Category Archives: Stories of difficulty

Color Blind

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Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.

—E.B. White

Today’s story is from Pierre O’Rourke.

For years I told anyone who would listen. My father was no father at all. The drinking, the carousing. The child support checks that never came. Mom and I moved away when I was nine. I would not see him again until I was a man.

Father and son, Color Blind

The young Pierre and his father

“Maybe he did the best he could,” said my ever-forgiving mother, time and again. She and Dad kept in touch — some. She even sent him my report cards and letters. But I refused to write him a message or even acknowledge him.

But one night, one movie, one memory suddenly changed it all. I discovered that Dad was not so much a bad dad as a horribly haunted man.

Home from college, Mom and I plopped down, TV dinners in our laps. The movie: 1964’s “Black Like Me.” James Whitmore portrayed a white journalist going undercover as a black man. He traveled through the deep South. The insults. The denigration. It’s no easy film to watch—especially knowing it’s based on a true story. READ MORE 

Love…Thicker than Blood

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“All I want is someone who will stay, no matter how hard it is to be with me.”

—Unknown

Today’s story is from Julie Dinkens.

At 16, I boarded a bus. A dirty knapsack, a wad of ones. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I couldn’t wait to get the heck out of that stiflingly small California town … and my home.

A remarkable dad

The bus headed to Tennessee…

Days later, in Tennessee — I’d arrived at my “new home.” The plan? To become famous (but what did I know). In my teenage brain, it was a plan, perfectly laid, perfectly played.

Until… I got caught. The Tennessee fuzz picked me up. Drug me downtown. Threw me in juvenile hall. They knew. And I finally confessed. A runaway from way out West.

Yes, my cross-country jaunt was a first. But it was hardly the first time I’d run away. From the age of 12 my vanishing act was so fine-tuned it would give Houdini ideas on how to disappear. For weeks at a time, I’d surf between couches of friends and strangers. I was rebellious. I ran wild. I sometimes staggered over state lines. READ MORE 

The Battle of Troy

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“A real father is there for any child who needs him, not just his own…”

—Unknown

Today’s story is from Reade.

Another freezing winter in small town Britton, Michigan. Another pregnant cow, ready for birth. But it was different this time. Dad yanked and tugged. He tried hard to coax her into the barn. She wouldn’t budge.

Father, Bob, and his granddaughters

Dad, Bob, and his granddaughters

He even went back out late into the night. Mom was in labor. But she wouldn’t move. Shivering, exhausted, Dad retreated for a few hours sleep, praying she would hold ‘til morning. No such luck.

He was up before daylight, but it was too late. Frozen. Shaking. Barely alive. The mother left her baby for dead. Natural instinct.

My dad’s natural instinct? He didn’t hesitate. He heaved up all 50 pounds of that slimy, wet calf. He sprinted 300 yards, straight back to the house… a dying calf would not survive in the barn. READ MORE 

Echoes Through Life, Generations

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“Learn from the mistakes of others — you can never live long enough to make them all yourself.”

—John Luther

Today’s story is from Grady Mosby.

A father’s mistakes can echo through generations. I would know. My Dad’s life mistakes echoed through mine. And mine, through my sons’ lives.

mistakes

Grady with his twins, 30 yrs. ago

I’m Grady Mosby. A father. A husband. My twin boys, now 32 years old, are fathers themselves. I can be proud of my life now — I’m a Christian, born-again. A family man. A businessman.

But it was a long, ugly road to get where I am. Some thought I’d never make it (including myself). Alcohol, drugs, women — You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen and done (I sometimes don’t believe them myself).

Where did it begin?
READ MORE 

Dig In Your Heels

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“If you can make it growing up with me, you’ll do just fine out there in the world.”

—Gerry Benedick to his son

Today’s story is from Matt Benedick.

A blizzard had just ravaged the state. Schools closed. Perilous roads. Everything froze, all covered with ice. Dad took me out in the cold on a long trek through the woods. We were alone, isolated deep in the trees. My hands became numb. Eyes started to burn. Legs ached. Feet froze. Cheeks were red as a plum.

Dig in your heels

Matt, age 4, and Dad in Bryce Mountain, VA

Silence. Dad said not a word. Neither did I. Complain? Yes, that’s what I wanted to do. But I knew my dad. I could sense, this was no time to whimper and moan. After a while I began to slow down. Could I go on? I wasn’t sure. But Dad was — we walked on.

At the crest, the sun bathed the mountains in pink-orange bliss. Suddenly Dad stopped, standing cold still. Truly, you could hear the snow melt in the glistening mountaintop sun. That’s how quiet it was.

My name is Matt Benedick. This is a story about my dad, Gerry. READ MORE 

When You Fall on Your Face Stand Up with Grace

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“Have no fear of perfection — you’ll never reach it.”

—Salvador Dali

Today’s story is from Elisabeth Hirsch.

Nerdy. Needy. In my own skin uneasy. My name is Elisabeth. When I was a teen, I was awkward back then. Stumbled on stones. Uneasy in groups. Tongue-tied with cute boys. Even my clothes didn’t look right.

stand up with grace

Dad Phil and Elisabeth in Sundance, Utah, 1988

But here’s the thing. It didn’t make sense. My mom was voted homecoming queen when she was my age. And Dad? Handsome. Confident. Suave. He always knew what to do, what to say. No wonder. My father was a star quarterback when he was my age.

Mom and Dad just didn’t “get me” — especially Dad. For him it had always been easy. Day after day, he soared through life. Touchdown. Score! Whatever Dad did, crowds seemed to roar.

While me? One fumble after another. The world watched me stumble through life. Until it happened. Dad and I went for groceries. Walking into the store, Dad’s foot caught on the rug. Face-first toward the tile floor he plunged, as others looked on. READ MORE 

Mother to None. Mom to Thousands.

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“Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death.”

—Sun Tzu

Today’s story is from Kaziah Hancock.

A mother to none. Cervical cancer robbed her of that. But in a sense, she is a mom to thousands.

mom

Kaziah’s first portrait of a fallen soldier:
James Cawley of Utah.

Fallen soldiers. They are her daughters and sons. She’s never met a single one, but she’s loved — and mourned — many. They gave their lives protecting our country. She brings them to life on canvas. She gives them a presence in homes left behind. A lasting memory for those they loved most.

Kaziah Hancock is sometimes referred to as the Goat Woman. She lives on a small ranch in Utah with, you guessed it… about 100 goats. She’s a big-hearted lady who exudes independence and strength. To do what she does, you could be nothing less.

She explains in a news interview, “I don’t know how political I am. I don’t get into all that crap. I just love freedom, ok?” READ MORE