To manscape, or not to manscape, that is the question.

Recently, the subject of "manscaping" came up amongst mixed company and I have to admit that several points were made regarding the issue. For those of you lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the term "manscape", its the process of removing, plucking, trimming, or (argh) waxing hair from the male body. As it turns out, women do like a man to be groomed but, preferrably, not to the extremes some men are known to go to achieve the look of a paid model. That being said, Da' Man Cave has established the following rules regarding manscaping. Any deviation from the rules shall be at the risk of losing man-points!

1. PAID MODELS - If you have a body someone pays to see in a magazine, movie, TV show, or on a billboard... manscape. Its your bread and butter and pays the bills. Just make sure you belch and scratch yourself every once and awhile to remind everyone that you're still doing it for the money.

2. DO IT FOR YOUR TEAM! - This is definitely a case where manscaping can be an asset. It isn't very often a guy has enough hair on their body to shave the logo of your favorite team or the number of your favorite player clearly. You get extra points if you can shave the number AND name on your back. However, there is a small drawback. Your wife/girlfriend may require you wipe the "slate" clean to avoid embarrassment at the next BBQ or pool party. If you're single, rock it until the end of the season!

3. PLAY BASKETBALL? - If you play basketball or any other close-contact sport shirtless on a regular basis... manscape. You'll have an open lane to the basket if your back hair is matted down with sweat every time. You don't have to wax but trimming it down is always appreciated by the germ-a-phobe unlucky enough to pull guard duty on you.

4. KOJAK? DR. EVIL? - Da' Man Cave takes a stance against any type of waxing in the nether-region. Number one, it has to be the strangest look in the world (even for porn stars) and, number two, its got to hurt like hell to even think about doing it. Of course, any guy willing to endure the pain and discomfort of waxing the baby-makers earns props in the tough guy category... for awhile at least.

Why are you crying?!

At the end of last weekend's SEC Championship game between Alabama and Florida the network cameras began scanning the Gator crowd showing fans in utter disgust crying with faces in their hands. The next shot on the screen happens to be Florida quaterback Tim Tebow doing the exact same thing... except he was not covering his face. As time ran out, the cameras stuck with Tebow as the tears continued to stream down his face while his bottom lip quivered uncontrollably. I couldn't help but make a few comments at the screen (i.e.-Suck it up! Man up! People are watching!) before my wife surprisingly stood up for Tebow and announced that there's absolutely nothing wrong with an athlete showing some emotion and sensitivity. Emotion on the field? Okay. Sensitivity on the field? No... at least not in my coach's handbook. Seeing all of this estrogen-laden display at the end of the game made me wonder. When is it okay for men to openly display emotion and tears without losing man-card points? Well, I've come up with the Top 5 instances athletes are given a "pass" on public displays of emotion. It should be noted that funerals, daughter's weddings, and the birth of children are not included for obvious reasons.

#5 - CHAMPIONSHIPS - Winning a championship, even if its in your city bowling league, can qualify... but only the first time. When Michael Jordan won his first NBA Championship, everyone expected to see the waterworks because it was so meaningful... but after his 6th title, he should be able to reign it in.

#4 - GOLD MEDALS - When you're representing your entire country in a sporting event and you whip the ass of the rest of the world, yes, go ahead and cry. Standing up on the highest pedalstal receiving your medal during the national anthem is well worth it.

#3 - LOSSES - Although rare, crying after a loss is okay... only if YOU are the reason for the loss. Costing your team a championship, blowing it when everything is on the line and the only place to point the finger is in the mirror? Yeah, its okay to tear up because your disgusted teammates will make you if you don't.

#2 - RETIREMENT - When an athlete finally realizes that he has nothing left to offer the game he has played so many years, hanging it up is still the toughest thing to do. Playing a sport at a professional level and playing a sport at a professional level well are two completely different things. Peyton Manning can cry all he wants when his time is up. The guy that holds the ball for field goals?... not so much. Brett Favre is an exception to this rule... he's already cried enough for three retirements and he's still playing.

#1 - HALL OF FAME - I don't care if its the Ping Pong Hall of Fame, if an entire sport deems you worthy of recognition forever then its time to pull out the hankies. Many players can excel at a sport at any time but few can garner HOF recognition for their accomplishments. Its a select group of athletes that will be remembered as long as the game is played.

You're what?!

