She knew she had said something wrong when his smile quickly disappeared and a frown slowly grew on his face. She immediately felt horrible. She didn’t mean to upset him; she hated it when those hurtful words came out of her mouth without her wanting them to.  Her heart ached for him; she didn’t know what to do, so she did the first thing that came to mind.

“Aw, come here, Sweetie,” she said with a genuine sad voice. He slowly made his way closer to her as she wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. “Honey I’m so sorry. It breaks my heart that I have hurt you so. I didn’t mean that. Please tell me you know I didn’t mean that.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the top of his head. When she saw his frown starting to disappear, she put her finger underneath his chin and lifted his head up so she could look into his beautiful blue eyes. She smiled, “Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

He slowly lifted his eyes to her, as a smile started to dance on his lips. When their eyes locked, she felt a shock. Her whole body suddenly felt warm and her heart swelled. She loved it when he looked at her that way. It made her knees weak and her face turn a light shade of red. He knew how he made her feel even though she never told him. It was something he liked to toy with sometimes, her emotions. He had a way of making her feel so lightheaded and high one second, and then come crashing down hard the next. It was something she hated and loved at the same time.

Finally, his gaze penetrated so deep into her heart she decided to make a move. She slowly and gently put her hand on his chest where his heart was. She could feel the warmth and his heart beating steadily, softly. She nervously took his hand and put it on her own heart. It was time she said what she wanted to say. Her heart was pounding.

She looked deep into his eyes, searching for any sign that what she was about to do would be scoffed. When all she saw was warm happiness in his eyes she softly whispered, “This is yours….and it always will be…” She knew she had crossed the line. To joke about being in love was one thing, but they had agreed not to ever cross that line. But it wasn’t a joke. She wanted to make sure that he knew that this time, it was real. She was afraid that he would back away and she would immediately be lectured about the rules they had made for each other. So she was surprised when he smiled back at her. For a moment she thought her heart would leap out of her chest and she’d never be able to catch it. But catching it didn’t matter anyway, because he had already stolen it and she had no intention of getting it back.

She didn’t know what to say, so she waited, holding her breath. He slowly raised his hand and tenderly caressed her cheek. She looked lovingly into his eyes. She felt she wanted to cry. She realized her fears had been for naught. Her hand still on his heart, she could feel it start to beat faster. She knew hers was pounding at her chest and she was sure he could feel it. She almost wanted to pull away out of sheer embarrassment, but she couldn’t bear to loose what could be her only chance.

He took his other hand from her chest, wrapped it around her waist and pulled her towards him so that their hips were pressing together. She could feel his stomach against hers and their thighs in between the other’s legs. He drew her face near to his as she closed her eyes. She expected a kiss, but none came. Their noses touched, as their hot breath mingled together. He ran his hands through her long hair as he whispered, “I forgive you. How could I not?”

For a second she had forgotten what they had been talking about. She didn’t think she could have remembered her own name at this point. All she wanted was for him to hold her. She wanted to kiss him so badly. He could tell what she wanted, but he simply lightly caressed her neck; his fingers tracing down her throat to the top of her shirt. His touch made her shudder and send tingles down her spine. A quiet moan escaped her lips. She had told him about her sensitive neck. She had told him about everything. About how just a touch could make her shiver with delight. How just lightly running a finger up and down her skin would bring small goosebumps and make her more sensitive. She had told him this as a friend. Now he was taking advantage of this secret.

She tried to draw near enough to kiss him, but he wouldn’t let her. He was in control, and they both knew it. It was something she was unaccustomed to, but it made her love him all the more. He smiled and leaned in. Her eyes still closed, he touched his lips to hers, but not enough for her to taste his kiss. She shivered in sweet anticipation, she was not used to being denied like that, but she realized it made it that much more sweet.

In a soft whisper, she heard him say, “I love you.” Her eyes snapped open only catch his blue-eyed stare. He had been looking at her the whole time, watching her face as he once again, toyed with her emotions. Her heart did summersaults in her chest as she realized that she hadn’t imagined what he had said. She choked back the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to cry.

