MAGIC HAND OF FATE

Most folks never know
What magic has done
They walk with their eyes closed to the stars.
Most people ignore,
When they walk out their door,
The influence of Jupiter or Mars.

But for the few chosen souls,
Aligned with the Earth’s poles,
Each day is an unfolding mystery.
They see facts very clear,
Just as a nose is not an ear,
How arcana has shaped our whole history.

How does a boy of small stature,
The son of a lowly thatcher,
Walk a path that leads to a throne?
With an enchanted sword,
A well-spoken word,
He claimed royal right as his own.

Behold the great and wondrous works of man
All guided by a hidden magic hand.

This one is for Justin Olsen

NO MORE A GUN VIRGIN

I have to make this confession. I have to do it now while I have the nerve to do it. It’s always hard to admit these things. I mean, I’m an American, I live in Colorado—it’s not like I haven’t seen this sort of thing on the streets, in my father’s bedroom closet behind his church suits, on television. I know that my friends have had experience in these things for much longer than I, yet I would just laugh along at their stories as if I knew the titillating thrill of which they spoke.

Well my days of pretending are over. I am now a man of experience—at one with the ways of the world. I know the secret passion that I had always longed for but was just too timid to take. I am no longer a gun virgin.

Oh, don’t think that I haven’t dabbled. I’ve experimented as a teenager—who hasn’t? But I never really went “all the way” when it came to firearms. I have looked down the barrel of my dad’s .22. I’ve seen them, touched them, and always wondered what it would be like to fire one. I played a mean Duck Hunt on the Nintendo NES. One time, when I was 15, I shot a black powdered rifle. I learned just recently that it had powder but no ball.

No ball--are you kidding me? I shot an impotent gun!

Last weekend, in the summer of my 41st year I went to Cherry Creek State Park where I ended my secret shame. I went with some friends to celebrate a 40th birthday and shot 12 gauge rifles at some poor, unsuspecting clay pigeons. In 25 shots I hit 13—not bad

Now I will take measures to ensure that I don’t miss out on the fun any longer. I am shopping for a shotgun of my own. I am researching guns, prices, and testimonials. I plan on renting a few before I buy. I am even looking into the law—so’s that I don’t go breaking it or nothing’ like that. (Sorry, my inner-redneck just woke up from a long slumber.) The law in Colorado is surprisingly more lax than the media reports.

Now I know what it is like to walk in the sun for the first time in my life. My step has a spring in it that I have never experienced. I’m going to take my wife shooting on Labor Day—she should share in this, up until now, forbidden passion with me. What a great day to be an American!

The Highland Wizard

He travels the hills by day
collecting roots and twigs and grass
he wanders across the valley
searching the wide morass.

He passes by no fungus
and covets every spice.
His skills at potion brewing
have earned a handsome price.

He seeks to help the widow
with the useless withered arm.
He packs a fragrant sachet
for a bridal good luck charm.

The mountain people seek him out--
they travel from miles away
to find the old White Wizard,
and no one refuses to pay.

The Truth About Mermaids

Gossipy little mermaids
Swim in their clicky pods
They speak in whispered voices
And give their judging nods.

So pretty from afar they are
But distances are concealing
When you swim in for a closer look
Barbed tongues they’ll be revealing

To your face they are your friends
But once you take your leave
They lean in close to giggle and jibe
About your bad hair-weave

They act like you’re an equal
And maybe share a tale of hate
But rest assured that once you’re gone
Your reputation is on their plate.

A Sprite at Tea Time

If you wish for the crazies to stay far away
never have tea with a sprite.
For they only will hear every third word you say
smirking to just give you spite.

"How are you this fine day? Have you had a good trip?"
you might say as you first meet.
"But you know that I bruise like a peach over ripe.
Do you have honey to eat?"

"Have you fallen my dear?" concern hangs on your voice.
"I see flowers are budding, it's spring."
"Yes I know that its spring-- never mind, take a seat."
"Takes? My dear no-- not such thing.

"It gives green to the world with a bright shiny smile.
That is the beauty in life."
Though she just came around, and the tea 's yet to pour,
she cuts your wits like a knife.