There are only a handful of phrases, comments, and words at a woman's disposal that have the ability to focus a man's attention to every single word that flows from her lips. "I'm pregnant." happens to be at the top of that very short list of phrases. I can't speak for other men but I can count the number of times I have heard those words on one hand. Each time, my heart would stop and the religion I had lost would suddenly reappear. Its impossible to truly describe the feeling that flows through your veins when dealing with a situation like that but its what happens immediately afterwards that means everything to the woman involved. This is what I dealt with last week during our Thanksgiving break.

When my wife and I married 3 years ago, we briefly discussed the possibility of having another child. Sharing the birth of a child is a special bond between a couple that can never be broken. Since we both had children of our own from previous marriages, we decided that it might be best to enjoy the freedoms that come with having older children and the financial benefits that come with middle age. I can honestly say that we became "set in our ways" over the next three years as she focused on Hannah's soccer, volleyball and basketball activites while I concentrated on Kendall's high school volleyball and getting Courtney into Baylor University. All of this on top of her pursuing her doctorate... so whats a 43 year old man to do when he hears those words when they are definitely least expected? You smile, you hold your wife, tell her you love her, and you pray for a boy.

stoP, stOP, sTOP, STOP!!!

After weeks of begging, pleading, and nagging, I decided to give my 15 yr. old daughter a shot at driving around the neighborhood streets to evaluate her skills before beginning her drivers education. Before I move on with this post, let me inform everyone that I made the mistake of going the route of the Parent-taught Drivers Ed course with my first daughter. I think the Texas DPS office must have some sort of kickback agreement with every insurance agency in the state to even think of offering parents the option of teaching their own kids. Firstly, at $20.00, its extremely cheap compared to professional drivers ed schools that charge upwards of $300.00. What parent wouldn't jump at the chance to use the money for something else... like auto body repair? Anyway, after two wrecks and one totaled car, I sent my oldest daughter off to college with a credit card and a bicycle.

I decided that I would not make the same mistake with the 2nd daughter, already looking for a drivers ed school that might save me a little cash. Kendall and I decided to take a quick drive and see exactly how much she really knew about driving a car. We loaded up in the Land Rover (a very used 1996 one), I watched her adjust the seat, fasten her seat belt, adjust the mirrors and start the car. All good so far until we pulled out of the driveway and I began the slow realization that she could not judge speed and steering at the same time. Long story short, after almost hitting two parked cars, weaving on BOTH sides of the road and stopping 2 feet short of hitting a large assortment of trees and bushes, we made it back to the house where she will wait patiently for the foolish drivers ed instructor unlucky enough to draw my daughter as his next assignment.

I'm reminded of the car repair commercial from years ago with the mechanic that looks into the camera and utters the most intelligent words anyone will ever hear... "You can pay me now, or you can pay me later." My checkbook is already open.

Back to school...

I rarely, if ever, make rash decisions unless they involve motorcycles, cars, and power tools. Recently, I made the decision to return to school to continue an education I left behind 25 years ago... and, no... its not to complete my GED. I decided it was time to complete my bachelors degree which, at the time, happened to be in Radio/Television/Film. Being 19 years old and already tired of school I dropped out as soon as the first company offered me more than $10 an hour. This "great" salary gave me all the independence I needed to move out on my own, get married, get divorced, get married again, and get kids... all within the first few years of my fabulous independence.

Luckily, I managed to fall into a teaching career which brings me back full circle to where I am now. While raising my daughters, I always stressed the importance of a college education. It was never if they were going to college but where they were going to go. It was a vision I never had as a child. Neither of my parents went to college and neither really cared about my grades as long as I graduated. Becoming part of the workforce after high school was just an expectation I gladly obliged. Becoming a teacher forced me to recognize and respect the value and privilege of knowledge. Watching my oldest daughter walk across the stage for her diploma made me realize just how hypocritical I have been all these years. She's off to Baylor to begin her college education and I still have yet to complete mine 25 years later.

I'm now a 43 year old freshman at Tarleton State University. Technically, I should be a sophomore but, since its been two decades since my last college-level course, some of my credits "expired"... I did not know they could do that. I don't feel quite as old as Rodney Dangerfield and I am definitely not attending any frat parties since all of my courses are on-line. I hope to complete my degree before my daughter does but, if I don't, that's okay too. I just feel better about not being that dad who tells his kids "Do as I say, not as I do."

