Welcome To Jerry's Haven &Tell Talks. We are so happy you have joined us. We will be sending out a newsletter once a week and touch on different subjects as well as including some links, poetry, and all around Christian Fun. If there is anything that you would like to see please do let us know. We welcome any and all comments.  (This page can also be viewed on the web at  http://www.whatistruth.info/talks1/9.html )

 

I was sleeping late. I had just published the first issue of my local newspaper, Atlanta 30306, and was recovering from three all-nighters earlier in the month. The phone rang.

The call was from either a brother or a sister. I don't remember which now. My dad had been walking down the hallway at the Northside YMCA on Roswell Road, going to his daily swimming aerobics class, when he had a massive stroke.

I drove quickly to Piedmont Hospital and ran into the emergency room. I thought about how Dad had cared for me there through broken bones, an appendectomy and so on. Now, I was going to see him.

I found him in a room, unconscious. It was so quiet. I just stood by his side, helplessly. A nurse I hadn't seen standing in the corner told me I could touch him.

Touch him? I thought. How? I looked at his hands. I remembered grasping them in handshakes for years. I remembered how later, after our family discovered affection, hugging him, and even in recent years, kissing him. But I had no memory of ever just holding his hand, as a child might grab a parent's hand to cross the street.

I placed his hand in mine and just held it. It felt so large; bony, yet soft. Why have I never done this before? I thought. Was it my insecurities or his? Perhaps both. It was the last time I touched my father. He never regained consciousness and died later that evening.

I revisit that image often and have drawn much comfort from remembering that simple act of holding hands with my dad during the last hours of his life. A seemingly small gesture, but one that allows two people to connect so quickly, so closely.

My own eleven-year-old son knows this and is, thankfully, not bound by the inhibitions of earlier generations. One time, after my dad's death, I was walking in a mall with him and his cousin of the same age. His cousin asked him why he was holding my hand. He said nothing, but quickly released my grasp. That was it, I thought. The defining moment. Even though I had felt a little self-conscious holding his hand there in the mall, I knew I would miss his touch more than he would ever know. Yet, a few weeks later during another weekend together, he quietly slipped his hand in mine. I felt connected again.

This summer in Paris, we walked along the Seine as I led him and his thirteen-year-old sister to cathedrals and museums. He grabbed my hand, and we walked together for several blocks. My daughter, who had stopped holding my hand at age nine or ten, sped up and looked over at the clasp. I knew she was going to say something as only a sister, much too cool for such a display, would. Then she caught my eye and my smile. Uncharacteristically, she retreated and said nothing.

And so we continued along the riverbank, a family of three, she comfortable in her detachment, my son content with his innate instinct to connect with others, and me, somewhere in between.

Sometimes, we have a choice of when to let go. Sometimes, we don't.

Chris Schroder

 

Jerry's Haven N Tell Father's Day Greetings

Father's Day Greetings

Delight Dad

Top Ten Easy Father's Day Gift / Craft Ideas

Father's Day History

Father's Day Origami

My Dad When I Was...

4 years old:
My daddy can do anything!

5 years old:
My daddy knows a lot!

6 years old:
My dad is smarter than your dad!

8 years old:
My dad doesn't know exactly everything.

10 years old:
In the olden days when my dad grew up,
things were sure different!

12 years old:
Oh, well, naturally,
Dad doesn't know anything about that.
He is too old to remember his childhood.

14 years old:
Don't pay any attention to my dad.
He is so old-fashioned!

21 years old:
Him? My Lord, he's hopelessly out of date!

25 years old:
Dad knows a little bit about it,
but then he should because he has been around so long.

30 years old:
Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks.
After all, he's had a lot of experience.

35 years old:
I'm not doing a single thing until I talk to Dad.

40 years old:
I wonder how Dad would have handled it.
He was so wise and had a world of experience.

50 years old:
I'd give anything if Dad were here now
so I could talk this over with him.
Too bad I didn't appreciate how smart he was.
I could have learned a lot from him.
I sure do miss him.

from Ann Landers

Chocolate Marble Cake

  • 1/3 c butter
  • 1 c sugar
  • 2 ea egg, well beaten
  • 1 1/2 c flour
  • 2 ts baking powder
  • 1/2 c milk
  • 1 tb butter
  • 1 ea chocolate square, unsweetened
  • 1 ts vanilla

Cream together the butter and sugar; add the eggs and mix well.

Sift together the flour and baking powder and add alternately with the milk to the creamed mixture.

Put 1/3 of the combined mixture into a bowl. Melt together the butter and chocolate and add to the combined mixture.

Add the vanilla to the white batter.

Drop the white batter, then the chocolate batter, by spoonfuls into a well-greased, deep cake pan and bake at 350-F for about 40 minutes.

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