"And your mother, I trust, fares she well in these days?"
Maybe politeness will win.
"There's a plan, so I've heard, to raise up her rates.
My but three gold seems a sin.

"And for what, dare I ask, do you get for three gold?
Babies and children we are not!
But her fares she will raise, and of course we will pay--
My what a lovely honey pot."

And you see now, you do, why I gave my advice:
Tea time 's not time for sprites.
Though a lovely guest she would seem right at first
Always tea ends up in fights.

Researching Workout Programs for People Suffering with Multiple Sclerosis

Losing weight, as it turns out, follows a law of thermodynamics: eating fewer calories than burned results in weight loss. However, fitness involves desire followed up with determined action. Whereas for most people this may be merely an issue of self will, a person living with relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis (MS) will find that achieving fitness goals beyond just losing weight a difficult prospect at best. The Rocky Mountain MS Center relates MS as a progressive and unpredictable disease of the central nervous system. This disorder causes the immune system to attack the myelin sheath (the insulation that assists the nerve fibers in transmitting signals to and from the brain.). Over time these attacks can destroy nerves entirely, leaving behind lesions, or plaques, in the place of the functioning nerve.

“The damage from lesions disrupts the transmission of nerve impulses from the central nervous system to the rest of the body causing a variety of symptoms. Common symptoms include visual changes, muscle weakness, problems with balance, fatigue, numbness, and emotional and cognitive changes but there are many others. MS has periods when the disease is quite active known as exacerbations. During exacerbations symptoms can be more pronounced, but usually subside and sometimes go away after an exacerbation” (Rocky Mountain MS Center, 2010).

A person suffering from this type of malady must carefully regulate any activity that requires physical strength or endurance. Managing an exercise program to achieve fitness goals resembles a walk on a tightrope: building and maintaining new strength without sacrificing the already low reserves of energy such a person possesses. To achieve this intricate balance, one must maintain vigilance to select carefully a workout routine. Researching and comparing the workout programs outlined in Bill Phillips’ book Body for Life with low-impact aerobic workouts will help the MS sufferer to choose the best fitness options available. To complete this research, one may go to the public library and check out the book Body for Life as well as take advantage of the library's online database.

Body for Life and Aerobic Workout
Bill Phillips, in the Body for Life workout program outlined in the book by the same name, uses what he calls the High Point Technique. This is a rating system for the energy that a person exerts.

“On the low end – at level 1 – you’ve got the intensity of sitting on the couch and watching TV. Level 2 would be standing; level 3 might be walking; level 4 might be carrying a couple of bags of groceries in from the car; level 5 might be carrying those groceries of up stairs; and so on, up to level 10, which is an all out, 100 percent focused effort” (Phillips, pg. 60, 1999). To

maximize the effects of a 20-minute aerobics workout, Phillips (Phillips, pg. 66, 1999) has designed a system that will have the body burning fat for hours after leaving the gym. Two basic rules to follow: do the exercise while fasting, and do not eat for an hour after completing the circuit. The 20-Minute Aerobics Solution works by starting at intensity level five for two minutes. This acts as a warm up level only, and it is meant to be a self regulating level of activity--whatever the individual believes is his or her personal capability. Next the workout increases slightly up a notch to reach a level six effort for one minute. For next three consecutive minutes the plan calls for an increase in intensity one level for each minute, until the person exercising reaches an intensity level of nine. This is a minute of purely pushing the body as hard as stamina will allow but not quite at the point of all out physical exertion. Then the exerciser will retreat back down to a level six intensity “a relatively moderate effort” according to Phillips (Body for Life, pg. 66, 1999). Repeating that pattern three times, but at the peak of the final circuit the exerciser must reach for a level 10: maximum effort. End the workout with a minute back at level five. A person need not limit himself by what kind of workout or machine he uses, or to following a group’s level of intensity.