One More Season In The Sun...

Every year for the last 20+ plus years, about the time the winter frost turns to chilly mornings, I get a funny feeling in my gut. Its a feeling that tells me it's time to start shedding my winter blubber and begin the rituals of spring training. I can remember playing baseball at such a young age that a typical backyard field looked like a stadium to our rag-tag team. My father was never a baseball fan... so I never became a player until I was old enough to do something about it. I found my outlet for hardball in my early 20's when, by chance, the Fort Worth Amateur Baseball League placed an ad in the local paper looking for teams. The rest is history.

The name of the team has changed over the years but some things have remained the same. There are still a handful players that have stuck with the team through thick and thin. Playing when we were losing every single game and reaping the benefits of championship seasons that would eventually come. Being part of a baseball team is so different from other team sports. The camaraderie that you build playing through a 20-30 game season can form friendships that last forever. So many players, so many games and I remember almost all of them. Even opposing players that I couldn't stand eventually became respected friends with whom I would gladly have a beer. Its a bond that can only be built over time... or seasons, to be exact. I've played so long that I measure time in seasons, not years.

Today, I'm 43 years and 2 months old. After one dislocated elbow and another knee surgery, my wife and kids still ask when I'll hang up the spikes. I tried giving it up last year by skipping a season but my body still tells me I have a few more at-bats left in me. Somehow, I have this deep-seeded fear that I'll whither away and die if I ever stop playing for good. Hell, I've known players that have dropped dead on the diamond playing a game they love... I can only hope the same will happen to me. Much rather die on a field in my uniform than in a nursing home eating through a straw.

I'm in the midst of a 1-3 losing season and I'm still upbeat about our chances of making the playoffs this year. Its an excitement that has not faded over the years. I still look forward to wearing the uniform, walking onto the field, warming up with the guys and playing a game that has not changed since I was a child. My legs are a lot slower, the arm nowhere near as strong and the pants a little tighter. The leather glove and pine tar still smell the same... only this time, I'm a helluva better hitter with a .375 average... not bad for an old fart.

We're the Burleson Bulls. Check us out sometime www.eteamz.com/nababulls

SGP Class of 1984

I had my 25th high school reunion this past weekend and I have to admit that it was one of the best times I've had in a very long time. It was by no means my first reunion but definitely my favorite because of the relaxed feeling of the entire evening. I confess that, in past reunions, I was guilty of being more concerned about image and making a good impression but, as time goes by, I've become so much more appreciative of the friends that I've kept throughout the years. It was a small group that attended the reunion but I made an effort to catch up with every single one of our alumni. We had alumni from as far as Costa Rica and some from a few blocks away that never left the old neighborhoods. In past reunions, the committee would rent a banquet hall with a sit-down dinner and a DJ for the evening but, this time, there was a lot of grumbling about the cost of tickets for the event which affected the number of alumni that turned out for the event. It turns out that an all-you-can-eat-and-drink suite at the local Grand Prairie Airhogs minor league stadium is the perfect setting for a small group of alumni.

We are all older but so much more content and satisfied with our lives. The older we get the more we focus on the needs of our children and (for some of us) grandchildren. So many of us are just grateful to have the opportunity to enjoy each others' company and to catch up after so many years. There are times I'll stop and wonder if I've experienced my "mid-life" crisis but, after this past weekend, I truly feel as though I've embraced where I am in life... but I'm still keeping the crotch-rocket.

A Proud Father...

Often times, when I actually slow down enough, I'll reflect on where I've been in life and all of the special moments I've experienced as a father. The older I get the more I reflect because I know my time will fade away before I realize it. I recently experienced a special moment that I know will forever be ingrained as long as I live. Its one of the handful of "fatherly" moments a man never forgets as long as he maintains his sanity. On this day, my oldest daughter walked the stage for her high school graduation. I wondered how this moment could sneak up on me so quickly and then I realize the weeks and months we spent trying to get her into a good college, finding scholarships, applying for loans and scheduling ACT tests. Before I knew it, her graduation day was just a few days away and I had no idea how I was going to handle it. Being lucky enough to work in the school district she was graduating from allowed me a seat front and center and gave me the opportunity to meet her at the bottom of the steps as she walked off the stage.

