the century or at least would tie for it.

"Somebody is excited," Mrs. Olson, Timmy's teacher said.

"Mamaw is picking me up and I'm going to get a new kite," Timmy blurted out without her really even asking.

"That is exciting! She must love you very much."

Timmy just smiled from ear-to-ear, but that smile paled in comparison to the smile that was on his face as he climbed into Mamaw's Honda.

"Are we going? Are we going?"

"Well, hey to you too," Mamaw said.

"Yes, we're going. Are you excited?"

"Like this much," Timmy said, as he stretched his arms super-far apart.

"Whoa. Are you sure you're THAT excited," she said.

"Mamaw, you have no clue," Timmy said with his eyes glued to Max and Ruby as he sung along.

When they walked into the store the boy, spurred on by unbridled excitement, ran ahead of his Grandmother to the toy section where he was met with a surprisingly big selection of kites. There was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ones, Transformers, G.I. Joe, SpongeBob Square Pants, Lebron James, Duck Dynasty, Charlotte Bobcats and Carolina Panthers and even girl kites . . . Barbie, Doc McStuffins, Dora and the like, but there was one that, when his eyes first laid on it, Tommy just had to have.

"Look Mamaw, it's an eagle," he said as he jumped up and down.

"Can we get it, can we get it," Timmy, who was usually pretty even-keeled, said.

"Iiiiiiiii donnnn't knoooooow," his Mamaw playfully delayed as she drug out her words.

"Of course we can."

"Woo hoo," Timmy shouted, as he gave a fist pump and proceeded to do a happy dance . . . so much for even-keeled.

After his Mamaw added a few items to the buggy, they made their way to the front to check out and just when Timmy thought he was finally going to get his kite he heard his Mamaw.

"Why don't you go in front of us since you only have a couple of things," she said to the unsuspecting, yet equally grateful, black woman, who had her daughter about Timmy's age.

"Uh, Mamaw," Timmy tried to protest. This was certainly one time he didn't appreciate his Mamaw's big heart.

Mamaw cut her eyes at him in a similar fashion as his Mom and he knew to be quiet.

"Sorry Mamaw, I just can't wait to get home!"

As they checked out Timmy watched his Grandmother hand an extra 10-dollar bill to the cashier as she asked the young girl to give it to the person behind me . . . "Just want to make their day. Tell them Jesus loves them," she said as she gave her 'Pay it Forward' directions.

They made their way to the parking lot and soon as the cold air smacked them in the face Timmy's enthusiasm bubbled over.

"Let's skip Mamaw," he suggested.

She just smiled. Although she had several bags to carry, while her left hand held Timmy's, she knew it was one of 'those moments' . . . you know the type many miss out on because it's not convenient, but the type that makes you feel truly alive.

So off they skipped. With it being after school, the parking lot was pretty full, so they had to park 10 rows away. That was just fine with Timmy.

"You're the best Mamaw," he said, reaching his arms up to hug her as she buckled him into his booster seat.

"I love you so much. You're a special boy," she said as she kissed his forehead.

"The best Mamaw eveeeeeeer!"

She put the key in the ignition, turned on his DVD player, cranked the car and checked the mirror before she pulled off.

"So where are we going," she asked.

"Do you want to show Papaw your new kite or do you want to go home?"

"I think your Daddy is home if I'm not mistaken."

"Oooo-oooooo, home home," Timmy blurted out.

"Home it is."

And off they went.

Sippy-Cup Sits

Sippy-cup sits on the table but the toddler is nowhere to be found

She’s gone, like my smile, but with her exit she left me with a frown

Diapers on the carpet might as well throw them in the trash

I remember her giggle as we put powder on her rash

Feel these four walls closing in like they’re the jaws of life

Reality feels like a machete cutting me like a knife

She’s not completely the bad guy many relationships come to an end

It’s up to them both what happens, when they heal, if they’ll ever be one again

Went ahead and deleted Instagram and Facebook

The only thing that hurts worse than living it is if I look

Family jerked out from under me like it was musical chairs

 Which hurts worse? Her or the kids. . . now we’re splitting hairs

They say it’s a package deal, but if it ends, there is no visitation

Would I do it again? Absolutely, I would with no hesitation

My pillow brings me no rest and I’ve drowned in oceans of tears

Who would’ve ever thought passing a park would be the sum of all my fears?

