Point of Light

The gleam in a father’s eye is waiting for each of us as we emerge from darkness into the brightness of life. In fact, the eyes of new Dads get a little misty as they witness the miracle of birth.

As days go by, the initial excitement dovetails into the responsibilities of fatherhood. Oh, how grand are the visions of being the perfect dad. Then, we encounter the reality of how messy relationships really are.

Although, literally, tongue-tied upon entry into this world, once that little member was set free, my insatiable curiosity was the driving force behind the questions in my mind. It was the beginning of my twenty-question routine, which later morphed into the Cowboy Poet & Philadelphia Lawyer shtick.

Birds and the Bees

Around ten years of age and in the 4th Grade, I started to notice girls. The one with blond hair, blue eyes and straight A’s had captured my full attention. At that age, boys will be boys, and we were learning cockiness, which naturally included the art of swearing. In the course of our classroom studies of spelling and vocabulary, we never seemed to get around to the definitions of what some of those four-letter words meant.

One word, in particular, was especially mysterious to our adolescent group. Since this was before the day of Google searches — and, the conversation around the dinner table, one evening, seemed conducive to a question — I asked my parents. Swivel-neck is the best visual I can offer to explain their response. In a millisecond, their facial expressions and body language spoke volumes. Only problem — I didn’t understand the language.

Next day, I received a book from Mom. The following weekend, during Christmas Vacation, Dad and I were on foot behind a small group of cows as they were following the pickup to a new pasture. There was a skift of snow and all the grasses were dry, with heads full of grain. Dad reached down and pulled a handful of needle-grass. As he rubbed the seed into the palm of his hand, the name was obvious — a thin strand was attached to each seed of grain, which gave it the appearance of a needle and thread.

I knew something was up, because he gave a nervous sniff and cough — before, beginning what he had to share. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, he wanted the needle-grass seeds in the palm of his hand to emphasize the point. All I remember of what he said was something about swimming, wiggling, and eggs. Then he paused, literally — we stopped walking. He turned, with relief in his face, and assured me that the only intimate relationship I was going to have to worry about, until high-school graduation, was the one with my horse.

Daddy’s Hands (Video)
Artist: Holly Dunn

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin’.
Daddy’s hands were hard as steel when I’d done wrong.
Daddy’s hands weren’t always gentle,
But I’ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy’s hands.

Old Babe

True to Dad’s word, I developed a special relationship with that horse. In fact, the very next summer found the two of us engaged in a “mind meld ” experience, as we convinced a bunch of bulls to do it our way. Dad was nowhere in sight, ours anyway. With hindsight and a son of my own, I have a sneaking suspicion Dad was on top of a hill enjoying the rodeo.

He had this crooked grin on his face, as we pushed a dozen bulls through the pasture gate — and, then he turned back, stepped off his horse, and closed the gate between us. As he stood safely on his side of the gate, his hand was gesturing towards the west — where I and the bulls were to go. Just a few miles through the hills and he would bring the stock-truck (olden days, before horse-trailers were invented) to haul my horse back home. That was the plan.

Thoughts to self, at the time — “What the heck is he thinking?! I’m just a kid. Is he serious?! The odds aren’t fair! There’s just one of me and a dozen bulls.” As he swung back up onto his horse and rode away, I had my answer.

Like Father, Like Son

Dad’s brother, my uncle John Foard, tells a story about their dad. He would line out his sons (four of them) on a project, by explaining what he wanted to be done, omitting most of the details of how to do it. Before he left, though, he would turn and ask, “Now you boys can do that, right?” In John’s words, “There was no way in hell we were going to tell him, No!”

Because of the anxiety of the journey ahead with those bulls, I have no memory of what, surely, must have been the same question of me. The answer, though, was a given. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to get from Point A to B.

Feminine and Masculine

Cows, being of the feminine gender, generally, tend to be fairly social. They stick together. Where one goes, they all go. Bulls, on the other hand, must strut their stuff, separate and apart from anyone else — twelve bulls and twelve different directions. Unless they’re on the run. Typical male approach to the world — one thing at a time.

One of me and one direction to go. So, I gathered up the corners of what seemed like a herd of cats and off we went, at a jog. Once they tired a little, the pace slowed. Then, in the middle of the whole dang show were shade trees and a waterhole, wouldn’t you know. Bogged-down is inadequate to describe the revenge taken by the bulls. As they stood belly deep in mud, peeking out from behind what had quickly become their favorite thicket, the unspoken jeers were worthy of a solution.