I can see all of it in slow motion as she handed her name card to the announcer, smile as she heard her name called, walk forward and shake the hands of the school board members and the superintendent, slow down and reach for her diploma from the school principal and then scan the audience for family members. I remember thinking that she looked so mature... she wasn't my baby girl anymore... she was a grown woman. It was surreal to watch my child experience one of the most important moments in her very young life... only to find myself praying that this is not the most important that thing she'll accomplish in her life.

Just like that... it was over and now I'm the parent of a college student. A situation that comes with a completely different set of rules. A moment in time that I waited so long for has come and gone. I guess that's how life works sometimes... the longer I live the more I realize that its all about a collection of special moments that come and go. You experience one and then move on to the next and, if you're lucky enough, you'll remember them as vividly as the day they happened. At least I can hang on to the rule books for her younger sister... maybe some things will get easier and time goes by.

Uh... I'm Sorry?

As a man, the phrase "I'm sorry." should be ready to utter at any given moment when it comes to self-preservation in the midst of spousal argument. Don't get me wrong; I'm all about enforcing the man-code when it comes to issues that most women are not entirely familiar with (i.e. - automotive upkeep, lawn care, BBQ grilling, UFC etc.)... but, in some cases, its a no-win situation to even think about arguing your point. For example, my wife awoke one morning completely livid with me for a transgression committed IN HER DREAM! Normally, my wife is not a morning person so her silence was not unusual but as soon as I leaned over to kiss her goodbye I realized that she was upset and wanted nothing to do with me. Confused, I asked what was wrong and she proceeded to explain in great detail what an ass I had been in her dream last night. Without going into great detail, I had violated one of the 10 Commandments in some interesting ways and she caught me red-handed... IN HER DREAM.

Mistake #1 - I laughed. Soon afterward I realized by the look on her face that it was not funny to her because it was a very real anger she carried over from her dream.

Mistake #2 - I tried to make her laugh by asking if the girl was hot... response was the same as Mistake #1.

As much as I wanted to explain the complete insanity of her anger, I realized that this was a situation that mandated an "I'm sorry." response no matter how much I thought I was in the right. This is not the first time I have transgressed in her dreams/nightmares so I should know better than to make light of the situation and her feelings... self-preservation... remember that its the most important thing when it comes to saying "Uh, I'm sorry?"

An American Pastime?

While watching the Japan/Korea World Baseball Classic final last night, I realized that our beloved American Pastime might not actually belong solely to Americans anymore. Maybe its the inflated salaries, bloated egos or the continuing steroid allegations that just never seem to go away but we, as Americans, have become a little less enthusiastic about the game of baseball. I'm not saying that we don't love the game anymore but you have to admit that our fervor could take some lessons from the Japanese and Korean fans. After watching the USA team "phone it in" against the Japanese team, I pretty much wrote off the rest of the WBC waiting for the end of MLB spring training. Last night I decided to tune in a few innings of the Japan/Korea final only to find myself transfixed by one of the best games I've seen in many months (including the last World Series). The Asian ballplayers and their fans treated this game as if it were their "Game 7" and the end of the season... but it wasn't. This was just an international tournament. Its not even the Olympics but the national pride on both sides was very obvious.

Japanese and Korean fans alike screamed and yelled at every opportunity and hung on to every pitch and every swing. Each time ESPN scanned the crowd, every fan would wave and clap their thundersticks and scream at the top of their lungs no matter what may be happening on the field. It was a true love for the team they were supporting. The Koreans even filled a stadium with 20,000 fans halfway across the globe to watch a live simulcast of the game taking place in L.A. Now that is what I call dedication. But, besides the fan support, the players too displayed an obvious passion for the game. Each player on the field wanted the championship trophy as bad as the other and made sure their fans would get the game they deserved.

It made me a little sad thinking that the USA team should be in the final but their minds were already somewhere else thinking of the season ahead. I only hope that I get to see another quality game like the WBC final somewhere amongst the 162 MLB games this season. Sure, baseball is an American pastime but the Asians paid homage to the game by taking it to another level the USA team never came close to matching.

Bachelor is Biggest Loser...

