A Poem for Tuesday

Before it was a song too difficult for most Americans to sing, The Star Spangled Banner was a poem. Let's take a look at it and the unfamiliar second, third and fourth stanzas in honor of July 4th.

The Star Spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming;
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam--
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream;
'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner; O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

O thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war desolation;
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust";
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

The Sunday Driver

Toddler D had me laughing this morning. He was playing Mario Kart on the Wii. I'm sure you know this, but it's a racing game. You have to race your little guy around the track.

. . . only D wasn't big into the moving-quickly-to-beat-the-other-guys part. He was just driving around looking at things along the course. There was a fountain he felt he should be able to jump over and he circled back a number of times to try. The game lets you know when you are going the wrong way by floating a guy with a u-turn sign over your car. D ignored it and just kept right on trying to jump the fountain.

After a while of exploring the course and practicing his jumps, he pulled his car over to the side and parked it facing the track, so he could watch the other racers go by.

I wish so much I could tell him this morning: You just keep on going like this your whole life, kid! You look around at your surroundings. You take the time to go back and practice. You pull off to the side of the road if you feel pressured by the drivers behind you. Get a good look at them. You never know.

Even though Toddler D has trouble finishing the race before the game declares him done, I highly suspect it's a very short time before all his studying and patient practice pay off and he leaves his mother in the dust.

Off the Wall

Well . . . we can't have all this nostalgia this week -- all this resistance to change -- and not acknowledge the death of Michael Jackson.

I had his long-playing record album Thriller. It sold 65 million copies, so I suspect you did too. I think it's okay for us to admit it. It was before he completely lost it. My life motto is "At least we know we're crazy." I don't think he knew.

Anyway, let's enjoy a classic song from that recording. Read the lyrics passionately out loud, perhaps grabbing a cucumber* for emphasis during that last chorus and do a little moon walk.

* Update: I meant for the "You're a vegetable" part, not for his trademark (ahem) grab.

Wanna Be Starting Somethin
Michael Jackson

I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)

I took my baby to the doctor
With a fever, but nothing he found
By the time this hit the street
They said she had a breakdown
Someone's always tryin' to start my baby cryin'
Talkin', squealin', lyin'
Sayin' you just wanna be startin' somethin'

I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)

You love to pretend that you're good
When you're always up to no good
You really can't make him hate her
So your tongue became a razor
Someone's always tryin' to keep my baby cryin'
Treacherous, cunnin', declinin'
You got my baby cryin'

I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
You're a vegetable, you're a vegetable
Still they hate you, you're a vegetable
You're just a buffet, you're a vegetable
They eat off of you, you're a vegetable

Billie Jean is always talkin'
When nobody else is talkin'
Tellin' lies and rubbin' shoulders
So they called her mouth a motor
Someone's always tryin' to start my baby cryin'
Talkin', squealin', spyin'
Sayin' you just wanna be startin' somethin'

I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
You're a vegetable, you're a vegetable
Still they hate you, you're a vegetable
You're just a buffet, you're a vegetable
They eat off of you, you're a vegetable

If you can't feed your baby (yeah, yeah)
Then don't have a baby (yeah, yeah)
And don't think maybe (yeah, yeah)
If you can't feed your baby (yeah, yeah)
You'll be always tryin'
To stop that child from cryin'
Hustlin', stealin', lyin'
Now baby's slowly dyin'

I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
I said you wanna be startin' somethin'
You got to be startin' somethin'
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)
It's too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You're stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)

Lift your head up high
And scream out to the world
I know I am someone
And let the truth unfurl
No one can hurt you now
Because you know what's true
Yes, I believe in me
So you believe in you
Help me sing it, ma ma se,
Ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa
Ma ma se, ma ma sa,
Ma ma coo sa

The Case of the Missing Brrs

When Colin was small, before my sister Cyberspace Sarah had her own children, Sarah was set to take him to Perkins one Sunday morning with her husband to meet some friends while Big Daddy and I sang in choir. When I reached the bottom of the stairs after choir, there was poor Sarah. Colin refused to go to Perkins and pitched a fit. They were left behind and both in tears.

So last night BD and I had praise team practice, and Sarah very graciously offered to come over and watch the boys. "Thank goodness she is an experienced mom now," I thought to myself as we drove up the hill. "I don't need to worry about a thing. I know she's got it all under control and will not get rattled by anything."

