Three, One, Two                                  Two, Three, One

I got up yesterday and when I chopped an onion for my omelet, the onion cried.  I left the house and encountered a huge black cat that crossed the street and ran the other way to keep me from crossing his path.  While I  patiently endured the sale at JoAnn's, MC asked me to keep anyone from grabbing the McCalls pattern book she was looking through while she went to the drawer to find a pattern or two.  In fluttered a typical Colorado-type, bald on top, fringe of hair grown long and put into a ponytail, cargo pants cut-off-at-the-knee, tank-top in camo, and sandals...he lit lightly on the other side of the table and reached for MC's pattern book.  My well-honed glare, expressive and loud while silent and wordless, was sufficient for this sweet butterfly to withdraw his hand and flutter off in search of whatever he was in search of.  I may not be the most interesting man in the world, but I am getting back to normal.  The pain is all but gone, the graft is almost the right color...it kinda looks like a drunk's nose now, still a little puffy and reddish-purplish...but I am assured by Hazo that it is no longer ugly, just bumpy. 

So it is time to get back in the saddle again. And since I was feeling cocky yesterday, I should temper that with a tale of someone who is truly intimidating without being cocky...I could pick any one of the three of my sons for this format but I will start with the youngest.

When the boys were little, the two older ones would on occasion be mean to the third guy.  One afternoon I applied the old wives' tale to determine adult height and found that number three would eventually have more than two inches on the older boys.  I informed them that not only would their meaness be remembered but that number three would one day be bigger than both of them.  They protested and denied and poo-pooed the idea, but today he is the tallest. 

Number three is the only kid I have ever known who has broken a bicycle in half...BROKE THE FRAME IN HALF...not once but three times.  One day when he was between bikes he asked if he could ride one of the other boys' bikes.  A huge argument ensued and I finally had to step in.  I asked the older two to let him ride one of theirs, they were using them at the time.  They both cried out in unison, "NO, Dad...he's a ROUGH-RIDER!!"  It seems that number three had a rep as a fearless rider:  making jumps, riding down stairs, sliding, and flying up and down the various hills and paths around the post.  That is how he broke his bikes and they didn't want to add theirs to the list.  No, I didn't make them let him ride.

At a head-banger concert in Denver a few years ago, Number two was feeling poorly.  Mosh-pit?  I guess that is where the rowdies gather in front of the band and bang into each other and pain and surprise are a large part of the "fun".  In any case, number two got rubber-legged, which made him a prime target for fellow moshers.  After a couple bumps he went down, but it being a moshpit and all, no one cared or tried to help or even noticed;  he was being stepped on and bumped around.  Number three picked him up, put him over his shoulder, and if pain and surprise really were a part of the fun, number three provided some serious fun as he beat his way through the crowd, punching and shoving a clear  path to the exit.

Another time when number one was home on leave, they went together to a friend's apartment for a visit.  The person they sought was not home but an unfamiliar voice informed them through the door that if they didn't stop pounding on the door he, the voice, was going to knock their blocks off.  Number three looked at number one then banged on the door even harder.  The door flew open.  The voice turned into an angry, red-faced  man with evil in his eye and intent.  Number three leaned into the apartment, turned his head slightly, exposing his cheek and chin,  and said, "Make it a good one".

We had a family get-together and dinner at Outback a few years ago.  It was busy and they gave us the little buzzer-pager thingie and told us it would be forty-five minutes to an hour.  We took the thingie back out the to cars and were just visiting for a while.  I got to thinking that maybe the pager didn't have the range to reach us in the parking lot so I said I was going to go up to the door and see where we were on the list.  Number three said he would go with me in case it was close to our time he could go back and get everyone while I waited by the door.  The little air-lock was crowded and the girl with the clipboard was talking to another couple;  we waited patiently for a moment.  Just as she was finishing with that couple, a large fellow who had followed us into the air-lock stepped in front of me and started to talk to clipboard girl.  I don't usually make an issue of others' rudeness unless it impacts my family or friends, so I wasn't inclined to fuss over Rude Guys' bucking the line.  But number three, who was standing behind me, reached over my shoulder and put a single finger on Rude Guy's shoulder and pushed him aside while he said, "My daddy is next" in a voice that was at once calm but firm, leaving no room for discussion.  Rude Guy took one look at number three and stepped aside with a mumbled apology.

Before you are left with the impression of a big bully, you should know that number three is a loving father of five, as gentle a soul as you would ever meet.  He is a baby magnet;  kids love him and he loves kids.  He also loves his MC and would do anything in the whole world for her.  He is an unusually good man. 

I have three sons.  Each has his own personality, his own way, his own family, and his own mind.  No cookie-cutter kids for BFD, they are brothers and love each other but are three very different men.  I am immensely proud of all three and will tell you about the other two soon enough. 

I also have two daughters.  Two very talented and beautiful ladies who are also very different from each other...and their brothers. 

I love 'em all.  I have done a lot of different things over the span of two major careers and a few side trips into other fields.  I have been a lot of places and seen a lot of stuff.  I have "climbed the mountain and seen the elephant" as the Brits used to say.  But nothing I had seen or done compares with the joy of being MC's guy and raising our babies.