For fear of having my man-card punched, I will only admit that, over the last couple of weeks, I have caught bits and pieces of The Bachelor while the wife watched religiously on my HD plasma TV. That alone is enough to make any man cringe because, as everyone knows, plasma TVs are made specifically for viewing NFL, MLB, NHL, NBA, MMA and the UFC in all their wondrous glory... oh, and Hawaiin Tropic bikini competitions too. That being said, I normally keep my mouth shut when it comes to the wife's choice of programming but this season's The Bachelor had an interesting twist to it. Jason Mesnick was last season's runner-up (loser) in The Bachelorette so he became the centerpiece in The Bachelor... only this time he brought his 3-year old boy along for the ride. I can't begin to tell you how wrong this is on so many levels but I gave him the benefit of the doubt hoping he wouldn't became the total ass I thought he would. Being a single dad for several years, I can count on one hand the number of women my girls met in 9 years of bachelorhood. This jerk was about to exceed that total in a matter of weeks. As I watched the finale, I caught several things that require this dork relinquish his man-card for good.

#1 - Never, never, never cry on a balcony like a little girl on national TV. This takes the "sensitive" guy concept way too far. Even women are thinking this guy is a wuss at that point.

#2 - Dumping someone is an inevitable part of life if you've ever dated. With the exception of soul mates that met in the 8th grade, most of us (men and women) have had to cut the ties with someone they were no longer interested in or had nothing in common with. This guy asks a girl to marry him, changes his mind, dumps her AND makes out with the other girl in front of her. Usually the crotch area is off-limits in any kind of altercation but she totally had my blessing to take a running start and bury her high heel in his scrotum.

#3 - Children are off-limits all the time. Period. I'm not sure how much they paid his ex-wife to agree to this crap but using your own child as a pawn in a TV show is as low as low can get. Using a dog to meet women is one thing but using your own kid to tug at the heart strings is completely different and despicable. Did anyone ever ask the kid what or who he wanted out of all this?

To sum it up. Jason Mesnick from here forth shall forfeit his MAN-CARD and will forever be relegated to the position of male wanna-be forced to attend parenting classes until said child is no longer dependent on his dumb ass for support. This is after he is given a vasectomy to prevent damage to future children under his care. Let's hope the damage he has done to the male species won't be permanent.

Saying Goodbye...

Last week, I spent an entire day on the road traveling from San Antonio to Carrizo Springs and back to Fort Worth for the sole purpose of visiting my grandmother who has been in a nursing home there. Funny thing about driving solo is that you're left alone with your thoughts for hours on end to contemplate everything from grocery lists to the meaning of life. On this day, it was all about my grandmother. It had been at least a year since I had visited with her and I had heard that her memory was beginning to fade along with her body. When I did have the pleasure of sitting and visiting with her, she would always ask about the kids and then proceed to ask if I was still married to the same woman. I believe it was her way of picking at me about being married three times. She used to keep a wedding photo of my first wife on her walls long after we had divorced. Always an interesting conversation with whomever I happened to take to Little Grandma's for a visit. I remember spending my summers with my grandparents as a child and always wondering why the house was so small. Not necessarily the square footage but the doorways and ceilings. Built by my grandfather, he constructed the home to fit the height of his family, all of whom were no taller than 5'9". You can imagine the lumps a 6 footer would take in the middle of the night walking through a doorway meant for someone much smaller. But, I loved the home because it was the same year after year. Something that never seemed to age and a place I could always return to for a sense of comfort and nostalgia. Same pictures, same furniture, same aroma... it never changed over 40+ years.

I happened to be at a conference in San Antonio last week when I decided to skip the last day of sessions and make a trip to Carrizo Springs to visit Little Grandma. It wasn't necessarily a planned trip and I had even contemplated just going home and visiting her "next time"... which usually meant another few months for me. This time, I drove the two hours to visit her. The nursing home was not what I would've liked it to be. I walked into her room and found her sleeping... she had lost a lot of weight since my last visit. Her nurse walked in and updated me on her condition telling me that she no longer remembered or recognized any visitors and slept most of the time. I figured it would be best not to try and wake her. I sat at the end of her bed and watched her sleep... listened to her body fight for every breath... and mumble occassionally while she dreamed. After awhile, I leaned over, told her I loved her, kissed her forehead, said goodbye and left knowing the next trip back would be for her funeral... only I didn't think it would be 6 days later. Somehow, I want to believe that she knew I was there for that short period of time... at least I hope she did.

* My grandmother passed away two weeks after this posting...

Do Real Men Loofah?