Although the plan appears flawless, one may question how much of this intense workout someone with limited energy reserves can endure. This calls upon the individual to monitor how much is enough, and when it is too much. This is a personalized system, made to follow the individual’s abilities, which makes it perfect for a person suffering from MS. A person need not pigeon-hole himself by what kind of workout or machine he uses, or by following a group’s level of intensity. Placing this system in service a person can use gym equipment such as a stationary bike, rowing machine, or participate in aerobics that require no equipment such as shadow boxing, or tai chi—the effort will equal the same calorie burn when done correctly.

Body for Life and Anaerobic Workout
The Body for Life workout plan of weight training allows the exerciser to listen to his or her body and perform up to potential. Switching between upper and lower body, and targeting different muscles each workout should keep the muscles in a constant state of confusion. To maintain a workable level of energy throughout the week, a person with MS may feel the need to back off on the intensity of the workout by supplementing the weight training with different anaerobic exercise techniques. Using a band workout in the place of weights will not decrease the effect of the workout, but it will allow the muscles more time to recover strength--which is never an easy prospect for someone who faces chronic fatigue.

Body for Life Eating Plan
More than just a workout plan, the Body for Life plan also offers nutritional counsel to help build the body. Phillips offers an overview of the program found on page 98. The system requires three meals daily balanced with protein, carbohydrate, vegetable, and fruit. Furthermore, the plan calls for three high protein snacks positioned between each meal and one after dinner. The plan also prescribes topping meals after seven p.m. The one unique quality of the plan is the “free day.” That is, a day when one can eat or drink whatever he wishes without negatively affecting the regimen. Phillips endorses such a day as a break from the body: both from diet and exercise. By allowing the body to recuperate on all levels, a person can expect better performance throughout the other six days of the week. Furthermore, by allowing a day of sweets, pizza, soda, or whatever else a body’s taste buds may desire the natural craving tendencies that follow such plans have no place to dwell.

Low-Impact Aerobics Options
Low-impact does not have to mean low intensity. Using the database library that the University of Phoenix makes available to students and faculty, one will find ample articles and academic papers that provide information necessary to make an informed decision. In an article written for the Canadian Journal of Health and Fitness, Mike Broderick suggests that one can “add intensity by making the moves more deliberate. Use your legs to move your body up and down with each move, make your arm movements large and strong, and feel your heart rate go up” (Broderick, pg. 104, 2007).

The problem with the low-impact workout comes with the individual’s ability to sustain the activity. Most people with MS complain of fatigue, and also with balance issues. These issues rule out many popular workouts on the market bases on martial arts, dance, or anything that requires a high degree of perpendicular movement. One way to erase these barriers is to move the aerobics routine into the water. In the Canadian Journal of Health and Fitness, aerobics expert Tanya Rouble touts the benefits of a workout which she calls Aquafit. This workout consists of low-impact aerobics in a neck deep pool. “Neck deep water supports 90% of your body weight and relieves stress on knee and hip joints.” She goes on to say that the buoyancy of water decreases the risk of injury because of falling and provides natural resistance no matter what direction a person moves in the water (Rouble, pg. 84, 2008). A drawback with any such low-impact workout remains the amount of time that they take to complete. This goes beyond just a scheduling conflict, but creates the issue of maintaining a balance between keeping fit and keeping energized. Unlike fatigue that the average person will experience after any such workout, the energy well of a person with MS does not replenish quite so easily. So a person with MS concerns himself very much with possessing energy and keeping it.

Conclusion
In comparing the two options of working out, Bill Phillips’ program outlined in his book Body for Life and low-impact aerobic routines farmed from the university library, one can see that both offer value to a person with MS, and both also present disadvantages. Both of them can produce results when done consistently and correctly. The Body for Life plan empowers a person to take charge of the workout. The activity level portion of the plan allows a day of increased energy, or for one of decreased proportions. With the low-impact aerobic solution, one must first find the right instructor or class. One must have either facilities or access to a DVD for instruction. Finding the right fit in an instructor, one who understands the limits of one with multiple sclerosis, may prove a difficult task. Perhaps through a local MS Center, such as the Rocky Mountain MS Center, a person may find such a situation. DVD’s prove to display little sympathy for the abilities of the person exercising, and so it may spend more time on pause, and in the case than doing much good. Ultimately a person with MS must formulate his or her own plan, with the help of a knowledgeable doctor or physical therapist, to choose which is right for the individual. The hope remains that a person can gain more energy through exercise, even while battling a debilitating disease.

