For Those Who Missed Out On Our Last Newsletter...here is the story that appeared on Page 2 (John's Soap Box), entitled: "The Stuff of Which Tears are Made."

When Gabby was about eight years old, she was already a seasoned dancer, but was performing in one of her first big girl productions...the Nutcracker, which was being done in Pullman. Ever the dedicated friend, I tossed the wife and all four kids in the car and headed for Pullman on that December day, for no other reason than to support Gabby.
As I nestled into my seat, I sat next to Gabby's dad, Pat, who was the best man at our wedding and long time friend from my days back at the University of Idaho. Many of you will recall me making mention of a band of "particularly hairy brothers from Grangeville" a few years back, but that is an entirely different story all together. None-the-less, I am sitting next to Pat, when he leans over and whispers in my ear.
"Do you really like this stuff?" he lightly asked...except he didn't say "stuff."
"Well," I replied, "Not really, but we are here to support Gabby, you know."
As Pat's torture continued, I remember the long production finally coming to an end and Pat and his son, Sam, literally running up the stairs to the door...there must have been a Notre Dame game on that afternoon, 'cuz I can't remember Pat ever moving so quickly...least not anytime over the past ten years!!
Now, buzz forward about six years to another Christmas production...this one called "The Twelve Days of Christmas," with an even more polished Gabby dancing ballet as one of the Three French Hens. Wow!! What a difference a few years makes...I mean, 'she doesn't even look like she's having a seizure on stage anymore, ' I thought to myself!!
Once the production was over, I made a quick call to Gabby's house to congratulate her, but instead got her old dad, Pat, on the phone instead.
"Hey man, I need to talk to your daughter," I said. When Pat asked me why, I said, "I just wanted her to know that we went to her dance and she looked beautiful on the stage and she danced amazingly."
"I know," Pat replied with a gulp, "I can't hardly watch her dance anymore without wanting to cry."
What an amazing transition, I remember thinking, as I hung up the phone...from "stuff" to tears in about five years. I certainly don't recall him ever making mention of anything like that when he talked about Sam!!
And so it is with dads and their little girls...
So, the summer of 2010 finally did catch on sometime in June, and my little girl went to a local week-long dance camp. Upon completion of the camp, a short production was held at Pioneer Park, where I found myself sitting in a lawn chair, with about twenty other dads, watching their daughters, with lumps growing in their throats...stupid Pat!!
Just a few days ago, I was visiting with my assistant Evie, who was talking about how beautiful her children are. "Excuse me sister, but everyone knows that my kids are far more beautiful," I remember thinking. "They do have an exceptionally handsome father, after all."
Which brings me to something I think we all know...that our parents simply love us and that we will always be beautiful in their biased eyes...sometimes warts and all.
So it was, on August 12th, that my wife lost her little brother, Ethan, to a tragic mining accident in Nevada. As I sat there in the wet Elko grass, dodging water from the ill timed sprinklers, I listened intently to my mother-in-law, Lorene, as she talked lovingly of her recently departed son...and all I could picture was her holding his chubby, scruffy face and staring intently into his eyes...like only a mother can do, saying "...you sure are a handsome man, you sure are a handsome man..." Then, just as I do with my "littles," I could envision her holding his face only 30 years earlier, saying, "...you sure are a good looking boy...you sure are a good looking boy."
As one of my favorite family physicians relayed to Dealiah and I a few weeks ago, the bad stuff in life, goes away, but the good always stays and will always be there...it just gets stronger and stronger. Dr. Chavez is right, but he actually said that far more eloquently than I just did.
Love 'em while they're here, 'cuz they won't stay little forever and God forbid, you might just out live them. I wish you eternal peace Ethan.

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