Firstly, let me say that the word "loofah" is in itself too feminine to even utter in the presence of other men. You might as well mix in words like tampon, kotex, bikini wax, exfoliate and pumice stone if you do... and you had better be reading a grocery list your wife just gave you. That being said, I will from now instead refer to the loofah as a "scrubber" which is exactly what it should be called. I've always dealt with my wife's scrubbers as an unavoidable nuisance taking up precious space in the shower while I scrubbed with whatever hand towel happened to be left behind for me to use. I've never been picky about hand towels, shower gels or bar soap as long as I felt it did the job of removing the dirt and smell from the previous day. The problem arose when I began going to the gym on a regular basis and occasionally have to shower to return to work. Hand towels don't normally work in this situation since a gym bag is not the ideal place for a wet towel to sit for several days. Especially when you've been reminded by the emanating smell from your gym bag that you forgot to take it out. The answer? A scrubber.

We've all seen the commercials. Some guy walks by several models hanging out at the gym who ignore him like last year's oil change. He showers with some Axe shower gel and the new Axe Scrubber. Abracadabra! He's a stud and they tackle him ripping all the clothes off his body. Fortunately, I'm a little more media literate than to believe that could happen to me but I buy the Axe Scrubber anyway. With the black and red color scheme, it has the look of something you'd find in your dad's toolbox. Even Axe recognized the need to give it a masculine connotation by labeling it a "detailer". I have to admit that I felt no shame walking through the men's locker room shower with it the other day. Its somewhat smaller than I had anticipated but, on one side, it has a grip that fits perfectly in your palm for a secure grasp while using it. Flip it over and there's a red super scrubber which I'm assuming is for removing bugs, leeches or dirt clods. Draining excess water and drying it was easy as well which gave it high marks in my book. I can do without the wet towel smell in my gym bag.

Do real men loofah? No, but they do scrub.

Sometimes, They Come Back...

I am a firm believer that, at some point in time, everyone does something in life that helps to define who they are as a person. For me, it was the day I became a teacher. I remember being so nervous the first time I had to stand in front of 30 kids and engage them for 50 minutes while I discussed the importance of media in society. Fifty-one minutes later, I knew I had found my calling. Over the next 14 years, I would teach, mentor, discipline, laugh, bandage, counsel and care for over 1200 students that walked through the doors of my classrooms... and I remember every single one of them. The names escape me sometimes but the faces never do. Teaching our young adults is a privilege and I believe everyone should spend at least one day of their life in a classroom to experience the feeling that only comes from looking into the eyes of a child hanging on to every word they say.

So why did I leave the classroom? Well, I could always use the "promotion I couldn't pass up" excuse or the teacher "burnout" cover story... but neither would be the complete truth. The real reason for leaving the classroom? I grew weary of saying goodbye to my "kids". As corny as it sounds, I considered all of them my children and cared for many as if they really were my very own. I watched so many of them grow up in front of my very own eyes. Some spent more time with me than their own parents. Most were with me over several years as they transitioned from awkward freshmen to the young men and women they would become as seniors... and that's when the hard part would come along. Hundreds upon hundreds of students that graduate and disappear into the real world never to be heard from again. Each time a group of my kids walked that stage a small part of my heart ached knowing I may never lay eyes on them again. Teachers aren't supposed to get that close... but many do. I was one of them. To this day, I wonder about so many of them. Are they in school? Did they graduate? Have they gotten married? How many kids have they had? Have they found their place in life? So many questions... but I had to let them go and keep it to myself.

Sometimes, they come back. There is always a small percentage that stay in touch and even stop by for a visit. Most of the time its a quick email or phone call to reach out and let me know how things are going in their lives... or a phone call to deliver the kind of news every teacher hopes to avoid... you hear it in the tone of their voice... the death of a kid. Its a phone call I received just yesterday. Josh was riding in a car that was broadsided by a drunk driver... and just like that... he is gone. I put the phone down, close my eyes and think about him for awhile. I remember his smile, his laugh, the clothes he wore and the sound of his voice. I remember the times I yelled at him, laughed with him and taught him... three years of memories. Its then the heartache returns and I think about his future taken away and the pain his parents and family are going through. Its still hard to believe this is happening. I thank God for allowing me to become a part of Josh's life and remember the reasons for leaving the classroom.

I'll go home and hug my kids... probably a lot longer than they want me to. They'll ask what's up and I'll just say "I love you. Please be careful while driving." They are my full-time students and, unlike all my other students, I know I'll never have to let them go... for long.

I am a teacher.