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References
Phillips, B., & D'Orso, M. (1999). Body for life. New York City, NY: HarperCollins.

Rocky Mountain MS Center. (2010). MS: The basics. Retrieved from http://www.mscenter.org/education/ms-the-basics

Broderick, M. (2007). Getting the most from low impact. Canadian Journal of Health and Fitness, (295), 104. Retrieved from http://web.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.apollolibrary.com/ehost/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?hid=113&sid=b2b612c3-9a42-4273-ba64-b35cf1d3d5ca%40sessionmgr115&vid=3

Rouble, T. (2008). Aquafit deep water workout. Canadian Journal of Health and Fitness, 305(), 84. Retrieved from http://web.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.apollolibrary.com/ehost/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?hid=113&sid=af8c363e-51f4-4166-a720-d0240cf47fac%40sessionmgr104&vid=3

Self-Portriat

This is a self-portrait of...well...myself. This is based on my results from the Briggs-Meyers Type Inventory. Now the career goals, interests, and the values all came from me.

A Very PhD Nativity Season

The Color of Danger

A dragon’s hue, if it is blue,
Has electricity in its veins.
With that said, if it’s red,
It will bathe the world in flames.

Green dragon’s spit, in a hissy fit,
And poison spews all around.
A frigid white, on a cold summer’s night,
Spreads its hoary frost on the warmest ground.

But fear the black, for they will attack,
It will gnash with teeth and swipe with tail.
Should these attacks miss, beware its hiss--
For acid breath will always prevail.

The Necrinomicon - Wrong, Wrong...and oh so WRONG!

So by now everyone who has a television has seen the great uplifting commercials put out by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints promoting the Book of Mormon, the Bible, and just being good Christians.



Can the Necrinomicon be value based and still raise the dead?

Reading Boy

Troy loves his books. He loves to flip the pages, and read like mommy and daddy. He points out which animals say "moo" and finds the kitties in his animal book. He loves to show us which "wild thing" is Max.

Such a smart boy...

Reading about the wild things.

Oombah-lah

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-lay
sings of the musical ogres
As they travel on their way.

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-lie
hums the musical ogres
‘neath the star-spilt sky.

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-loom
chants the musical ogres
while sweeping up the room.

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-ite
roar the musical ogres
as they enter into the fight.

Sir Xander the Long-Lived

Next up for Nanny Togglebottom's diary of monsters is the tale of a knight who just didn't find the heroic end he once sought. Not very monstrous, I know, but all monsters need a knight for glorious battle. Sometimes the dragon wins, but what happens after the knight has won so many battles the he is left a lone victor on the field of glory? Some knights live to tell the tale...if they can remember.

Sir Xander the Long-Lived

Old Alexander Mann, the old snowy-haired man, was once a knight of the realm
Sir Xander they called him then when he quested
with gilded shield and
with golden helm.
He never expected he’d see the days grow long with a rocking chair as his steed.
He’d always only ever wanted to die with reknown
with honorable acts or
with courageous deed.
Long years have passed since he had heard the alarm and answered the call to fight.
Little of the world’s turmoil reached his attention
in lovely Lady Pell’s Home
for a tired retired knight.

Truth be known he could hardly recall the day when he’d strap on buckler and sword
and charge in with a roar of heroic delight
against nasty trolls
or a raging goblin horde.
Little of the days of his valiant youth ever cross his ancient mind;
but on rare days he’ll regale and eager young page
with wild tales of adventure
and it’s tight, hair raising, bind.
Long had it been since he’d heard the alarm and answered the call to fight
Little of the world’s woes were allowed
in Lady Pell’s Home
for a tired retired knight.