When we came home several hours later, we were met at the door by Sarah, "I am missing the brrs! I need the brrs!"

"You're missing Bruce?" I asked, terribly confused.

"Toddler D needs 'brrs.' We are missing the 'brrs."

Oh! The "butters." Toddler D calls his pacifier "butters." I don't know what to tell you. He has one at bedtime and I hadn't really thought we would be gone past his bedtime, so I didn't bother to tell her where they hide during the day . . . in a cereal bowl in the kitchen. Toddler D knows where they are and he had been pointing to the cupboard, but dear Cyberspace just thought he wanted a snack or a drink.

We had a really good laugh then. Cyberspace tells a good story, and there was quite the tale of Toddler D trying to be understood and Sarah trying to understand. Her daughter, my niece, recently left her stuffed kitty Meow-Meow in Wisconsin. It was very traumatic and I imagine that added to Sarah's reaction to the missing "brrs."

Thank goodness she and Colin lived through the Perkins incident and now she and Toddler D have their own story.

The Death of Chastity Bono

I can get a little bit claustrophobic. I don't like being in a situation where I feel I can't get out. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be trapped in a body I didn't feel was mine.

That being said, I am taking Chastity Bono's gender transformation to Chaz Bono a little bit hard.

It was a huge treat for me to be allowed to stay up for the end of the Sonny and Cher Show. The end was my favorite part. It was when Chastity, who is one month older than I, would come out and stand with her parents as they sang, "I Got You Babe." She would come out in an outfit matching her mother's and say, "Good night, everybody. God bless you," in her sweet little Chastity voice. Oh. Oh. Oh. I wanted to be that little girl.

Can you imagine being three and having Cher for a mother? I'm not talking about all the drama with Sonny, or Cher's strange, brief marriage to one of the Allman Brothers. I am simply talking about Chastity's play clothes closet. It must have been a thing to behold, and now we read she hated all of it. She preferred the outfits that more closely matched her father.

I don't mean any disrespect to what must have been an unusual and more than likely painful childhood to say the least. It just . . . I mean . . . it's an old vision I am having a little trouble letting go.



So much change.

A Poem for Tuesday

It's not really a poem as such, but today we honor Kodachrome film which Kodak announced yesterday they will stop producing. Only one lab still develops it. Kodak assures us that film is not dead. They introduced three new lines last year.

I have a digital camera. I would never go back to film at this point, but here sits a woman who kept all of her valuable possessions in bulk film canisters . . . until very recently, actually. Let's just take a minute honor it's passing.

So much change.

Kodachrome
Paul Simon

When I think back
On all the crap I learned in high school
It's a wonder
I can think at all
And though my lack of edu---cation
Hasn't hurt me none
I can read the writing on the wall

Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away

If you took all the girls I knew
When I was single
And brought them all together for one night
I know they'd never match
my sweet imagination
everything looks WORSE in black and white

Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away

Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away

Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away

Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Leave your boy so far from home
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome

Mama don't take my Kodachrome away

What I don't say.

Friends and loved ones, you know we deal with autism spectrum disorder at our house. I don't write about it here unless I become really irritated because . . . oh, I don't know why. Maybe because I like to go for the cheap laugh and autism isn't often very funny.

For as high functioning as Colin is, I was reminded how difficult his personal issues can be during this weekend's thunderstorm. Colin's not a big fan of sudden noises and lights, like thunder and lightning. During a break in the rainstorm madness, I was reading a blog written by Andrea who writes beautifully and honestly about autism in her house. (Plus she has a separate traveling blog and she states she a "wannabe librarian." Me too!! How fabulous is that?) I just loved it. Take a peek and trust that just because I don't write about it much doesn't mean I don't understand exactly what she's feeling.

Autism Unplugged

Writer's Block Friday

Other people have cute names for Writer's Block Friday. Sadly, I seem to get it so bad I can't even think of a cute name.

Blah, blah, blah

Was it five things I thought of last time?

1. I tried to Twitter this week. Am I missing something? What's the big deal?

2. Blah, blah, bl -- Cyberspace had a house showing today. She's going to have to find a new name for Cap -- I already said that yesterday, didn't I? Still true today.