Their laughs are like daggers, piercing my heart, I can’t even look at the swings

They say time heals all wounds, but these are timeless— the pain still stings

 I miss wrestling with my little buddy . . . I didn’t have that growing up

Watching his face light up, or feeling his hug, more than filled my heart’s cup

Pictures by the bed, sippy-cup on the table and pictures on the fridge

I travel over these troubled waters with each memory serving as a bridge

Where does the bridge lead—to together or never only the Lord knows

But I will trust, I will walk victoriously, and let His Love keep me warm when the cold wind blows

JMB

 

 

 

Actually, Yeah . . .

Do you want me to come over there?

"No," was the short, and sharp, reply.

"Are you sure," I asked.

"Yeah," was her stern response. She wasn't budging!

A couple of minutes passed and a scary image, not too scary after all it was The Croods, came on the screen. Her eyes got big as saucers and her mouth dropped open. She was terrified.

"Actually, yeah," my four-year-old niece Karson Faith said, excitingly requesting my presence, moving from the recliner to the couch beside her. She not only wanted me beside her . . . she wanted me beside her FAST!

And that moment, it hit me . . . that's how it is with us and God.

God stands at the ready, willing and far more than able to satisfy our every need and He, like me, asks, "Do you want me to help you?"

And stubbornly, foolishly, we tell Him no. But we have those, "Actually, yeah," moments too, don't we?

We get that diagnosis, we lose a loved one, we suffer that disappointment, we lose that job, we can't find a job, we get a divorce, we start experiencing financial problems, we start living fast and find ourselves in need of help, we choose other things over God, we are sick, the pain seems to intensify instead of going away . . . "Actually, yeah!"

Yeah God, I could really use Your help right now. I'm sorry I didn't come to You sooner! When we cry out, God doesn't come on the scene, He is already there, but when we cry out we invite Him into our situation. We, essentially, give Him permission (not that He needs it) to work behind the curtain to make things better . . . whatever He deems better is.

 He would be more than justified to say, "No, you haven't wanted me to help for HOW LONG now? So I'm going to have to say no . . . sorry." How laughable is that notion? No, instead He rejoices. He knows how hard-headed, and stubborn, we are-- after all, He made us! But our delay in asking, thankfully, does not bring about His denial!

There is wisdom and maturity that happen when we depend on God . . . no matter how long it takes us to ask, but there is GREATER wisdom in asking Him to direct your paths through ordering your steps. The only way you can do that is through submitting your will to His, meaning the ONLY steps you make are ones He told you to take. It's wonderful to realize we can not do life alone, but it's even better to keep the lines of communication open AT ALL times-- in good times and bad times! It's about walking in gratitude, being obedient and sharing His love all the while through prayer seeking His will for your life.

He loves us infinitely, and unconditionally, that's why He works on our behalf even when we treat Him like a 911 God instead of the Lord of our lives.

So I ask you . . .what are some things happening in your life that you haven't invited God into? I challenge you to simply say, "Actually, yeah," and watch what God does with it. At the very least, He will hear you, comfort you, protect you and guide you.

When I sat down on the couch, my niece put her head up against my chest and I wrapped my arm around her. The Lord does the same with us. Isn't that exciting?!? We get to put our heads on the Creator of the Universe's chest. Our Savior is also our Father and in His relentless patience He awaits us to have enough faith and humility to say those two small words.

Maybe pride has kept you from doing it . . . maybe you feel like nothing ever works out for you, but God is faithful! When we say them-- we change the atmosphere and we release the Master of making the IMPOSSIBLE possible into our circumstance. Peace is not the absence of affliction, but when you're in the presence of God . . . you have something immeasurable-- HOPE!

