There Is Something To Be Said For Family Owned

The subject matter for today’s blog may surprise you. Then again, truth is often stranger than fiction. The General and I recently watched a movie on Amazon Prime that stirred memories that go back to my childhood. They figuratively had to do with “mom and pop” operations.

I have given you enough information that some of you are thinking of “hole-in-the-wall” kinds of restaurants that are family owned and operated and have the reputation for exceptional food. The building may not look like much, but the sense of hospitality and the presence of owners that may look as though they are well beyond retirement age or their younger family members, provides a sense of continuity.

Today’s blog doesn’t have anything to do with food, but the business they provide impacts all of us sooner or later. I was born in Nocona, and though I grew up in West Texas, family ties kept us frequenting that part of the state. Obviously, trips to visit grandparents and other family members make the small town associated with memories that are too precious to forget.

Some of those memories are laced in sadness and loss, rather than happier times associated with holidays and family get togethers. Yet, the times associated to sadness are part of our history and cherished as well as the more joyful times.

I was thirteen years old when my uncle Travis, who was still in his twenties, died from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. He was stationed in Japan while serving in the United States Army when his illness was diagnosed. The prognosis gave him six months to live. He stretched that into six years.

That was my earliest memory of being inside a funeral home. A few years earlier, as a family, we had been to my great grandfather’s funeral. The funeral took place at a church, but the casket and body laid in state in the family’s home.

Interestingly, the same funeral home in Nocona provided support for our family when my mother died in 2010. Though those were not the only two times I was inside that funeral home to attend family visitations.

I have spent most of my adulthood in the hill country of Texas. For many years the Crofts family owned and operated funeral homes in Johnson City and Blanco. Crofts Funeral Home became a reality in 1943 with the purchase of the Ross Funeral Home by Joe and Anna Crofts. They built a new building in 1947. The building continues to serve the families of Johnson City and the surrounding area.

In 1967 the decision was made to extend service to Blanco where a new funeral home was built. With the help of his parents, H.E. (Butch) and his wife Linda Crofts moved to Blanco and opened the new facility. A few years later Joe and Anna sold the funeral home in Johnson City to Butch and Linda.

In Summer 2007, Gordon Crow joined the firm and was located at the Johnson City location. In December 2012, Butch and Linda retired upon the sale of the business to Gordon Crow at which time Gordon changed the name to Crofts-Crow Funeral Homes.

I value the friendship of both of those men. Gordon handled the funeral service for my dad in 2007.

Family-owned funeral homes are independently operated and not beholden to shareholders or corporate mandates. Their primary focus is providing the best service to their communities. I prefer the services provided by these “mom and pop” operations. Currently, 23% of the funeral homes in the United States are owned by corporations and they are reaching out to gain ownership of more.

I’ve shared all of this to recommend a movie to you. The movie is “The Burial” and you can find it on Amazon Prime. “Inspired by true events, when a handshake deal goes sour, funeral home owner Jeremiah O’Keefe (Academy Award winner Tommy Lee Jones) enlists charismatic attorney Willie E Gary (Academy Award winner Jamie Fox) to save his family business. Temper’s flare and laughter ensues as the unlikely pair bond while exposing corporate corruption and racial injustice in this inspirational, triumphant story.” I recommend the movie.

All the Best!

Don

Funny How Time Slips Away

The sound of Ray Price filled my head this morning as I awakened with the thought that next week marks the anniversary date of our being in our new home. In calendar year 2022, I mistakenly thought we’ be in the house to celebrate the New Year. I guess you could say I missed that by a long shot.

The song filling my head this morning was, “Funny How Time Slips Away.” My granddad was right when he told me on his deathbed that it goes by quickly.” I responded that I knew exactly what he was talking about, but in retrospect, I really had no idea. I probably still don’t. He was seventeen years older then, than I am now.

For whatever reason, I’ve thought about my childhood home over the past couple of days. That was so long ago that I don’t remember the color of the rooms or placement of the furniture. Yet, I have so many wonderful memories of life in that locality. The memories mostly relate to family and friends.