3. Just read a funny thing Jeremy J wrote about coffee. You'll see in my comment to him what happened to me.

4. I am memorizing Bible verses with Beth Moore. Well, you know not with her. She's having a big rally in January for those women who memorized 24 verses. Since I have been mocked for wanting to go to Houston and for getting excited about the rally, I haven't talked about it . . . but I am excited and I might talk myself into going if I get my verses memorized. I'm doing pretty well memorizing the verses, but I am having trouble with the "addresses." I've been a little heavy into 2 Corinthians. I thought it would be helpful if several of the verses were centrally located, but, in reality, it's just confusing.

5. I'm sure you're wondering how my counted cross stitch eyeglasses case is coming.

Well, I guess that's all for this week. Thank you so much for being a faithful reader. Bless you for understanding that not every one is a winner.

Wisconsin

So now that Cyberspace has made the announcement that she's moving on her blog, I feel I can talk about it in more detail. As I was just saying to her on the phone, I am the world's worst feeling-hider. Countless friends have come up to me, "Isn't it exciting that Captain America (He'll have to have a new name now that he doesn't work for a company with America in the title) got his dream job?!"

Oh, sure. I'm levitating in joy for him.

It's in Wisconsin. That's not even Minnesota. It's across the river . . . or lake depanding on which part of the state you stand. I have nothing against Wisconsin. A road goes through it which leads to Florida. They make cheese and cranberries there. What's not to love about cranberries? That doesn't mean we move there.

Fine. I'm sure it's very nice and they'll be perfectly happy there.

Just give me a few more days. I am not good with change.

Don't squish the Speidi

I woke up yesterday morning and turned on my computer while eating my Special K to discover that Speidi is having a media feud with Al Roker.

Now, the first thing I had to do is figure out what a Speidi was.

I don't lie to you. I watch television. I knew they were on television somewhere, somehow. (As it turns out, in case you don't know, they were on some sort of reality show, only it wasn't really reality. I am still confused on this point.) I didn't realize their names are Spencer and Heidi, or that, apparently, I was supposed to know them by their collective name, Speidi. (They are married, I think, but maybe not. Maybe it was a publicity stunt. I am confused on this point as well.)

I do know who Al Roker is, and I didn't think he was really a hard nosed interviewer, so I found the interview in which (ahem) Speidi was offended. Al did get a little heavy handed with the interview, but Spencer, trying to ride the coattails of that whole Sarah Palin/David Letterman thing* said Al was an "elderly weatherman" who was "trying to parade my wife." What does that mean "trying to parade my wife?" Sincerely, I don't understand.

It was like watching an accident. Who are these people and why do they think they are more famous than Al Roker, for pete's sake. True, he's the weather guy . . . but he's really so much more, isn't he? If you and I would just stop paying attention to these people who have done nothing to earn our time -- Paris Hilton, The Kardashian sisters among others -- I really believe they would go away.

But maybe not. Watching them makes our lives seem so normal and sane. I would never confuse Al Roker with Ed Bradley (for one thing Ed's dead). And I would certainly never combine my name with my husband's and refer to us in third person as Spencer did when he said, "I can't believe that weatherman spoke to Speidi that way."

Well, now. Hmmmm . . . Lent? Brisa?

* We are not going to talk about that at all.

A Poem for Tuesday

If I tell you I heard a great poem on NPR the other night, you will remember the poetry series I enjoyed on PBS, and you will begin to know the truth of what an enormously big geek I am.

So I won't tell you, and will just say I really wanted to share this poet laureate's poem called "Migraine or Hangover" about kids playing Marco Polo in the pool. In it the poet shares his belief that the children should be required to read a history of China.

I couldn't find it, but here is a good one about the neighbor's dog.

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House
Billy Collins

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

A Lesson on Sisters

My childhood friend Anne was just plain cool. She was always a little ahead of her game out here on the prairie. Her dad was the judge. There was a big mug on the living room bookshelf from Harvard. Believe me, nobody else had a relative much less a dad who had been to such a big time university. He always said, "Make it a good one," as we'd head off to school. It was like he believed we had a choice to do so.

I remember as a young girl telling her mom how I wanted to live in a house with ivy climbing up the side. "Oh, no," she said. "It ruins the brickwork." It was a valuable home buying lesson I have never forgotten, even though I was probably ten at the time.

When her older brother wanted to play in the U of M marching band, the house was marked off with tape or something the requisite length of the marching steps. He got in, if I remember right. We'd peer out the door or try and eavesdrop on what he and his friends were doing down the hall. I was ever so slightly scared of him.

Her family ate wild foods like fettuccine and shrimp.