Plato was Right

Back in the 70’s and 80’s my dad kept the only television (a black and white 15’ deal) under wraps in his bedroom. How could a growing boy, living in an age when not only did everyone have television in their homes (color no less), but most of my friends had a couple of TV’s, cable, and Atari—how could a boy survive? Oh, I survived. I read. I read a lot. I went outside and played. I had action figures (not “dolls”). I even had a couple of friends (but they lived on the other side of Kipling Street, so I didn’t get to hang out with them very often.) I also wrote stories of my own, and listened to a lot of radio.

That was when radio was king…a dying king with the usurper MTV emerging from the shadows. I used to listen to The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”, and I used to think that they were singing about me. Hey, I had blue eyes. I had reason to be sad: I didn’t have TV, my dark hair didn’t shine like the blonde tresses that my brothers and sister had, and I would never reach 6’+ height range that my younger brothers would enjoy. No one could possibly understand the sad man behind my blue eyes.

Yeah, how cool was that: The Who singing about me? I guess I never really listened to the rest of the lyrics back then. I never got how much non-sense rock stars could live with when they just wanted to sell records. They just gave up on language sometimes. When I listen to the old stuff, and then the soundtrack of what we will all one day call a “classic”, “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog”, they just don’t compare. The songs in Dr. Horrible waste no words. Not only music with content, meaning, and flavor…but FUN-NEE! These tunes stick to my brain as if held there by Dr. Horrible’s freeze ray technology.

It makes me long for the days when I didn’t rush home to my DVR life-- where if I didn’t record it…that’s because I can catch it On-Demand. A life where sit in front of my 74’ screen, with my laptop on my lap, and watch Barney and Friends with my son while updating Facebook, and downloading new music to my iPod. I would say that I’m wired up for technology…but of course I’m actually wireless. I went from the imposed stone ages of my father’s house, to an enlightened renaissance prison of my own virtual design. Now my soul feels dead…or just radiation burned by the LCD screens that mesmerize my brain.

How Platonian I have become. Is Platonian even a word? Oh well, I’ve queued NCIS up on the satellite…so who cares?

Oil Spill Madness + US' Tendancy for Bad Journalism = XKCD

Here is the ultimate worse case scenario, as supplied by the stick figure genius that brings us XKCD. I wasn't too worried about the oil spill. Oh, I know that it's bad, I realize the peril to the environment, and I don't discount the billions of dollars that Congress will fleece us for in the name of cleaning it all up...but I knew that we'd pull through.

But after this...I'm not so sure.

(I realize that the picture may be too small to see...so here's the link.)
http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/worst_case_scenario.png

Hexelplex (revised version 1.2)

His two green eyes are glowing lights of doom
(we love it when green doom dispels dark gloom.)
A doom that sounds soft like a waterfall,
and looks like a green alien baseball.
A doom that's fuzzy to a child's touch,
and smells of roses, lilacs, grass and such.
A doom that tastes sweet like hot chocolate
(far sweeter than a dragon will admit.)

He's dwelt under your beds since he was young
poo-pooing cocao's taste to his forked tongue
(but why must dragons' tongues be long and forked?
why not, instead, spooned, or knived, or sporked?)
Tarnations! Child of what do you speak?
A spooned-forked tongue makes for an odd physique.
So odd that he would not be fit to say
"So sings sweet Sally's sister songs that sway."

The smoky black dragon of happiness
so softly sleeps atop his glittering hoard...
Huh, what? I failed to mention the gold bed
that's worthy of a hulking dragon lord?
They're nuggets dear-- that fill your cavaties--
the golden stuffs that dentists like to use.
Old Hexelplex will nab your fallen teeth
while in the darkest night you snore and snooze.

Though Hexelplex seems scary in our youth
in truth he is the fairy of the tooth.

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Okay, this is revision two...and it's a modified sonnet (so to speak.) I'm still not quite sure what final form it will make. I will craft it as a villanel next, or maybe a ghazal. I just know that it's getting closer, but some lines will have to go to make room for my important new idea: the tooth fairy is really a smoke dragon.

I'm not thrilled with the last stanza. It broke the rhyme scheme of the first two, and really came out like a train wreck. Well...I guess that's why I call it "a work in progress."