Just like my niece felt in that moment, you will feel loved, comforted, protected and content. There is NO better place you can be.

15 Years Later

Damn bro, it's hard to believe it's been THAT long!

Fifteen years and I promise you not one day passes where I don't think of you. Sometimes it's because your initials are tattooed on my arm, but most of the time it's just thinking of all the memories we made and how much I miss you Brookins, but sometimes it's because I pass Walker Branch Road late at night, on my way to the gym, and can't help but wonder, as I pass, why my road continues and your's didn't. . or because I see your Mom at the gym and see the hurt in her eyes and hug her and tell her 'I love you' and picture me being you just so you can tell her one last time. She was your hero! We were always Momma boys.

You were Jonathan Branch when your Mom (Sally) introduced us and you instantly became the brother I never had . . . from Kindergarten through middle school we were inseparable and we made so many memories. My house was the first one you ever spent the night at. As I write this, with tears flowing down my cheeks like you just passed, I go through them like a file-cabinet in no particular order.

Pretending my ceiling fan was the basketball hoop and we would slam dunk a Nerf basketball over the blades because we had just watched our hero Michael Jordan drop another 40 on another helpless opponent. . . Us playing endless-games of 1-on-1 basketball at your house, or mine, and our Moms coming out to tell us our peanut butter jelly sandwiches were ready. You would win most of the time, but those were some of the best memories. Maybe I should say I beat you since you aren't around to defend yourself lol-- just messing with ya! Think about all those 1-on-1 football games we played in my grandparents' front yard or your Mawaw's. How many video games did we play over the years? How many hours? Atari . . . Nintendo . . . Sega Genesis . . . Super Nintendo . . . Nintendo 64 . . . Sega Dreamcast . . . man, we played them all! I remember our motto to our Moms too-- "All right, just one more game." And they would always say, does it not have a pause button? And we would just either ignore them or just laugh and keep playing, and playing and playing . . .

All the Carolina football and basketball games . . . all the Braves' games . . all the Dolphins' games . .
all the Chicago Bulls' games . . . playing in the tree house or on the swing . . . snowball fights in my grandparents' front yard . . . talking about how pretty Tyona (Brackett) was/is. . . Heather (Wylie) and Haley (Ledford) too . . . all the Kung Fu and Jean Claude Van Damme movies . . . all the girls' hearts we broke . . . you on the top bunk with your's and me on the bottom with my girl and we were just in middle school . . . all basketball games from South Fork through high school . . . bro, we used to compete like we HATED each other, but it was always love . . . Ping-Pong games . . . trips to Carowinds . . . sitting in church . . . going to youth group . . . MYF . . . Lincolnton Wolves' football and basketball games and us looking up at the players like they were pros . . .  writing in each other's yearbooks from elementary through middle school and high school . . .

Staying up all night playing video games, eating chips and drinking sweet tea and Sun Drop . . . you trying to sneak into my sister's room . . . us aggravating her . . . you were always acting like you had a crush on my Momma or my sister and giving me a hard time about it.. us being sweet to your little sister Lauren, you adored that little girl, or me telling you be nicer to her . . . us walking home and watching cartoons after school from S. Ray Lowder . . . still think you were supposed to marry Sarah King, don't worry she got a good husband who takes cares of her and two beautiful children . . . us playing in the neighborhood with Matthew and Stephen (Adams), Brent (Colvard), Jody (Harkey), David (Forrester) and whoever else we could find . . . Going to Camp Cheerio . . . playing tennis, pretending we were Andre Agassi, Pete Sampras and Boris Becker . . . us shooting the bow and arrow . . . going to Lake Hickory and Norman . . riding the JetSki and fishing . . Junior Catillion-- who hated it more!?!