(To be continued…….)

It was then that she heard him. Calling her name

Faint.

She couldn’t make it out

There.

She turned to her right. She had heard it that time

Her heart beat quickened as she slowly made her way down the dark hall

She knew who it was, but she didn’t believe

She groped along the walls, trying not to knock down the pictures.

Pictures of the life they had shared

Pictures they had hung together

Memories of time shared, of love, of joy, and of heartache.

Memories that came flooding back to her as she stared wide-eyed down the hall

She couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black.

She couldn’t hear it anymore. She strained her ears.

Nothing

She shook her head and laughed at herself

How foolish she was, getting worked up over nothing.

She knew it couldn’t have been him.

A smile crept to her lips.

But oh how she enjoyed remembering him.

“Amanda….”

She jumped. Her heart raced again, she started to sweat. It was cold.

“Amanda…..I’m here.”

No, she told herself. It can’t be him. I don’t believe it.

“Believe it,” it whispered. That unmistakable voice. It had been him.

The soft sound of his voice danced along her face, playing with her, echoing in her ears.

How could it be him? I’m…I’m imagining this. It’s just a dream.

From behind, she felt his hand on her shoulder, “It’s no dream, Amanda.”

She froze. She could feel the warmth of his hand, the air was cold. She shook.

“Aren’t you going to turn around and see me?” he asked sweetly.

Her body trembled. Her hands tingled. She knew, it had to be him. But how?

She slowly raised her hand. Trembling, she softly touched the hand on her shoulder.

It was rough, calloused, and hairy. His hands. His precious hands.

Hands she had held a thousand times, but now was scared to be touching.

“You can’t be here,” she said, her voice cracked. “It’s not possible.”

His hand let go of her shoulder as it took her own hand. “Oh, it’s possible.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. Her knees went weak.

She could hear her heart pounding. She was afraid he could hear it as well.

Her love. Her love had returned. But how? She kept asking herself that question.

She could feel his hand on hers. It was his hands, no doubt about that.

Sadness came into the voice, “Amanda, please. Look at me.”

She started to cry. “I can’t. If I look, you won’t be there. It’s just a dream.”

She wanted to turn and look at him. To see his face. His beautiful blue eyes.

Eyes that could look into her soul. Eyes that knew more about her than she knew herself.

His hand let go of hers. She put her hand on her shoulder where his had been.

In a quick movement, both his hands were around her waist. He pressed himself against her.

She could feel his arms around her from behind. Feel his thighs against hers.

His stomach pressed against her hack. His chest against her shoulders.

She felt his face leaning in, smelling her hair. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

“Does this feel like a dream?” he asked.

She gasped for air, not realizing she had been holding her breath.

His hands searched her. Slowly feeling every inch they could reach. Her flesh tingled.

She felt his need as she realized her own.

All she wanted to do was turn around and fall into his arms.

His strong, powerful arms. Arms that had held her when she had cried.

Arms that she desperately longed to be in.

She tried to make herself turn around.

In her mind, she could see herself turning around to see him.

His hot breath was against her ear. He kissed it. She moaned.

“I can’t turn around. You’re not here. You can’t be,” she said with her eyes closed.

One of his hands went between her legs and pressed hard. “I’m here,” he groaned.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and moaned again. She could feel him pressing against her. From the front and the back. He rocked her from behind.

His other hand went to her breast, massaging it softly. “Don’t you want to see me?”

She reached her hand up to his face. Her fingers touched his chin. She could feel his stubble.

His cheek was against hers. His lips found their way to the corner of her mouth.

She leaned her head back more and turned it slightly so she could kiss him.

She pulled his head down by his hair. His course, thick hair. She had her eyes closed.

As soon as she felt her lips touch hers, she opened her mouth to moan.

Oh how she wanted to see him! She had missed him so much. But this wasn’t possible.

She stopped.

This wasn’t possible. The thought made her heart ache. She could feel him stop as well.