My horse almost put a kink in his neck turning back to look at me. We were thinking the same thing. This was ugly and it was going to get messy. There was only one way to do it, though. Pry out one bull at a time — and, make a good example of that first one. So, we picked the one giving us the dirtiest look and went to work on him.

No Easy Way

By then, I had uncoiled several loops of my lariat, to just the right length, to pop that knot on the end like a whip. That old bull winced a little and stood his ground. Just what we thought — no easy way to do this. So, into the mud, we went with my horse leaning into the bull — while, I shortened the length of the rope whip. The combination of pressure and pain resulted in the bull, grudgingly, taking a few steps.

My horse and I were of the same mind to enhance one of the laws of physics — what is in motion, stays in motion. In fact, we wanted that bull to catch a gear. Once we had him on dry ground, up and over a small knoll into some green grass was where we took him. As we headed back for bull Number 2, my choice of words to describe our frustration included several of those four-letter ones — admittedly, even some directed at Dad. After a few more trips to that spot of green, the mud-hole bulls began to wonder what they were missing and volunteered to follow their peers.

I’ll never forget the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye as Dad stood there by the open gate as a dozen bulls paraded past. Whether he had been watching, or not, he knew what was required to pass his test. He asked how it went. I replied, “Good.”

Lessons Learned (Video)
Artist: Tracy Lawrence

I was ten years old the day I got caught,
With some dime store candy that I never bought.
I hung my head and I faced the wall,
as Daddy showed me wrong from right.
He said this hurts me more than it does you;
There’s just some things son that you just don’t do.
Is anything I’m sayin’ getting through?
Daddy I can see the light.
Oh lessons learned; man they sure run deep.
They don’t go away and they don’t come cheap.
Oh there’s no way around it,
this world turns on lessons learned.

Silly Me

A few years ago, there was an occasion for me to say to my son and daughter, “Now, I want you to watch me.” They cocked their heads and gave me the Scooby Doo, “Huh?!”

The intent was pure. Rather than listen to words, which are cheaper by the dozen — I wanted them to watch the actions and results. Recently, I’ve had to laugh at how funny ‘we‘ can be. Sure enough, they have watched me — fall down, make mistakes, be humbled by the hand of fate, admit frailties, and, generally, be a perfectly normal dad. Even funnier is the realization that they have watched all of that, from the very beginning. Why I thought they, as teenagers, needed to be reminded is still a mystery. Guess it explains the Scooby Doo response from them, though.

Silly Them

I watched my Dad give all. Late in his life, there was an occasion to defend his honor. A couple of clowns wanted to take issue with his silent creed — “I am bound to live up to the light I have. I must stand with anyone who stands right, stand with him while he is right, and part with him when he goes wrong.”

While true to his core, those other two guys needed to understand a little more about my Dad. Known to be verbose, I thought a better approach was to use a song, recently released at the time, to make my point. So, the four of us listened together.

Point of Light (Video)

Artist: Randy Travis

There is a point when you cannot walk away,
When you have to stand up straight and tall and mean the words you say.
There is a point you must decide just to do it ’cause it’s right.
That’s when you become a point of light.

There is a darkness that everyone must face.
It wants to take what’s good and fair and lay it all to waste.
And that darkness covers everything in sight
Until it meets a single point of light.

All it takes is a point of light,
A ray of hope in the darkest night.
If you see what’s wrong and you try to make it right,
You will be a point of light.

There are heroes whose names we never hear,
A dedicated army of quiet volunteers
Reaching out to feed the hungry,
Reaching out to save the land,
Reaching out to help their fellow man.

There are dreamers who are making dreams come true,
Taking time to teach the children
There’s nothing they can’t do,
Giving shelter to the homeless,
Giving hope to those without.
That is what this county’s all about.

One by one, from the mountains to the sea
Points of light are calling out to you and me.

All it takes is a point of light,
A ray of hope in the darkest night.
If you see what’s wrong and you try to make it right,
You will be a point of light.

If you see what’s wrong and you try and make it right,
you will be a point of light.

