As they pulled out of the school and back onto the road, headlights came on behind them, followed quickly by red and blue flashing lights.  They pulled over and a heavy-set, old police officer walked up to the driver’s side of the vehicle and asked Beccah’s boyfriend for his license and registration.  He went back to the police cruiser for a few minutes before returning to Beccah and her friends.

“What’s the hurry young man?” the elderly officer asked.  “You were doing 43 miles per hour in a 35 mile per hour zone.”  (The truth of the matter is that they were likely pulled over for the suspicious U-turn more than how fast they were driving.)

“There’s no hurry sir,” Beccah’s boyfriend responded politely.

“I’m just going to give you a warning this time, but you need to slow down,” the officer said.

Before he walked away, he pulled out his flashlight and shined it into the car at Beccah and her best friend.  “I wanna’ know,” the officer said, “if you two are in this vehicle of your own free will?”

Being a chip-off-her-daddy, many things went through Beccah’s mind at this point.  According to Beccah, her first thought was to scream, “No, help us please – get us out of here.  This guy is crazy and dangerous!!”  She says she wanted to do this “just to see the look on my boyfriend’s face.”

Later, after she got home, she became insulted by the question.  When she was telling her mom and I what happened, she was all, “Yea, like if we didn’t want to be there, that cop didn’t think Courtney and I could have totally kicked his butt and taken that car.  Right.”

Beccah rocks.

Payment Station

A few years ago, Leigh and I took the kids to Indian Boundary Campground down off the Cherohala Skyway to camp, kayak, hike and swim for the weekend.  For those not familiar with this area of the Cherokee National Forest, it’s as beautiful as the Great Smoky Mountains, maybe a bit better-kept, and far less crowded even during holiday weekends.  It’s also one of the few areas where you can throw up a tent next to a beautiful lake, tie your kayak or canoe out and take three steps from your tent to your kayak before taking a nice trip around the lake to watch the sun come up.

The Cherohala Skyway is about an hour from our home (about the same as the entrances to the Smokies).  Other than the (sometimes) obnoxious motorcyclists, it’s just about the perfect place for Knoxville families to have fun in the outdoors without fighting hours of tourist traffic.

Indian Boundary Campground has a beach and swimming area near the lake where people who aren’t camping there can still come and play.  While campers pay the normal camp site fees, those who just want to swim and play in the lake can pay a day rate (I think it’s $5 per car).  Like many park and campgrounds, payment at Indian Boundary is on the honor system.  A small pay station or “fee box” is located at the entrance with a sign telling you what the day-use fee is.  No one monitors the collection box.

While walking through the parking lot, I watched as an elderly couple – probably in their 70s – fetched their towels, coolers and beach blankets from the trunk of their car.  They must have been a bit hard of hearing because they were speaking VERY LOUD.

Their conversation went like this:

Elderly Woman – “Honey, you need to go and put $5 in that box over there.”

Elderly Man – “I’m not putting $5 in anything.”

Elderly Woman – “But it says we have to pay $5 to swim here.”

Elderly Man – “They like you to pay $5, but you don’t have to pay $5.”

At a family gathering in Ohio a few years back, my dad fell asleep on the couch (as he is known to do after a large family meal, or a small family meal, or after just about anything).  We were all in the family room watching a ballgame or something on television when my middle brother, Ryan, started playing around with the lighter that was used to start my parents’ gas-log fireplace.  You know the kind of lighter I’m talking about – the one with a little trigger and 6- or 8-inch neck that allows you to light something without burning your hands.

Ryan discovered that when he pulled the trigger back just far enough, he could release the Butane without actually igniting a flame.  The tip of the lighter made a hissing sound when Ryan did this.

Dad Laney

In an attempt to aggravate our father, Ryan held the tip of the lighter down next to my dad’s ear and made the hissing sound by pulling back on the trigger.  It didn’t wake our father, who could sleep through a hurricane coming through Neyland Stadium during the Florida game.  Not getting the desired result, Ryan did this repeatedly, pulling the trigger back just far enough to release Butane without sparking a flame – each time he placed the tip of the lighter a little closer to dad’s ear.

Finally, after about three or four attempts, Ryan put the tip of the lighter so close that it appeared to actually be going INTO our dad’s ear.  He released butane repeatedly in an attempt to wake our dad.  Then, he pulled back just a little too far on the trigger.

A bright flame, about a foot high, erupted from our father’s ear – who immediately woke up and, for a second or two, appeared to be levitating about three feet above the couch.  Dad was not amused … but Ryan, John and I laughed hysterically for about the next three days.  Every time we thought about the look on dad’s face, and the look on Ryan’s face, when my dad’s ear momentarily became a flame-thrower, it would start all over again.  We laughed until we cried.

I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with our family, but we do know how to entertain ourselves.   I’m also pretty sure my dad still hides the fireplace lighter.

My sister died on July 8.  She was two years younger than me and we spent every waking hour together.  Our family was our world.  My universe consisted of four people:  Mom, Dad, Becky Ann and myself.  I was young – but old enough to know something significant had taken place in our family.

Becky Ann and me

I remember her.  I remember specific trivial events like listening to songs on our record player (an old 45 rpm record of “Yesterday” by the Beatles), playing in the upstairs attic (dusty, hot, wood smell, one small window and a closet), walking up the sidewalk with mom to the library (where they had a Reading Club and would cut out construction paper and put your name on the wall if you read enough books) and sitting on the couch together watching reruns of “The Monkey’s” on television (“Hey, hey we’re the Monkey’s, and people say we monkey around, but we’re too busy singin’ to put anybody down”).  I remember when she got sick, and how everyone prayed she would get better.