FATHERHOOD PART II: Waiting for It

So after trying, testing, and getting some disappointing results that I just don’t want to talk about…

Jen and I decided that our best bet for parenthood came down to adoption. Of course we wanted the whole experience, not just to pick up some kiddos in the middle of their childhood lives and go on from that point. No, we wanted to be there from birth to as long as we all lived. Yeah—still with a bit of the selfish streak…I know. There it was though, adopting an infant or nothing at all. Of course many people have heard that, for the longest time, we thought that the option that we would have to live with was the “nothing at all” option. For nearly five years we waited on the list of LDS Family Services, hoping to hear that a birthmommy had chosen us…but no word came. As my wife came closer to 40, we thought more and more that it just wasn’t going to happen. We made up our minds that if we didn’t get a child placed with us by the time she was 40, then we would be a childless couple who traveled the globe and lives lonely lives…like Julia Child.

We were in Hawaii in August of 2009, for Jen’s 20th high school reunion, when we received a call from LDS Family Services. A special young lady, her boyfriend, and his mom were coming in to choose a couple to raise their child. For many reasons, none of them important to this story, they would not be able to keep the child. Though they didn’t really want to do it, they were faced with the choice of either giving the child up for adoption, or risk the state social services taking the baby and putting it in a foster home. They chose the option of hand-picking the baby’s parents. We were among the few from which they would choose. About a week after we returned from our vacation, we heard that they wanted to meet with us.

On our first meeting, the birth family had a tiny request to make: they wanted us to name the baby Jesse…after the birthdaddy’s brother who had recently died. We felt their plea, and appreciated the sentiment, but after years of dreaming and hoping, we already had our heart set on a name. This was a name that no one had taken from us for their own children. This was a name which we coveted because it was a) fairly common; b) not so common that he would share it with seven kids in his class at school; c) the name of all of the best football players. We wanted to pair this name with my first name, thus branding him as my firstborn son. Because of our shared Hawaii connection though, we promised to give the boy the Hawaiian equivalent of “Jesse” for his second middle name. We didn’t want the English to Hawaiian translation, because it was largely phonetic, and didn’t convey the meaning of the name. The name “Jesse” is Hebrew for “The Lord Is.” That is a name of testimony, of conviction, and of a love for God. We chose the Hawaiian name Kahaku. We decided that we had waited long, and he rated at least four names.

The birthmommy used to live in Hawaii, Jen grew up in Hawaii, I loved Hawaii…it was a match made in some island paradise. By they time we left that happy meeting, we knew that she chose us to parent her coming soon baby boy.

Yes, we were pretty certain that the baby would come out with boy parts. Were we 100% certain? No…but who is? We moved forward with the idea that all of the doctor’s data pointed to a baby boy, and we bought blue things. We prepared the baby’s room with planets, stars, a crib, a changing table, a book shelf with his own copy of Where the Wild Things Are, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar (among other titles.) We had showers that provided play pens, car seats, strollers, clothes, diapers, and more clothes. I had nothing but dreams of watching him play sports, teaching him to read, taking him to the zoo, and going camping. I had embraced the idea of fatherhood, but with no practical experience. But first and foremost I had to get the boy in the house.

The birth mom called us a couple of weeks shy of her due date and told us that her water had broke. By “a couple of weeks” I mean to say five weeks. That was the beginning of the adventure. We hoofed it down to the hospital (coincidentally, the same one where my mother had birthed me back in the day), and sat down to wait. We listened to his heartbeat on the monitor, and listened to the doctors while they read a litany of complications which they expected: underdeveloped lungs, downs syndrome, complications brought on by the birthmommy’s epilepsy, birth stress taking its toll on the baby’s tiny, underdeveloped body…

The list went on and only caused my anxiety to grow. So…this was parenthood. I knew that every moment wouldn’t have glamour and joy…but I had hoped for a little glamour and joy before nausea set in for the long haul. The baby’s heartbeat monitor, though never strong, had strong moments before slowing down and fading…only to come up strong again to start a new cycle. For eight hours I sat worrying that neither baby, nor birthmommy, would survive the day. Finally, after having the poor girl labor on her hands and knees for hours (to relieve the stress on the baby)…after the sun had given up and went down…after most of the night had passed into memory…the doctors decided to go in and take the baby before he sustained more damage.