You getting your license before me and us bumping Scarface and Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, in your white Camaro (little did we know your last trip would be in a black one-- believe it or not, my little step-sister died in a black one too . . she was 16) , on the way to high school and we thought it was coolest thing in the world the bass was shaking the rearview mirror . . . me cheering you on in baseball at the West Lincoln Dixie League through you becoming an All-State pitcher and winning state titles . . . hanging out in your dorm room-- me, you, Black, Trey and Blackwell, playing video games, bumping Goodie Mob and Outkast . . . us passing notes to girls in elementary and comparing when we got home . . .

Us swimming at the Cloningers, playing Marco Polo . . . going to Brandee Potts' house 704-735-6337 . . . crazy that I still remember her number haha . . . us playing the circle, dot game just so we could punch each other . . . This is crazy! I haven't thought of some of these things in over 20 years! Giving each other nicknames . . . our first adjustable basketball goals and us dunking on them so much Sally and Florence would fuss and it didn't take long for those rims to get bent . . .

Me dropping by Hollybrook just to chat-- I swear I would feel your presence like you were right beside me, calling me punk, as*hole or some other name you used to show me how close I was to you . . . I would have some deep chats with you my boy, like the good ol' days 735-6792/704-735-0545 to 735-1101, with no one else around except the cold wind and my thoughts and tears . . .

Watching GI Joe . . . Ghostbusters . . . The Never-ending Story . . . Goonies . . . you in your black blazer and me in my Saturn racing down the mountain from Western, literally racing-- man, that was stupid but it was fun . . . speed always is until :o( . . .  All the laughs . . . all the smiles . . .  all the stories about girls . . . the Black-n-Mild cigars . . .  Me annoying you, by staying on top of you to not take the Lord's name in vain, until you quit saying God-dam*it, so you tweaked it to God bless it-- I still say that now bro . . .

Enough of the Memories . . .

I always looked up to you Jonathan. You were always the coolest, sure we were both popular, but you were always the coolest dude in our class. You were like a big brother to me. That's why when Matthew (Adams) knocked on my door Albright 207 door to tell us you were gone, it crushed me! It was raining that day, which was fitting because I had a broken heart bro. See, you know you were into partying in high school and I was a goodie-goodie, so we went down two separate paths . . . and we never got that closeness back like it was growing up, but like you said in our last high school yearbook-- an entry, and a blessing I'll always cherish, where you did something you never did . . . let your guard down.

"Brooksy, well man we are about to graduate! It's been lots of fun over our 4 yrs of high school. I know that we have kinda lost touch over the last couple yrs, but hey the friendship is all that matters. Well I'll more than likely see you at Western. J.B.

I always looked forward to after college when our friendship came full-circle and we would be tight again. Once Matthew knocked on our door at 6:30 that morning, I knew we would never get that chance. That hurts like hell to this very day! But with that knock something else changed. The semester after you passed, I re-committed to myself. I felt like I was carrying dreams for two instead of just me. In my heart I dedicated my grades to you-- I ended up with a 3.95 in my major and made the Dean's List multiple times. . . that was off the heels of making 3 Ds one semester my freshman year.

I've never lost that feeling. One day, I'll be a husband, one day I'll be a Dad and when those days come . . . you'll become a husband and Dad too!! You already have many times as over as Brian, Shane, Billy etc. have become husbands and Dads. Anything I accomplish writing, or in any walk of life, it's also your accomplishment. I want to make you proud-- proud of what I do and proud of the man I am, so you can look down, smile and say, "That's my little brother!"

You are the biggest reason why I take a gazillion pictures of the people I love because when I went back through all my pictures I had less than 10 of you and I swore that would never happen again! Ask Sara or any of my family-- it annoys the hell out of them! LOL. You are the reason, along with Karson and A.J., I appreciate the hell out of life, soaking up every single drop and cherishing every day I get. . . sometimes I feel unworthy I've had 14 more years than you, 18 more than Karson and 12 more than A.J. When I squander them, I feel y'all speaking to me and telling me it's OK don't beat yourself up, but you ONLY GET ONE so be sure to LIVE IT because we know it's over before you know it! You're the biggest reason I tell my Momma, my Dad, my sister, Buddy, my Mamaw, my nieces and all my friends I love them because I never, in 14 years of friendship, told you once . . . not even a single time. Boys don't do that-- we were too cool although we knew.