He was slipping away. She could feel his hands slowly falling away.

“No, don’t go. I love you,” she cried. She could still feel her need. She was sweating now.

She heard nothing.

Quickly she spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him one last time before he was gone.

Too late.

Darkness was all she saw.

Her heart broke. She sank to her knees on the floor.

She wept. She knew it had only been a dream. A sweet, sweet dream of her dear love.

Her hands went to cover her face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She cried for him.

She cried for their love.

Listening to the dead leaves rustling beneath their feet, Jon and Amanda were glad for the cool shade of the canopy of trees overhead. As they walked along the gravel road, Amanda looked back on the past few days. A lot had happened since their high school band rolled into Rensilear for five days of band camp. Jon had done so much for her. What used to be a shy timid little girl was slowly becoming a brave and smart woman. All due to Jon. He welcomed her into open arms when she told him about her devastating past, he introduced her to people who made her feel welcome, and most of all; he loved her for who she was. She found herself spending more and more time with him, opening up to him, and even CARING for him. And in return, he opened up to her.

            “Damn mosquitoes,” Jon said as he slapped his arm. He flicked the dead bug off his arm and scratched at the welt that was already forming. Amanda laughed, “Ha, ha. They must LOVE you ‘cuz they’re not bothering ME a BIT!”

            Jon smiled and looked at her, “They’re not the ONLY ones you know,” he said as he winked at her.

            Amanda’s smile faded, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

            “What?” Jon asked, grabbing her by the hand.

What could he have meant by that? She thought. I….I….. She finally blurted, “Oh nothing. I just saw a big squirrel. It frightened me a bit.”

            He saw past her lie and smiled.

            Her heart skipped a beat.

            As they started walking again, she thought about what had just happened. After a while, Jon noticed her quietness and spoke, “You know, this is our last day here. We leave tomorrow. The only chance we’ll have to talk privately is tomorrow on the way home. No one is here NOW, and you have something on your mind Care to talk about it?”

            “Unfortunately, this is something that just occurred to me and I have yet to figure it out. Let me think first, OK?”

            “Sure, sure. Whatever you say. But as long as you know…you can always trust me.” He put his arm around her.

            “I know, I trust you. I always will. You’re my best friend,” she said as she snuggled closer.

The next day, after everything was loaded on the Rider truck and everybody was on the bus and ready to go; Jon plopped down next to Amanda and smiled.

            “You know, I think it’s about time I stopped sucking up to Mr. Stewart. I’m a graduate now and I won’t be able to help him anymore. Besides, he’ll have YOU now. I just hope I taught you well, Ms. Freshman.”

            “Ribbit,” she croaked.

He laughed. “Well, I’m read to get outta here. I even brought my walkman.”

            “Mine’s broke.”

            “Well you can listen to mine little lady.” They both slouched down in their seat as he put an arm around her and gave her an earpiece. She leaned up against him, put her head on his chest, one hand holding the earpiece, the other; holding his.

            He turned on the tape and their ears were filled with the sound of Phil Collins, “No Son of Mine”.

            As the bus rolled on, the two sat there. Never moving. Listening to the music. Until Jon stopped the tape.

            “This one. I think you’ll like this one.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

            She smiled as he turned the tape back on.

            Music filled her ears as she heard the words: “When I’m feeling blue, all I have to do, is take a look at you, then I’m not so blue. When I’m close to you, I can feel your heart beat….Wouldn’t you agree, baby you and me, gotta groovy kind of love. We gotta groovy kind of love.”

            Something clicked in her head. When the song was over she turned in the seat, so she could look him in the eyes.

            “Jon, I finally figured out what was going on in my mind yesterday.”

            “Oh?” he said, raising one eyebrow, like Spock.

            “Jon, I…..I love you.”

He waited a few seconds for her words to sink in. Then a grin appeared on his face as tears started to well in his eyes. She was crying too, and he wiped a tear from her cheek.

            “Oh I know that. I’ve known for the longest time. And you know what? I love you too.”