At five a.m., on October 4, 2009, Troy Robert Kahaku Justus came into the world. My first impression was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. The birth family chose us for multiple reasons, but I feel that the baby made his choice before he came into this world. He chose his birthparents, and he chose us to be his parents to raise him, care for him, teach him, and nurture him. In one moment I ditched the last vestiges of my anti-parenthood sentiments. I looked at him, stared at him, wondered at him…I knew that I would never be complete if he were not my son.

So began the last part of my journey from wanting to be a parent, to waiting for fatherhood, to becoming his father for time and all eternity.

FATHERHOOD PART I: Wishing for It

Growing up I probably felt the intense responsibility of fatherhood, and therefore never looked for it in my life. In fact, I had always planned on not being a father. That would mean PTA meetings, Boy Scout camp newspaper drives, signing parent permission slips, and really more stuff in my life that didn’t have to do with taking care of myself. Ok, admittedly I displayed definite selfish, if not narcissistic, tendencies. As I moved through my 20’s I maybe found a little more time to look outside of myself. I also always said that I was not the type of man to take a wife…and took her I did. Still, fatherhood seemed like more than I wanted to bear.

I had nephews and nieces that came along and lit up my life. I treated them as an uncle should whenever I saw them: I sugared them up and sent them home. My friends had kids, and they all told me that “it was like nothing that I have ever felt” to be a father. Sure, changing diapers and wiping strained peas off of a kid had to bring about many a tender moment. Somewhere along the line, though, I developed the urge to be a dad. I can pinpoint three such times when I nearly ditched my anti-daddy position and jumped over to the dark side: on my mission, working in the nursery, and standing in the middle of Walmart one day.

God has a sense of humor, and He here is a little joke which He liked to play on me: every time I found myself sent to a new area of work, the Branch Presidents (missionaries all of them) assigned me to the Primary orginazation. Yes, I had the assignment in developing branches of the church in the south west part of the Dominican Republic to look after the Primary. For those that don’t know, the Primary organization is basically Sunday School for kids from age 3 to 12. I always thought that God had me work this area because I am really just an overgrown 10-year-old, and I fit in quite nicely. I suspect now that He had it in His all-powerful mind to break down my wall. On Sundays I went to the room with the kids and we sang together about trees that grew popcorn, musically gifted waterways, and how Jesus wanted us to become sunbeams. We talked of Christ, we learned of his divine mission, and we all came to love him for what he did for us. When people grow their testimonies together, they come to love one another, and every time I received the call to move on to another town, it was with a heavy heart. I left little friends behind from Las Matas de Farfán to Santo Dominigo. Now those kids are all grown up, and they may not remember me from any other gringo that wore the black name tag in their towns, but I remember all of them.

Upon coming home and getting married, God continued His assault on my anti-parenthood stance: He kept calling me to work in the nurseries of every new ward that I attended. I got to share goldfish crackers, talk about being grateful for Jesus, and read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to many a little 1 1/2 to 3 year old child. I remember one such Sunday, at the end of the meetings when all but one parent had come to retrieve their child, I sat with little Sidney Barton reading about the caterpillar. Her daddy came in to get her, and she jumped up and ran to him. I sat on the floor, in the middle of the big story telling blanket and watched them leave. Then, she turned, ran back to me, and gave me a hug before leaving with her dad. I always called it the best calling ever…and I always will.

But the final assault, the attack that successfully breached my defenses, came quite unexpectedly in my mid 30’s. I was in the Walmart, moving from the food section to the electronics to browsePS2 games. I passed by the baby center and stopped to look at a dress for an infant girl. For some reason that moment struck me hard. I wanted to buy that dress for my daughter. I had no daughter to wear that dress. What had I done in squandering my youth away on myself, when deep down I had the makings of a family man? Was it too late to make up for lost time?