Cool parents, siblings and pink bedroom. What was not to love about hanging out at Anne's? There was always something good going on there. In contrast, my house was quiet, dull and -- up until third grade -- seriously lacking in siblings.

I remember staying over one night in Anne's superstar pink bedroom when her little sister Mary wanted to come in and take a look at things. I thought that was great. Why shouldn't our fabulous older sleepover be admired and envied. Anne was not having it. "She just wants to see," I said. Having only a tiny baby sister I had no idea just how wrong I was in Anne's eyes. Little sisters were not to be seen or heard or even mentioned at whatever age we were. Anne and I must have made up shortly because I don't remember going home in a huff or anything.

Anne and I lost touch after school. She's gone off to do something brilliant in cancer research or something while I found myself back here on the prairie about six blocks from her old house where all the action was. It's been a real hoot to reconnect with her on Facebook. She looks amazing and has pictures on her page with another fabulous blond named Mare. "Her cousin?" I kept wondering. Then last week Anne posted another with Mare in an album called "Sistaz."

Huh. Who could that be? Who could that be that Anne was so close to she called the picture "sistaz?" Didn't get it. Did. Not. Get. It. Anne's sister, as we all know, is a third grader we don't particularly like. This is an adult Anne is obviously very close to.

Like a flash my brain opened up to the possibility. "IT'S HER SISTER!! THAT'S ANNE'S LITTLE SISTER!!" I shouted to Brent who had no idea what I was talking about at all.

Life changes. Anne's dad passed away. Her mom and I became aerobic class buddies for a while. (I have her to thank for knowing how to twirl fettuccine.) Even little sisters grow up, and we discover we like hanging out with them.

Mine is moving to Wisconsin, which has been a difficult new truth to swallow, but I understand now that Anne's dad was right. No matter what changes life hands us, we have a choice to make it a good one.

Windy City: Epilogue

I have been through Chicago many times, but I had stayed in Chicago twice, so I have learned several important lessons I will now share with you. I think you will find them helpful no matter where you are traveling this summer.

1. Figure out what you need before you get to the front of the line.

You know I always like to do my homework in advance. I am just a little AR that way. Plus I hate getting behind those people in line who have had the entire length of the line to figure out what ticket they need and just can't.

This proved very helpful at the Museum of Science and Industry. Because I knew what tickets I wanted at the front of the line and asked for them in a nice clear voice when I got there, I got a hearty thank you from the ticket person who then took the time to draw me a personalized map of the things I might find interesting.

This strategy also worked well for Brent at lunch. His prompt, clear request for chicken strips drew such enthusiasm from the line workers, we got bonus strips.

So easy, so profitable.

2. Sometimes it does not pay to buy your tickets in advance.

Yes, I know this seems to contradict number one, but imagine how excited I was after our success of Day One, knowing I had gone the extra step and pre-purchased my tickets for the the Field Museum. I did this because the Field Museum website strongly urged it, due to the popularity of their traveling pirate exhibit.

Now imagine my dismay to find I was the only one. I had to wait in line with everyone else to get someone to tell me that even though I had purchased my tickets and pre-printed them at home, I had to now go stand in the will-call line. Very frustrating and it happened again the same afternoon at the Shedd Aquarium.

This is not always true, by the way. Prepurchasing your tickets to Sea World, for example, is easy and convenient. You just walk right up to the gate.

3. In spite of it's old school Chicago brick exterior and very fun eternal flame fire pit, The Brick House Tavern should have you humming the Commodores.

I don't know what to tell you, we ended up feeling pretty silly over this one. It was right next to our hotel and the parking lot was full morning and night. Seemed like a good sign. It was high class. The food was very, very good and our waitress seemed relieved to resume her un-flirtatious voice while at our table, but it's really not a place for children. We did not allow Colin to go to the bathroom after I had seen the tasteful naked men posters on the inside of the women's room and we avoided ordering "the Double D Cupcakes."

If you are an over 21 male, I highly recommend it. Jeremy J, I am talking to you.

Over all we had a terrific time and are ready to enjoy some summer fun at home.

The Windy City

In case you don't hear from me next week, it's because we have taken this younger set of children (minus the dog) to Chicago to see tall buildings, dead dinosaurs and live elephants. I am hoping to get the chance to update you as we go along, but . . . if you have small and not so small boys, you know how this goes.

