The pathway

REPORT CARDS

In Harris School, Woonsocket. RI we used to get Report Cards (handwritten) which our parents had to sign before they were brought back to school. The last day of school we got an additional report of our year's work a white paper which said that we were Promoted: a yellow which meant that we would go to the next grade on probation, and a pink slip which meant!!!! we were young and innocent enough to know that the teacher had called the parents of the latter group.

And through the years, I have thought WHO SIGNS MY REPORT CARD? Who tells us that we are 'okay' and can go forward. I thought of this when my Dr. didn't listen to what I was saying and she was like a teacher who told me "THE BIOPSY CAME OUT FINE, SO YOU'RE FINE.' I wanted to say a lot of things, but left and entering the car, began to cry...

Someone else told me "the way you dress, I thought you were a transient living under the bridge."
I came back to my apartment thinking "you don't even know me" and you never will...

LUCAS COOPER TURNS 4..HAPPY BIRTHDAY

JUNE 21, 1970

"Father..."

This "Father's day" is different, yet it is same. This picture of my Father and mother was taken on a recent Father's Day...Having heard Tim Russert died, I started to call my Father to tell him, and then tears fell on my cheeks...but he admired Russert, and he would often ask me, who can we trust in Washington other than Russert???

I have so many wonderful memories of Father, as he would lift me high above the waves while we stood in the frigid waters at Wells Beach, Maine...or walking to the pool each evening at Greenwood Village, to keep him company while he did his health thing, and we would visit and talk. I remember him taking part in the Baccalaureate Service at Franklin College when I graduated...and preaching the Ordination Sermon THE DAY NEVER ENDS as I was ordained 38 years ago this June 21. He took great delight when people would ask if HE was my BROTHER...and in recent times since my stroke, one evening at dinner, he said to the waitress...this is my SON and I'm in better shape than he is...

I cherish those and so many memories of "my best friend", but at the same time acknowledge that none of this would have been possible without the LOVE WHICH BROUGHT HE AND MOTHER together...and as I remember Father this week, I sent flowers to Mother and thanked HER for making it possible with her own love...

But AS A FATHER, I also have such wonderful memories, seeing (and hearing) Heather standing out by Route 7 in Bainbridge, NY selling bread that PHYLLIS HAD MADE for 50 cents a loaf (which would be illegal in todays world) and she earned enough money so that she and Jennifer could buy me a new blue bathing suit...no gift was more cherished. or when they would call me on Sunday at the Office as I was putting finishing touches on my sermon, asking that I come home to have the breakfast and cards that she and Jennifer had made for me...and we would go out to lunch...
and I thank Phyllis posthumously for giving me the opportunity of this father having such caring, loving daughters. I was always too emotionally proud of them, but I was and AM. Not simply for their beauty, their academic accomplishments or their musical talents, but because they are such loving and caring young adults who remind me of all the goodness of Phyllis...

So, I have many memories which are wonderful and which I choose to celebrate this Father's Day, and three years ago Jennifer wrote a tribute on her blog to me, which I still read over and over with tears of love in my eyes. tomorrow as I cherish these and other wonderful memories, I shall wear the ribbon which Heather made for me WORLD'S #1 FATHER" which I treasure to this day...
On this Father's day I remember Dad, honor Mother, cherish the memory of Phyllis and thank God daily for blessing me with two wonderful children , a precious son in law, and Kyra and Lucas who are constant reminders of all the good in life...

:

'FATHER'

When the minister arrived, he found the man
lying in bed
with his head propped up on two pillows.
An empty chair sat beside his bed.
The minister assumed that the old fellow had
> been
informed of his visit.

"I guess you were expecting me, he said."
"No, who are you?" said the father.
The minister told him his name
and then remarked,
"I saw the empty chair and I figured
> you knew I was going to show up,"
"Oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man.
"Would you mind closing the door?"
Puzzled, the minister shut the door.
"I have never told anyone this, not even my
daughter,"
said the man. "But all of my life I have never
known how to pray.
At church I used to hear the pastor talk about
prayer,
but it went right over my head."
I abandoned any attempt at prayer," the old
man continued,
"until one day four years ago, my best friend
said to me,
"Johnny, prayer is just a simple matter of
having a conversation with
Jesus.
Here is what I suggest." "Sit down in a chair;
place an empty chair in
front of
you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair.

It's not spooky because he promised, 'I will
be with you always'.
"Then
just speak to him in the same way you're doing
with me right now."
"So, I tried it and I've liked it so much that
I do it a couple of
hours
> >>every day.
> >> >I'm careful though If my daughter saw me
> talking to an empty chair,
> >> >she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send
> me off to the funny
> >> farm."
> >> >
> >> >The minister was deeply moved by the story and
> encouraged the old man
> >> to
> >>continue on the journey.
> >> >Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil,
> and returned to the
> >>church.
> >> >
> >> >Two nights later the daughter called to tell
> the minister that her
> >> daddy
> >>had died that afternoon.
> >> >Did he die in peace?" he asked. Yes, when I
> left the house about two
> >>o'clock, he called me over to his
> >> > bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on
> the cheek.
> >> >
> >> >When I got back from the store an hour later, I
> found him dead. But
> >>there was something strange about his death.
> Apparently, just before
> >>Daddy
> >>died, he leaned over and rested his head on the
> chair beside the bed.

One who helps us remember

He was only 19 when he died! Mother, Father and I were painting the hallway in the Nyack Parsonage. At 11:45PM she felt a terrible pain in her side, and she and Dad headed to bed while I cleaned up.
It was 47 years ago, and a moment that changed our lives forever. He of the photographic mind, who could look at something, or listen to something and remember it forever. He was the Journal's Baby, and had just returned from his Sophomore year at Carson Newman. He left behind besides a family for which he was our older brother, but a young lady named Sharon, who was the love of his life.

Memory allows us to remember the awfulness of hearing the news, but also in remembering, we learn the lessons that David taught us. He wrote his last short story, dropping it by Agnes Hull's door as he left for vacation THE SHADOW which gave us understanding that God was with him, and us, in those final moments...We rushed to Newport, NY where we buried him in a quiet corner of the North Newport cemetery. Our lives were changed...

Little did we realize how far David's shadow went...or the faces he drew. He lived life, each day, to its fullest, despite the breathlessness of asthma. The twinkle in his eyes warmed many a heart...
and he was my childhood hero. People offered to help but I said "just be nearby, and share our sadness and tears." which unfortunately people aren't always willing or able to. David's death, and more importantly his living made me want to be a person, a minister, who was nearby to share their tears...This year is different - dad died in November...and yet I wrote a letter to my Mother and sent the red roses...so, it is the same...

Rest in peace David, and as Dad tells you about these 47 years, humor him, and make like you're listening...I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOU>>>