            She smiled as he put his arms around her and hugged her.

            They went back to the position they were in with the feeling of love between them as Phil Collins kept echoing through their ears.

            But Amanda wasn’t paying attention. She was crying.

            He noticed and asked her what was wrong.

            “You’re going to Purdue. I’m just starting high school. When are we ever going to see each other again?”

            He held her tighter. “That’s not something to worry about right now. Because I promise you, no matter what happens…I’LL ALWAYS love you and NOTHING will EVER come between us. OK?”

            She snuggled closer. She knew he would keep his promise. Besides, there was always tomorrow: State Fair.

            They looked into each others eyes, full of love. And kissed. She knew her life was JUST beginning.

            Some parents don't realize this about their children; but did you know that kids can fly? My son proves this point to me every time we go to the park. My son, Bobby, is 4 years old. He portrays the stereotypical behavior of any fiery red-headed boy, but Bobby also has a very gentle, loving, curious side to him. This side is the side that I try to nurture every chance I get. So when we go to his favorite place, the park, and when he wants to swing, I never deny him his chance to fly.

            We don't get to go to the park every day, which is why I think Bobby tries to get the most out of it whenever we go. When I tell him that we are going to the park, I can see his smile get as wide and bright as the twinkle in his eyes. Only at the park do I let him run around and make noise like a "hoodlum"; so he knows that the park is his chance to be free. Only sometimes will he stop to say "hi" to another little boy or girl, but his first action as a free child is to run to the first available swing he sees. As soon as Bobby can feel the black rubber seat of the swing he immediately calls out in his whiny, 4 year-old voice, "Mommy! Come push me, please!" Knowing that I would be promptly called to duty, I am only five or six steps behind him. I help him onto the swing, make sure he grips the chain tightly, and watch his mouth grow from a grin to an open-mouth, teeth showing smile.

            Now, most parents would go behind their child to push them. I am no ordinary parent. I love talking with my son when I push him in the swing. I love watching him laugh when I stop him in mid-swing, only to hear him mimic his hero Buzz Light-year and cry out, "To infinity and beyond!" I let him go again and he giggles wildly as he pretends he's a superhero flying over the city! As I push him, I love watching his face in the bright sun. When he squints I can clearly see the freckles he is developing on his nose and cheeks. His short red hair glows like fire in the suns rays and his baby teeth shine white as snow. I admire his childish face and think, "He looks like his father!" At times like these I always wonder what my little boy will be like when he grows up.

            Often-times, as I push him, Bobby doesn't say anything at all. He simply closes his eyes and contently smiles. These are the times I know to be quiet, and not to stop him in mid-swing. These are the times I know that he is letting his heart and soul fly! Sometimes he even lets go of the chains and spreads his arms out like a bird. It's wonderful watching my little boy's imagination. I even let myself pretend I'm with him, up in the sky, flying like a bird, feeling the wind blow across our faces and the sun shining in our eyes. I especially love it when he declares, with his eyes closed and his arms spread open wide, "I'm FLYING Mommy! Look, I'm FLYING!"

            I admire my son's child-like imagination and sometimes wish that I could be as care-free as he is. To let go of life's troubles long enough to let my mind imagine that I am free as a bird, soaring across the sky! I wholly believe that my son can fly! I've even had the privilege of seeing him fly myself! I will never deny my little boy the opportunity to allow his imagination run free and let his soul fly like a bird. I love watching my son swing.

Only an eternity of five months ago, my husband left to go serve his country overseas. He left for an unknown period of time to a little unknown spot on the other side of the world that is supposedly called Kosovo. I would rather call it “jail”. It is a jail that keeps my husband and me apart. We rarely see each other through the glass wall of a webcam, and we only get to “hear” each other through the cold hard phones of an e-mail. I can say it’s obvious that I miss my husband; everyday he’s been gone it seems as if there’s something missing.