Living Up To The Light

Jim & Kim Foard

At the end of 3 minutes and 37 seconds, two heads were bowed in disgrace. Dad and I — with heads held high — were looking at each other remembering an open gate and a dozen bulls. My hope is that Lindsey and Ryan – each – have a special memory of me, to be their point of light.

Foundations

I’ll bet some pretty good money it’s been a while since you thought about the foundation of your home.

Yet, of all the parts and pieces of your beautiful home, the foundation is the most important.

Our Structure

The same can be said about the structure of YOU.

Each of us has a foundation. The majority of it was formed in childhood and as young adults. There are some people who obsess about their foundation. They want to regale us with the stories of abuse — because they had ‘bad’ parents.

Granted, there are evil people who engender children — and, those children have bragging rights. For the rest of us older kids, we can acknowledge we had regular parents — imperfect ones. And, as a parent, I fit right in that category.

Our Foundation

Let’s take a look at the similarity of our foundation and the one designed for a beautiful home. In fact, we might start with the home, itself — and, see that the home fits the foundation.

In other words, if you live in a McMansion, the foundation is massive and somewhat of an architectural wonder — with all of its various depths and offsets. For the more humble of abodes, the foundation will be much more plain and straightforward.

In the olden days, most log cabins were built on a foundation of four large stones — one at each corner of a four-sided structure. The old-timers did their best with what they had. For the skyscrapers of today, months – and, sometimes years – are invested to provide the necessary support for what rises above.

Our Choice

Here is another of those ‘humor Kim moments” — examine the structure of YOU. Are you a Cabin? A new-fangled Modular? Or, maybe you are an honest-to-goodness Mansion. There’s no right, or wrong, to this mental exercise.

However, I can guarantee the structure each of us has built fits and matches our foundation. And, to be clear, I’m not talking about the physical manifestation of who we are. I’m making reference to the emotional, mental, and spiritual components of the real individuals underneath our personas.

I’ll bet some more money that those individuals who experienced hardship in childhood and as young adults have the strongest foundations. Those hardships are the rebar and aggregate (rock, sand, and gravel) binding with cement to support the multi-story complex of these individuals.

Magnificent

The good news for all of us is that we can continue to build. For those with a massive foundation, they will keep on adding stories.* For those with a structure they have grown to dislike, there is the option to remodel — which, generally, requires new foundations.

I hope each of us examines our foundations, revisits our blueprints, and, then, sets our hands to the construction of somebody magnificent.

* Stories — and, Chapters to the Book of their Life. 🙂

80/20 Crutch

80/20 Crutch
Excuse to Hobble

When you hear someone quote the 80/20 Rule, brace yourself. Because — you’re about to hear an excuse for their inattention to detail.

Sometimes I’m a Slow Study when it comes to catching on to someone’s shenanigans. Maybe, it’s because I look for the best in a person and want to believe what they say.

Recently, it took two months to realize a Coach was a Hoax. Everything he said sounded, really, good. Eventually, though, his actions spoke louder than his words. So, I had a choice to make: continue to overlook the lies, deceit, and lack of attention to detail (including me and his other Scholars) — or, do the right thing.

All — or, Nothing

My dad (James Burnett Foard) was named after a fellow (Jim Burnett), who lived by this creed, “I am bound to live up to the light I have. I must stand with anyone who stands right, stand with him while he is right, and part with him when he goes wrong.”

Evidently, my Grandfather knew what he was doing — because my Dad lived by the same creed and fulfilled its intent 100%. There was no 80/20 with my Dad — or, anything he set his hand to. With him, it was All — or, Nothing.

Can You Imagine?

Think of the most important decision you’ve ever made. Maybe, it was the decision to get married. Maybe, it was that mutual decision to have children. Maybe, it was a flying leap of faith to start your own business.

Can you imagine applying the 80/20 Rule to those events?!

I don’t know of any individual who believes they can be partly married. How about a little bit pregnant? Or, an Employer providing a paycheck to someone who is no longer an Employee — but, is now, an Independent Contractor?

Those scenarios are laughable – aren’t they?

Oh, I’m having way too much fun with this. Imagine the skydiver who at 10,000 feet wants to apply the 80/20 Rule to their situation. Nope, doesn’t work. They are either in a perfectly good airplane or out of it hurtling toward the earth.

In Summary

For those lacking the moral fortitude to apply the concept of Commitment to their lives, they will forever live in mediocrity.

As for you and me, we’re going to give our all.