Last spring we drove to Florida, a three day car trip from our home. Six weeks or so later we drove to Yellowstone National Park, a two day car trip. Chicago is a one day trip, but I have a pile out on the newly clean porch of snacks, games and movies enough for about a five day road trip. Brent is laughing at me, but who likes to be stranded in the middle of Wisconsin without Ritz Bits? Not me.

A Poem for Thursday

It's not that I lied intentionally. I posted my Poem for Tuesday last week before I knew Mrs. Clare was going to slip in one more. So here officially is the last poem from her classroom for the year.


The Creature in the Classroom
Jack Prelutsky

It appeared inside our classroom
at a quarter after ten,
it gobbled up the blackboard,
three erasers and a pen.
It gobbled teacher's apple
and it bopped her with the core.
“How dare you!” she responded.
“You must leave us . . . there's the door.”


The Creature didn't listen
but described an arabesque
as it gobbled all her pencils,
seven notebooks and her desk.
Teacher stated very calmly,
“Sir! You simply cannot stay,
I'll report you to the principal
unless you go away!”


But the thing continued eating,
it ate paper, swallowed ink,
as it gobbled up our homework
I believe I saw it wink.
Teacher finally lost her temper.
“OUT!” she shouted at the creature.
The creature hopped beside her
and GLOPP . . . it gobbled teacher.

Note to self

It's not always winter.

A Poem for Tuesday

This is the last poem from Mrs. Clare's fourth grade classroom this year. I, for one, am going to miss them . . . maybe not Colin so much.

Mummy Slept Late and Daddy Fixed Breakfast
John Ciardi


Daddy fixed the breakfast.
He made us each a waffle.
It looked like gravel pudding.
It tasted something awful.

“Ha, ha,” he said, “I’ll try again.
This time I’ll get it right.”
But what I got was in between
Bituminous and anthracite.

“A little too well done? Oh well,
I’ll have to start all over.”
THAT time what landed on my plate
Looked like a manhole cover.

I tried to cut it with a fork:
The fork gave off a spark.
I tried a knife and twisted it
Into a question mark.

I tried it with a hack-saw.
I tried it with a torch.
It didn’t even make a dent.
It didn’t even scorch.

The next time Dad gets breakfast
When Mommy’s sleeping late,
I think I’ll skip the waffles,
I’d sooner eat the plate!

Prodigal Son

Maybe it's because I am a first born, but I have never particularly cared for the story of the Prodigal Son (PS). (I am implying nothing about Cyberspace, by the way. I'm just telling you what's on my mind. That's why we're here.) Do you know this story? It's in the New Testament, Luke 15:11-32.

There are two sons. The younger one decides he's had it living on the farm and asks his dad for his share of the family fortune. PS goes off and spends it on all kinds of nastiness until finally it's gone. At his lowest point, PS wakes up in a hog pen and decides he's had enough. He know that the lowliest servant at his dad's farm gets treated better than this. He thinks he will go back to to the farm and get some sort of servant job there. When Dad sees him coming, he orders a huge party be made for PS for his return. Older Son (OS) sees all this and goes, "What the heck? I stayed here and did what you asked and you never threw a party for me!" Dad says, "But you always share what I have. PS was lost to us and now he's come back."

It's an amazing story. In my faith journey I have been that Prodigal Son. The one who knew better but did what was wrong anyway. I know the joy of coming back to a Father who was thrilled to see me even though I had disappointed him. I know the incredible freedom of forgiveness from the only one who can really, truly give it without strings attached.

But I know how that OS felt too. I imagine him back on the farm working his chores, hearing stories of how PS was making a fool of himself buying whatever could be bought with Dad's money. How embarrassing could that idiot be? OS must have felt self-righteous. He must have felt self-satisfied. There he was staying the course, working that farm, building up the business for his future. What fun he'd have then.

But there was PS having all the fun now. OS must have felt jealous. To top it off, there's a party waiting for PS when he gets back. Just. Rub. It. In. Now OS is the one who feels like the fool.

Oh, I understand the lesson we are supposed to learn. Both sons were wrong. OS was just as bad for his self-serving attitude and his great lack of compassion for his hurting and remorseful brother.

But when I get the chance, I'm going to ask why the party couldn't have been for both of them. "This is my son who was lost but now is found, and this is my son who stayed put. I love them both."

I know what the answer will be in my heart of hearts. Something about God's word being full of his promises of love and faithfulness, but if you think becoming a Christian means you lose all your questions and you understand every parable perfectly, you're just wrong.