          I feel there’s something missing when I wake up in the morning to a small warm body lying beside me. Sometimes I turn over in a half sleep and think, “It would be wonderful if that was David,” but when I open my eyes, it is my wonderful, little, baby boy, Danny. He greets me with a smile that reminds me of my husband. David’s “twin”, four-year-old Bobby, climbs down from the top of his bunk bed and immediately demands breakfast. As I pour a bowl of cereal or heat up some waffles, I am reminded of when I used to make breakfast for the whole family. I would get up early in the morning, just to start up a pot of coffee and make biscuits for David, before the boys woke up. I feel something is missing when I sit down on the recliner, after giving the boys their breakfast and look over desperately wanting to see my husband, so we can sip on coffee and talk about the weather.

          When breakfast is complete, I feel something is missing as I clean up the dishes and watch my boys run around in circles in the living room. I feel something missing when I throw myself to the ground between them and they jump on my back. I feel something missing when I wrestle with them and toss them on the couch and tickle them until their faces turn red. I feel something missing when I sit and relax on the chair, as we gather around the TV, to watch morning cartoons on Nickelodeon. I feel something’s missing when I remember how David used to join me in all these activities.

          I feel something missing when I cook hotdogs, ramen noodles, chicken, or baby food to feed my sons their lunch. Of course, I am reminded of when my husband would cook. He wouldn’t allow us to go into the kitchen until he was finished, that way everything would be a tasty surprise. We would gather ‘round the table and chow down on good hot meals that only David knew how to cook to perfection.

          I feel there’s something missing when I kiss my red-headed son as he lays down for his nap. I feel something’s missing as I snuggle on the recliner with my baby boy, Danny, and watch him drift off to sleep. I feel there’s something missing when I remember how David used to help me put the boys down for a nap. We would agree to take one kid each and it would be so much simpler to put the boys to sleep when it was two of us.

          I feel there’s something missing when I sit down with Bobby and do “school” with him. As I sit and work with him, teaching him how to rhyme or how to write his name, I feel something’s missing, because there’s no one to help me praise my son when he draws a train with an expert artist’s touch. I feel there’s something missing when I sit down with my baby boy and watch Baby Einstein with him, pointing out the different shapes, colors, and animals that pop in and out on the screen. I feel something’s missing when I sit on the futon and play the Play Station 2 with my four-year-old; I remember Bobby teaching David how to play.

          I feel there’s something missing when I start up the bath and get the boys undressed so they can pretend their scuba divers or pirates on the Bathtub Sea. I feel there’s something missing when I watch them splash and squeal and make a complete mess in the bathroom (I always used to get mad at David for letting them get water on the floor). I feel there’s something missing as I help them brush their teeth, get in their pajamas, and get ready for bed. I feel there’s something missing when I have to answer the question, “When is Daddy coming home?” I feel there’s something missing when my boys look at the picture of their father on their bedside and my baby boy says, “Da-da-da-da-da.” I feel there’s something missing when I read their bedtime stories and sing to them until they fall asleep. I feel there’s something missing as I remember how David used to sing with me, and read with me. Then after the boys were asleep, we would cuddle together on the couch and watch a movie, read books, or just talk. I especially feel something missing when all I do now is stay up late to continue working on my homework, check my emails, and pay the bills.

          I find myself unmotivated to go out, unless it’s to take the boys to the park or the movies. I find myself missing something when it’s 2 o’clock in the morning and I’m still up writing an essay or playing games on my computer just to have some “adult” time to myself. I find myself unmotivated to clean the house every day in order for my husband to come home and not have to do anything but spend time with his family. I find myself unwilling to let myself slip into a depression like some military wives do when their husbands are gone. I find myself dedicating every minute of my life to my boys and school, just so I can keep busy and not constantly remind myself that there’s something missing. Because I know what that something is. It’s my husband, and the joy and love he brings to this family.