I remember the hospital corridor outside her room in Montreal, the smell of the hallway and the noises the metal heating radiator made when I smacked toys against it.  I remember my grandpa letting me blow out his cigarette lighter for my birthday while we were in the car making the long trip to see her in the hospital.  I remember my mom and dad being gone – and when they weren’t gone, they were sad.  I remember sitting under the dining room table at my grandma’s house in Ohio (while mom, dad and Becky Ann were in Canada) listening to my record player for what seemed like months but was really just weeks.

I remember distinctly the July day she died.  I remember a bunch of people I didn’t know coming to (my grandmother) Nan’s house.  I remember seeing all of my relatives crying and I remember not really knowing what was happening, but wanting to desperately.

Dad had a dream about her in heaven just after she died.  Someone, well-meaning I’m sure, told me God wanted her in heaven with him – and I didn’t like Him for taking her there for years, maybe until recently.  I asked myself what I was doing as a kid that made God not want me there with him.  Whenever I loved someone, I immediately assumed they were going to die.  I was terrified that people – myself included – would disappear because I already knew it could happen.  I saw it happen.  It happens.

I’ve known people in my life who lost brothers or sisters.  I always look at them carefully.  Do they act like me?  Is their outlook dark like mine?  Do they hold on tightly and never take anything for granted?  Do they think everyone is going to die, right now?  For the most part, unfortunately, I think they do.

When you are in the market for a used car or a house, you look at all of the things it has been through.  Was it wrecked or did it survive a flood?  Was there a fire, an earthquake, did they have the oil changed regularly or did they regularly have it inspected and serviced?  All of these things – some of them mundane, some of them dramatic – shape what it is and what it will become.  Sometimes events ruin things and sometimes they make them better and stronger.  Sometimes it takes a long time to figure out which one it was.

Rebeccah Leigh Laney

This weekend, my only daughter — Beccah — graduated from high school.  There was a fantastic ceremony (which included tear-jerking video and pictures of the graduates as they were growing up) and a great graduation speech by my good friend Tim Richardson.  It’s hard to believe that my little princess who, what seems like yesterday, was running around the yard in Disney princess costumes with her best friend Courtney, is now a high school graduate.

We had family in from out of town and all of us went out for a great dinner after the graduation and got caught up with people we don’t see very often.  It was a fun evening and a fantastic weekend.

I don’t know what to write here, so I’ll post something I wrote for Beccah a few years ago:

Me and Beccah at graduation

I love you because you are my only daughter and a smart, talented, beautiful, funny person who is so kind to everyone I can’t believe it.  I like you because you always wake up last but always start school first, you draw and make things every day and you couldn’t walk through a room without doing a cartwheel or handstand until you were 13-years old.  I like that you eat food (sometimes an entire meal) in the bathtub, that you used to listen to rap music while playing with your Bitty-Babies and that you don’t judge people by anything other than who they are.  I like your messy room and how you can roughhouse, wrestle, be loud and (occasionally) be as crude as any boy who ever lived.  I like that you wore hippie-clothes and still played with stuffed animals with your little brother – and I like that you get mad if I beat you when we play games (just like your mom).  I like that you always hug and kiss me every day and that you still call me “daddy” even when you’re on the telephone and rolling your eyes at me.  I like that you always say what is on your mind … many times without giving any thought to what it is that you are actually saying.  You are nothing but honest, sometimes painfully so.  I like that you look like your mom but you act like me.  I like that no matter how old you get, you still smell like a baby in the morning.  I love you because you are the best daughter a dad could ever dream of having.

That said, I found a visual difference a few minutes ago in one of our bathrooms.  Both my youngest son and my daughter are out tonight.  They both got cleaned up and took off in different directions.  Below is what I found left behind.  It is the remnants of what it takes to prepare to “go out.”

This is what Daughter2Me used to get ready tonight.

This is what Son2Me used to get ready tonight.

Brendan walks into a (minor) surprise.

Wife2Me and Daughter2Me concocted a surprise 16th Birthday Party for YoungestSon2Me this past weekend.  Brendan turns 16-years old today and his surprise party was Saturday night at our house.  His best friend, Kristian, was an accomplice and kept Brendan away from the house all afternoon, bringing him home at just the right time.  Brendan appeared to be (mildly) surprised.  I’m sure the 25 or 30 cars lined up on the road leading to our house offered at least a minor clue that something was up.

Everyone was there — OldestSon2Me, Nog andPap (Bren’s grandparents) and most of his friends.  In spite of the fact that after a full week of beautiful spring weather, our surprise Birthday Party Bonfire had to be moved inside with the approaching severe thunderstorms, everyone appeared to have a great time.  We downed what looked like hundreds of AWESOME chilidogs thanks to Wife2Me‘s secret chili recipe and gorged on chips, homemade salsa (I’m talking to YOU Sarah!!) and chili con queso.  No one left hungry (and the dogs chowed on leftovers until about midnight!).

After the party, Brendan and a friend jammed until after 11 p.m. (guitars, pianos, etc.) and the remaining adults enjoyed a free concert.  Awesome birthday for an awesome young man.  Happy Birthday Brendan.

If YoungestSon2Me is 16, that means I must be almost 30 now … right?

A group shot (with Sheila Jackson doing a split!!)