Sorry for not coming to your funeral . . . I couldn't-- couldn't take the pain . . . denial doesn't begin to describe where I was. I also didn't want to break down and draw attention to myself-- that was your day! But shoot, I know you forgive me. The only silver lining of you passing at 20 is while we all go bald, get fat and lose our hearing, you will forever be that blonde-haired, curly-headed, bad boy with a smile that melted girls' hearts, a goatee and the first dude out of our class to get a tattoo (barb-wire at that). You will remain the boy who had a heart a gold and a gentle nature that caused little kids to flock to you like they did Jesus. You were James Dean meets Justin Timberlake bro and I was blessed to be your little brother and friend. . . to be the friend who you always picked on, but you never let anybody else!

The greatest tribute I can ever give you is NEVER letting you die-- as long as we keep your memory alive, while you may not be here, YOU will always be here with us! The greatest honor I can show you is letting you leaving us so soon make me be a better person-- a better believer, son, brother, friend, uncle and one day Dad, and Lord willing, Papaw.

I give you my word~ I will do both!! I already try my best to. You left behind a void that can never be filled . . . then again, it's not supposed to. If it is, we'll fill it by simply enjoying life-- something you can never be accused of failing to do.

Mikey D (Mike Devine), yeah remember Mike? Like another Dad to you . . . how many nights did you and Trey keep him up talking 'for just a minute.' haha He's the pastor at Covenant now (shocker right?) and the Lord is living through him and using him in a mighty way, leading many to Christ just like he did you. He told me about you getting things right with Jesus, shortly before you crossed over, so I know I'll see you again one day and I believe you welcomed Karson at the gates.

One Final Goodbye

I asked God for a miracle. It was the night after you died and I prayed, asking God to let me see you again. That night I dreamed we were all playing basketball in gym, like we did so often, and you were there. I looked at you funny and whispered to Matthew (Adams), Damien (Luce), Jason (Cooper), Matthew (Kennedy), Jeremy (Wilson) and Steve (Schley) among others, "How is he here?" I'll never forget two things: that God made the impossible possible through answering my prayer and 2. what you said to me.

"I came back to make everything right. Tell Mom, George and Lauren I love them. Tell Brian, Shane, and Trey I love them. I love you bro . . . even if I never see you again."

I told them. Actually, you just told them yourself.

Outkast's Aquemini will always have a place in our hearts since that's what you were listening to that cold November night. I know your rearview was shaking as you bumped 'Ha ha hush that fuss/everybody move to the back of the bus!' Your last moments here on Earth I believe were happy ones. A tragedy none of us ever thought we would be faced with WILL NEVER erase the memories, all the years we experienced with you!!

Some cards life deals us are shitty-- like that fateful night-- there is no other way to say it, but where you are God gave you your Royal Flush. I mean you get to be with Jesus all the time . . . it gets no better than that! So don't rest in peace Jonathan David Brookins, love every single second in His presence and with your loved ones. All I ask is when it's my time is for you to be part of my greeting committee . . . meet your boy at the gates!

Til' then I'll be missing you and carrying you with me each step I make and each breath I take.

Go Fly a Kite Part 1

Every day little Timmy wanted one thing.

And every day, he always got the same response.

But that didn't stop him from asking with the same enthusiasm, desire and faith it would be different this time!

More attention . . . that's all he wanted-- nothing more, nothing less just some attention from his parents. A six-year-old kindergartener Timmy always couldn't wait to get home. Sure, he would work on his letters, take a nap like the other kids and practice his counting, but he would anticipate the bell to ring and he would run from his classroom to out in front of the school to wait for his Mom.