          I always thought that the name Ovid was very strange. I could never understand why anyone would want to name their child Ovid. But at least I understood why my father-in-law always wanted to be called Earl. His full name was Ovid Earl Stanley, Sr. Of course, when I found out that he was a Sr., I immediately felt sorry for the Jr. in the family. Earl Sr. could easily joke about his name, but if you ever called him Ovid, he’d let you hear it. Earl was one of those very quiet men, who didn’t say much, but somehow you always knew what he was thinking. He had a funny habit of aggravating his wife by watching TV and reading the newspaper when “company” was around. Of course, “company” to his wife was his own kids! He was a very proud man who had a very deep history, but he never really talked about it. He served two terms in Vietnam in the Navy, and when he came home, he helped raise six kids. That was really all the history I ever knew. But I didn’t’ need to know any more history about him. To me, he was also my father as well; as I had already adopted him as such in my heart. I adored him. I would even mimic him at times - irritating my mother-in-law by reading the newspaper with him; when my husband, David, and I were visiting. She would get so upset that Earl wasn’t making “small talk” with me. I loved how he adored his grandchildren, and I loved hearing stories from my husband about the things he did to his own children as they were growing up.

          So when offered the opportunity to help the only father figure I had – I jumped at the opportunity. On April 2^nd, 2004 my husband, David, and I were at home relaxing and playing with the kids when we got a call from Earl Jr. that Earl Sr. was in the hospital with a broken hip. We immediately drove up to see him and we found that he was diagnosed with secondary cancer of the bone. He had to have surgery on his hip, but they didn’t expect him to live very long because it was a secondary cancer which had probably originated from his lungs from many years of smoking. We weren’t surprised when we heard the news because we’d had suspicions about it for a long time. We knew that Earl Sr. smoked like a chimney, and even when he said he had quit – he would always sneak one or two out back in his sheds. We also knew that recovery from a broken hip would take a long time, and a lot of care would be needed to help him during his therapy. Because David was a nurse, we immediately decided to move in with his parents in order to help with Earl’s recovery. We knew that David’s mother could not take care of her husband properly, as her strength and health wasn’t enough; and after much deliberation, there was an excuse or a justified reason for each one of David’s siblings inability to help care for their father

          During the first few weeks of his recovery, we all thought Earl would be fine and he would be back on his feet in no time. But after those initial weeks, his health began to diminish. It seemed as if he was bound to his wheelchair; only able to go out on the deck for a few minutes at a time before it exhausted him. Soon he was bed ridden. Even sooner after that, he was incoherent. Not only could he not talk, but he couldn’t really understand what anyone was saying anymore. He did have good moments: a few hours where he would sit up a little and talk to his children and his wife. He could ask for drinks of water or ice to moisten his tongue, and occasionally he could even comprehend that my son, Bobby, was saying, “I love you Pa-paw.”

          So one afternoon, David’s brother, Kenny, asked his pastor to stop by the house on one of Earl’s good days and talk to him. We all knew that Earl believed in God, but even his wife didn’t really know for sure if he had ever accepted Jesus. We all left the pastor and Earl alone in his bedroom for a while, and when the pastor finally came out, the family all wanted to know the answer to one question: ‘Had Earl accepted Jesus?’ I was watching the kids when it happened, so David had later told me that his father did accept Jesus that day. We were overjoyed.

          It eventually came to pass that Earl could not speak at all. We wondered if he could even understand what we were saying. He would mumble things some times, and he could occasionally lift his finger to point at his water glass; but other than that, it seemed as if the end was very near. Every day the family would take turns sitting in the recliner in his bedroom, watching, waiting, to see if he would breathe his last breath. I tried as often as I could to sit by his side and watch his chest rise and fall very slowly. There were even times when he would stop breathing and I would think that was it. I would have to tell the family that Earl was gone. But after a minute, he would start breathing again, and I would wonder why he fought so hard to stay alive.

          On one of the days that I was sitting by his bedside, I thought it was very quiet. There was a small radio, but what if he really could hear me? I turned and looked at him with his eyes closed. His face was so pale that it looked as if he was already dead. I touched his cheek and asked him, “Earl, do you want me to read you something?” His eyes fluttered for a moment, and he very slowly nodded his head ‘yes.’ I didn’t know what to read, I really didn’t think he would have answered me. So I went into my bedroom and grabbed my Bible. When I came back, I touched his hand to let him know I was there, “Earl, do you have a favorite passage?”.

