Tag Archives: son

Father Misspelled

“Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is as sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.”

—Stevie Wonder

Today’s story is contributed by Marshall Davis Jones.

Marshall Davis Jones

Marshall Davis Jones

I was six years old
in a national spelling bee.
complex words….
up until the final round
one word between me and victory
the spell master clears his throat
young man your word is father…..

Spelling Father from stillmotion on Vimeo.

Marshall Davis Jones is a world-bridger.His unique gift to make us think, feel and realize runs deep into the human experience. As a professional spoken word artist and dramatic performer, he has been featured in two TEDx Conferences, at the Musical Instrument Museum, the Omega Institute and BBC World Service.

His clients have included numerous colleges & universities (Pace, NYU, Utah State etc),
The Leon Sullivan Foundation, the I.Am Angel Foundation and the Jordin Sparks Experience. He has shared the podium with the likes of Marc Lamont Hill, Ambassador Andrew Young, Henry Louis Gates, and Simon Sinek.

Marshall regularly conducts workshops with youth and adults.

Frozen Moments

“Memories are the key not to the past, but to the future.”

—Corrie Ten Boom

Today’s poem is contributed by Tom Krause.

Frozen Moments

Sam Krause

You were three years old.

Balls were bouncing in the gym.
Children were running, shooting baskets.
Among all the chaos
I saw you grinning at me –
wanting me to watch you.
You waved at me – I waved at you.
You showed me how you could dribble.
The moment froze in my memory.

What My Father Taught Me About Being A Dad

“When you teach your son, you teach your son’s son.”

—The Talmud

Today’s story is contributed by Bob Meadows.

I look at my father, I look at my son, and I understand the privilege that was handed to me, and the responsibility that I have accepted.

I had a phenomenal role model for fatherhood. Now I have to be one.
What my father taught me.

Bob’s dad, Bob, and Xavier

I am black. My father is black. My son is black. Most black boys — black children — grow up without their fathers in the home. Most black boys — black children — grow up with mothers who are not married. The married-to-mom black father is the rarest of parents.

My father and mother celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in February. They married, had three children, and stayed married. It was not, as foolish people say, “the times.” Plenty of the couples my parents partied with back in the 60s and 70s split up.

7 Ways My Father Influenced Who I Am

“My heroes are and were my parents. I can’t see having anyone else as my parents.”

—Michael Jordan

Today’s story contributed by Harold Herring.

my father

Harold Herring with his mother and father

When I was a freshman in college…we were asked to write a paper on the greatest man we’d ever met. It was an easy and immediate decision for me… I wrote about my Father.

Since that first year of college…I’ve met five Presidents, two Vice-Presidents, numerous Generals, Admirals, sports stars, singers, international ministry leaders and assorted other celebrities and persons in authority.

If I were asked to write the same paper during this the 25th anniversary of my 39th birthday year…I would still write about my father…for whom I will always call Daddy, so why change.

He was and still is the greatest man I’ve ever met.

My purpose in this blog is not just to write something sentimental about my father but there are several things that “Mr. Harold,” as Dad was known in our town, taught me…that will benefit and bless all who read these words. READ MORE 

For The Greater Good-ell

“…because unless we stand for something, we shall fall for anything.”

—Peter Marshall in 1947

This story is about NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell.

Remember the movie Jerry Maguire? When Tom Cruise takes a stand by writing a “mission statement” that ultimately gets him fired. (And, he recruits that lonely fish to accompany him on the way out.)

Roger Goodell

Roger with his father, Senator Charles Goodell

At different times in our lives, we all face the decision — take a stand for what’s right, and fair, and just. Or play it safe, keep quiet, and move on. While we may differ drastically as to where we stand, we should never differ as to why we stand there — always because we believe it is right, and fair, and just.

Unfortunately, some people advocate for the wrong reason. Politicians may be most susceptible given the “re-electionary” nature of their jobs. READ MORE 

Dad Sent Me To Mars

“Curiosity is one of the great secrets of happiness.”

—Bryant H. McGill

This story contributed by Peter H. Smith.

He was born in 1902 in Easley, South Carolina. No electricity, no radio, no television, no cars, no running water, and no stores — they grew food on the family farm. Outdoor kitchen and outdoor bathrooms. You get the picture.

But my dad, Hugh Smith, was a born adventurer.

Peter and his father, Hugh Smith

A small farming town could only hold him so long. In 1923, at the age of 21, he drove his Ford Model T across the country, camping along the roadside. He just wanted to “see what’s out there.” Since childhood, he was consumed with an insatiable curiosity for the world and beyond.

His first real “adventure” was Rochester Med School. But he wasn’t satisfied with just the M.D. — he later attended Johns Hopkins for a second degree in Public Health.

Working as a virologist for the Rockefeller Foundation, he would take on his next (and probably his greatest) adventure… Yellow fever.


Johnny Be Bad

“The bad boy: Always more fun.”

—Ian McShane

Today’s story is contributed by Chris Haydel.

“Stay away from that Johnny, he’s trouble,” Mom warned.

He’s a troublemaker, a bad seed. As a nurse, Mom had observed the sometimes tragic result of hanging out with “dangerous” kids.

johnny be bad

Chris Haydel Family,
Christmas 1971

It was a hot summer day in New Orleans, but to me, it had never felt cooler. I had saved up for a month, and today was the big day. The shiny long barrel. The plastic “ivory” grip. Multi-cap loading capacity. A magnificent weapon. A young boy’s dream. I had seen it in the toy aisle of a store not too far away.

Mom had gone out to run errands, but she promised to take me as soon as she got back. I was playing outside to kill time.

Johnny was outside too, but he was killing bugs with his magnifying glass. “Hey, watcha doin’?” He yelled from across the street.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, bowing my head, heeding Mom’s warning. READ MORE