Wishing for fatherhood does not make it happen. Even though my wife and I had not taken measures beyond the first year of our marriage to keep from having children...no children had come to us. I did not worry overly much, but now the worry gene had activated. I had migrated from anti-fatherhood, to enjoying being around kids, to wishing for the blessing of daddy ship to come upon me. Hopefully it had not completely passed me by.

What I Gained by Losing

Something happened over the past twenty years. Not overnight, or all of the sudden, or in the twinkling of an eye…no it took place slowly, unnoticed at first, until one day the realization came to me: I weighed 278 pounds. I had gotten fat. For a long while I walked around harboring that knowledge, hoping that no one else noticed. I ignored the looks that I got when I had to ask for handicap seating at the Pepsi Center because the designers did not factor in my keister when they built the arena. I turned a deaf ear to suppressed comments when I squeezed past people in the movie theater. I was sure that I hid my bulk well under my oversized sweaters and baggy pants. No one could possibly suspect my shameful little secret.

In the process of gaining all of the weight, I lost a few things as well: self confidence, and pride in my own presentation. I had dreams of being an actor—and not a fat character actor. No, I felt that my dashing good looks could land me a leading man role…or at least a leading man’s good looking, yet goofy, friend. I sang in a band and thought that we could make it big one day. Though I expressed them outwardly, I threw away dreams of stardom. On top of all of that, doctors diagnosed me in 1999 with multiple sclerosis—with the loss of co-ordination, feeling, and strength to my legs I could never sustain a rigorous “Biggest Loser” workout regimen. I had no chance of losing the weight.

In March of 2009 my younger brother, Larry, met with the counselors at Slimgenics (formerly Slim-4-Life). I went to talk with the counselors because I didn’t want anyone taking my brother for a ride and stealing his money. I had secretly tried it all, anyway, and nothing worked. I failed at Adkins. I flunked out of Weight Watchers. I sunk the South Beach Diet. I proved that Body for Life did not work on the average guy. I was sure that whatever fake-food diet that came along would ultimately fail, so I came to listen and decline on my brother’s behalf.

After a 30 minute question and answer session, I had the feeling that this might work for Larry. Even if he only lost 70 or 80 pounds, it might be enough to build up his confidence. I came out of that meeting thinking that Larry really needed what Slimgenics had to offer, but he couldn’t do it alone. So I selflessly offered to do this program with him for a while to help him get on-plan and get healthy.

Over the first 6 months I followed the plan and stubbornly clung to my belief that this diet might work a little bit for Larry, but it wouldn’t work for me: I had gotten too big to ever be “skinny” again in my life. I watched the scale inch its way downward. Then one morning, six months into the plan, I woke up and did the math: 70 pounds. I didn’t starve. I couldn’t work out consistently. I had done nothing to lose so much weight except keep the plan as the counselors at Slimgenics had taught me. I needed new clothes.

I went from wearing a size 48 waist to a size 38. I could buy off the rack, and things actually fit. I walked around with a smile on my face and in my heart. Unlike getting fat, the skinny seemed to happen overnight, all of the sudden, in the twinkling of an eye. And that quickly I had gained the confidence that I had previously lost. I wanted to wear nice clothes again, comb my hair, and shave my face more than once a week. I cared what I looked like when I went out in public.

Over the rest of the year I went from a size 38 to a size 32 waist. I looked in the mirror and saw the guy that I was in high school…a little older, but still that same guy. The scale said that I weighed 173 pounds…a 105 pound weight loss. From October 2009 to February 2010 I had switched gears from a cynic, to one of the faithful…to a downright believer. I know that by following the plan a person will lose weight. Not just myself—but any person who keeps this plan will lose the weight that they want to lose. If a person wants to lose weight, prove their own inner strength, and improve their over all health, gain self confidence, learn about nutrition and how to care for his body…that is what one can gain by losing. The best part of doing this plan has been the knowledge that I can now pass on to my family and the desire to help others lose what I have lost…so that they can gain what I have gained.