As soon as he would see his Mom's car, his face would light up with a big grin. Every day the conversation would flow just like clockwork. Almost the same questions and nearly the same responses, but it wasn't what was said that was as important as what it meant . . . just knowing his Mom cared.

His parents loved him deeply, but like so many they found themselves too busy—too busy . . . even for their primary responsibility and ultimate privilege of raising a child.

Timmy didn't get much attention. His Dad was more like a father-- a man obsessed with work and too self-centered to sacrifice any of his free time to be involved. In the time he wasn't working from home, cooped up in his office, he could be found, nine times out of 10, at the local country club on the links.

There were times he would half-ass it with Timmy. Sure there were genuine moments with his son and he did love him . . . he just didn't know how to show it. He grew up with a dad who didn't show much affection, he could count on both hands how many times he heard his dad tell him he loved him and he had a penchant for condescending his son and making him feel so low he could drown in a mud-puddle. If that wasn't bad enough, his father would then taunt him when he would see the tears well up in his eyes. So yeah, you could blame Timmy's Dad, but we all are products of our environment and moldings of our life experiences and sadly not everyone has the strength to transcend the hellish nightmares that were their childhoods.

Timmy’s Mom loved her son so much, but between keeping the house up, being a stay-at-home mom and tending to her infant daughter, she rarely had much time to invest in her little green-eyed brown-haired boy. She was making bottles, changing diapers, feeding Kailee and she was in her arms so much it appeared she had developed a third appendage.

Who knows how many times Timmy had walked into his Dad’s office and asked his Dad to play with him and most of the time his response was, “I would love to, but boy, can’t you see I’m busy? Why don’t you go fly a kite or something?!?”

“My kite is broken Dad,” Timmy would say.

“Maybe we can go to Wal-Mart and get a new one or something?”

“Yeah, maybe so kid. Maybe so. Now go on.”

Every time those words crushed Timmy’s spirit . . . he would be shaken to his very core . . . his little heart broken. He would leave the office and go to his room to play with his toys, but as he walked down the hall, big crocodile tears would flow freely down his office. Sometimes his Mom would see he was upset, sometimes she wouldn’t, but God saw and caught each one.

Other times he would play with Timmy, but it wasn’t really getting down on his son’s level. He was too rigid for that. The little kid inside had died long ago. Instead, his Dad would more or less just watch his son play and talk to him a little bit while he used his vivid imagination. It was more spectating than participating and was mostly done out of obligation to make himself feel better about missing out on so much of his son’s childhood.

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to be a Dad and had too pride to try.

Things were different when he would approach his Mom. She would always try to spend time with him, but the truth was she was just too busy. With her husband doing little around the house to pitch in, she was always cleaning, picking up or tending to Kailee, which left little time to play with her son for any substantial amount of time.

Even so, Timmy always appreciated his Mom’s attempts even if it lasted no longer than 10 minutes before she was off to do the next thing on her list. She would make it a point to hug him and tell him how much she loved him before giving him a kiss.  Her kisses always seemed to make everything better.

Timmy always sought his Dad’s approval—something that seemed to elude him with the same frequency as morning Kid Disney, Sprout or Nick Jr. cartoons. Just like clockwork, the love and admiration for his Dad was rarely returned.

He was definitely closer to his Mom, and she was his hero, but he still wanted more of her attention. Then one day, it dawned on him! The kite. The kite was the answer. If he could just get a new kite then maybe his problem would be solved. Surely since his Dad always suggested he should go fly it that, if he got a new one, his Dad would go out in the front yard and help him fly it!

“That’s it. That’s it,” Timmy thought.

If he could just get a kite.

He ran into the kitchen and asked his Mom if he could talk to his Grandmother. She dialed her number and handed her cell phone to Timmy.

“Mamaw, will you take me to get a new kite tomorrow,” he excitedly asked.

“You will. Yes! Thank you so much Mamaw. You’re awesome dude,” Timmy said.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow things would be different. He could hardly wait!