          “Psalms 23,” I heard him whisper in a dry, raspy voice.

I didn’t know the Bible that well, so I didn’t know off-hand what Psalms 23 was. I quickly opened my Bible, and found the tab that marked Psalms. I quickly found chapter 23 and scanned through it. After the first sentence, I knew what passage it was. Tears welled up in my eyes as I leaned down closer to his ear.

          I could feel my throat tighten as the words came out of my mouth, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures: He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul: He leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anoint my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

          I looked over at him, and thought I could see a hint of a smile. He had his eyes closed, and he was breathing slowly. I wondered if he had fallen asleep. Though he spoke no words, I could see his lips slowly mouth the words ‘thank you’. Fighting back tears, I stood up and stared what seemed like for hours at his face. Thousands of thoughts raced through my mind about how much I loved this man. I put my hand on his cold forehead and leaned down to kiss him. Slowly, I whispered, “I love you, Dad.”

          Ovid Earl Stanley Sr. died two days later on May 14^th, 2004 at 10:30pm. Those were the last words I ever spoke to him. I am grateful for the last moments we were able to spend together that he could actually understand what I was saying, and I’ll never forget them. I am even more grateful that I could make him smile one last time.

Every parent plays with their children. But have you ever really taken note of the exact process of playing with children? There are always “ground rules” that are pre-established with no written or verbal communication dictating them. They are just “known”. I discovered this the other day when I was playing Army with my son. I wholly enjoy playing “Army” with Bobby, but for the first time, I actually took the time to notice what exactly entailed our little battle.

The first thing that has to be done, is deciding as to who will be the “bad” guy and who will be the “good” guy.  As ground rules dictate, the child is always the good guy. Parents are always the bad guy. You must establish this first because if this rule is broken, then the battle will not go as planned. Once the decision is made, then the picking of toy soldiers commences. This can be done in more than one way. Normally it ends up with the child taking 75% of the men, and sticking the adult with the “leftovers”. These are usually the maimed ones from previous wars with the “Baby Brother”, the “Vacuum Cleaner”, or the “Dog”. Thus, there are always more good guys than bad, but this is okay, because this is another rule that is pre-established. Again, if this rule is broken, combat will not be pretty. Once the men are in place, you must pick out “accessories” such as tanks, jeeps, and artillery pieces to support your army.  Old toilet paper rolls make great cover for the soldiers and provide excellent targets for the good guys.

            Now that the soldiers and tanks are in place, territory must be surveyed for any possible ground cover or protection. If this battle takes place inside, then a couch, chair, cushion, rug, and sometimes the “Dog” can make for natural protection.  If this battle is to take place outside, then sticks, grass, and holes in the ground can make for natural protection. Again, ground rules dictate that the bad guys must always be at least partially visible and must always face the good guy. This means no sneak attacks during deployment of troops.  Emphasization of this ground rule is stated for obvious reasons. After all the troops and support elements are in place, then the battle is to finally take place.

            Once the battle has commenced, sound effects must be applied. This is normally done by the adult because they are the ones who are doing most of the “dying”.  Such sound effects include the sounds of gunfire, artillery shells coming in, grunting of soldiers as they are shot and the whining and moaning of wounded men on the battlefield. Ground rules also dictate that the child (or good guy) must always win. In the event that the good guy only has one tank and two soldiers left, they immediately become invincible because the battle must rage until the bad guy is left with nothing.  Occasionally, as the good guy gets older, the bad guy can win once or twice, but this is a rare occasion and must be done cautiously and with 100% agreement of both sides before battle commences.

            Once the battle is over and the good guy has prevailed, all fallen soldiers must be revived; battered equipment must be repaired and a new battle must be planned. Repeat as necessary. The two most important ground rules of all are: “the good guy must always win”, and “the good guy must always be the child.”