Two or Three Witnesses

Yesterday morning I was driving to the Atlanta airport to catch my 7:15 flight home. I had checked on the computer the night before and saw that there were plenty of seats and I looked forward to a relaxed commute home. Well, fairly relaxed. I would have to make a connection in Denver, since the nonstop to Salt Lake City was pretty full with lots of other people like me on the standby list for whatever few seats were available. But I would get home by noon, which was the important part.

So while driving I called up the airline to reserve the “jumpseat”—the extra observation seat that every airliner has in the cockpit. Nearly every U.S. airline has agreements in place so that a pilot from any of the participating airlines can ride up front (or in back if there are empty seats) on any of the participating airlines. This has gotten me home at least a third of the time and is invaluable. Anyway, in process of making the reservation I discovered much to my dismay that the flight actually was departing at 6:30, not 7:15. Was the website wrong? I recalled that another website showed the flight leaving at 6:30, but since the company’s website showed 7:15, I assumed (take note of that word) that the company’s website was correct.

Panic struck me as I drove to the ASA parking lot. By my calculations, if I was lucky I would arrive at the terminal at 6:15. Maybe I could still make it. The bus made good time, and after an agonizing 60 second delay waiting for an airplane to get out of the way. At 6:16 I got out of the bus, ran for a jet bridge (remember, I’m outside with the airplanes), hiked up the stairs, entered the terminal and sprinted for the gate. I got there at 6:19 (gate agents try to close the door at ten minutes prior). I made it! Success!

Except the flight was full, and although I had reserved the jumpseat I hadn’t been there early enough to claim it. Three other pilots were in front of me. Failure! Doom!

Now when would I get home? Well, to make a long story short, the next flight I could reasonably try was the nonstop to Salt Lake City, and while the airplane was full, I was first in line for the jumpseat. I got home by noon, and all was well.

I felt very blessed yesterday, in spite of my initial bad luck. I also learned (re-learned) an important lesson: if something doesn’t seem right, like two websites disagreeing about when a flight was scheduled to leave, then the only smart thing to do is to dig deeper until you find out which one is correct. What I had inadvertently done is mix up the 7:15PM flight with the 6:30AM flight. The second website wasn’t wrong, nor was the airline’s website. What was in error was my perception, my interpretation.

The scriptures teach this point: “In the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.” (2 Corinthians 13:1) This isn’t just a spiritual principle, but a practical day-by-day one as well. And I need to assume a whole lot less.

Another Trip Around the Sun

Yesterday while attending Red Pepper’s soccer game I ran into someone I used to work with. In the course of our conversation we discovered that we both celebrated our 40th birthdays within a week of each other. His question to me caught me a little off guard: “Was it as devastating for you as it was for me?” I remarked something to the effect that I notice that I don’t bounce back physically as quickly as I used to, but otherwise couldn’t relate and so I said nothing more on that subject.

I wonder what it was specifically that so devastated him. Did he feel that his best days were behind him? Did he look forward and see steadily decreasing vitality? Did he once excel in sports and could feel the difference that 20 years has made?

First of all, let’s keep this real: 40 just isn’t that old, no matter what my kids think. Sure, the lines on my face are getting deeper and I have a few more gray hairs than I used to. And an eight-minute mile feels a lot faster than when I ran track in high school. There are other signs that remind me on a regular basis that I’m no longer a young man. And I’m not exactly thrilled about these things. Nor am I terribly excited about the colonoscopy that I still haven’t scheduled but need to.

But age brings benefits, too. While I have to admit I find myself re-learning too many lessons in life, some I have learned quite well. A little wisdom is definitely a good thing. It has brought me my wife, who has been my best friend for more than half of my life. It has allowed me to truly appreciate my parents and love my children. Mostly it has brought me experiences, which is more than saying memories. Memories are something I am reminded of when sitting on the couch and looking in a photo album. Experiences, on the other hand, are those things in the past that guide my present and future. And that’s where I choose to live—in the present and future.

Aging is neither good nor bad. It just is. So why waste my time railing against or lamenting something that I can’t control? No, I choose to embrace (sometimes hesitantly, admittedly) these birthdays that keep coming, and the changes that they represent. I am no longer the person I was 20 years ago. He doesn’t exist. I’m not even the person I was yesterday. I’m here today. Today touches the past and the future, but it’s the only thing that really matters, because it’s the only thing I can control in any degree.

And for that reason, to me despising a birthday is a rejection of today. It is trying to hold on to a past that no longer exists, and fearing a future that isn’t real. No, a birthday should be a celebration of those trips we’ve made around the sun and what they have brought us.

No More 2-Year Olds on the Trampoline

Tuesday the kids were bouncing on the trampoline and Jack-Jack began to cry. Not an unusual occurrence, except he wouldn’t stop. He was holding his right leg and couldn’t walk. It didn’t take long to realize that there was something seriously wrong. I set up a doctor appointment and Annette took him in. After trips to the doctor’s office, the radiology lab and the emergency room, it was determined that he had broken his femur.

Once Mr. Tickle and Wiz-Kid were put to bed I drove to the hospital to hear the final instructions and then helped strap Jack-Jack in to the back seat of our Caravan—lying down. No use for the car-seat for the next while. Before meeting them there I did some research on the internet. I found that breaking a thighbone is not uncommon in 2-3-year-olds because at this age the bones are still hardening. My guess is he was coming down just after Mr. Tickle bounced up and so caught up-spring of the mat. I also found out that an estimated 80% of these breaks are a result of abuse, and so we could expect a visit from Child Welfare (they stopped by yesterday—no problems). Most 2-year-olds get spica casts—a body cast from the lower chest to the ankle—and keep it for 2-3 months. No fun for Jack-Jack and no fun for his Mom (and Dad).

Our experience so far has been a little different. Jack-Jack was given a splint instead. It covers the same length as the spica cast but is held in place with Ace bandages and so is much lighter. It also appears that he may only need this for as little as a month, although I’m planning on it lasting longer. Two days later he’s starting to sleep better (he didn’t react well to the Tylenol/Codeine mix) and he’s being a real trooper about not being able to get around. He’s watching a fair amount of TV but we also take him downstairs to the playroom and play with him. This morning we built Legos together and yesterday he played cars and other games with us and his brothers and sisters.

Naturally everyone has been concerned about him, especially Wiz-Kid. Each child has been very helpful and attentive, which really helps. Meanwhile Annette is “sleeping” in the same room with him. The first night he maybe slept 40 minutes—he was prone to muscle spasms that would jerk him awake (apparently normal according to the doctor) and he would cry. Needless to say, yesterday was hard for her. She ended up finding a sub for both work and Pack Meeting (she’s the Cubmaster). Last night was better for both of them and hopefully in the next few days he’ll be sleeping normally.

Yes, it’s a trial and a challenge, but at the same time there are some definite blessings. If we had to choose a time for Jack-Jack to break a leg, this is about as good as we could have planned. I’m off until next Tuesday, so I’m around to help. Next week, of course, is Thanksgiving, so Annette will only need to work one day with me gone, if that. Hopefully my parents or someone else will be able to help the days that I’m flying. And as for Jack-Jack, being two he’s still pretty light and much easier to carry around than, say, Mr. Tickle, let alone Wiz-Kid. So when we’re not feeling the effects of sleep deprivation we’re counting our blessings. This could have been so much harder.

Oh—and no more 2-year-olds on the trampoline.