My memories before I got out of bed this morning served as a catalyst for me to wonder about the kinds of memories my children will have when they reflect on their childhood home? I had no difficulty because my memories only included one home that I remember before I graduated from high school. My son and daughter are nine and a half years apart, so the memories of their childhood home will be different.

I’ve seen the kinds of adjustments my grandchildren had to make because they were a military family. It is tough on children to be uprooted and then adjust to new neighborhoods, schools and friends. At least, my grandchildren can credit Uncle Sam with their many moves.

During Craig’s childhood, we lived in 11 different homes before he graduated from high school. During Andrea’s life, we lived in 6 different homes by the time she graduated from high school. Since our kids have been grown and gone, the General and I have lived in 4 different homes. I won’t tell you how many places we lived before we had kids. You’d think we aren’t stable.

They say a rolling stone gathers no moss. I guess we should be moss free. I’ve also heard that three moves are the equivalent of a fire. I question the validity of that statement because our attic is full of stuff.

Of course, it is the person or family that occupies the space that makes it a home. Hopefully regardless of location, love, nurture, and support were the defining characteristics that could be found. Home is where the heart is and if love prevails, it matters not where one lives.

I guess you could say we are Texas proud. We’ve never lived anywhere other than Texas. The one thing I know with certainty is how quickly life slips away. James cautions: What is your life? It is a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” [James 4:14]

All My Best!
Don

To Love And To Cherish

Several years ago, I had a friend that worked for the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services in adult protective services. My background was in child protective services. He on the other hand chose a career path working with older adults. When our paths connected again, he told me he had to retire because the work was killing him.

Reportedly he should have had a caseload of 40 people, but instead it was 148 older adults. He said, “There was no way anyone could adequately cover that caseload.” His last assigned case was one he chose to remember.  Because of the nature of the report, he could have taken up to seven days to make contact.

He opted to do it immediately because there was only a twenty-four hour window that the nursing home would keep the man’s space reserved in the nursing home. If he didn’t return in that window of time, he’d be forever out of the place. So, what were the allegations?

Because of advanced Parkinson’s disease and the inability to live without assistance, the man had been placed in nursing home care. Yet, his wife who has Alzheimer’s had come to visit and he convinced her to check him out of the nursing home and take him home. The referral to adult protective services had been made because the social worker at the nursing home knew it was a catastrophe in the making.

So when my friend went to the home to investigate conditions, he asked the wife about her plan to provide support in caring for her husband. She said: “I’ve got people I can call.” He asked for names, and she didn’t have any. She did verbally agree that she wasn’t able to provide for her husband’s needs, but that she’d find help when the time came.

He asked again about her plan for doing so and she didn’t have a plan. In exasperation she said: “I can always call our son.” My friend responded: “That’s great. Let’s call him now”. When he called the son, the son was astounded. He screamed into the phone: “She did what? My mother isn’t able to take care of my dad.”

My friend then went to the back bedroom to talk to the husband with Parkinson’s. When asked if he thought his wife was physically capable of providing for his needs, he said “Yes”. My friend asked: “Do you remember your wedding vows? What did you promise your wife you’d do?” He said: “She promised to love, cherish and obey me.” “So, what did you promise her”, was my friend’s reply. The husband responded: “To love and to cherish”.

That led to: “So if you really love your wife, you’d understand that she doesn’t have the capacity to physically take care of you. In the process of trying, it will become too difficult for her. The stress associated with her need to take care of you when she’s not able, will eventually kill her.  Is that what you want to happen?”.

The man replied: “My room at the nursing home is too small.” My friend replied, “My question about your wedding vows has to do with what you promised to do for your wife. It isn’t about you. If you really love and cherish your wife, you’d know this is too difficult for her to do and she will die trying. Are you willing and ready to go back to the nursing home?” The man responded: “I guess so, but I don’t like it.”
​
My friend followed in his car as the couple made their way back to the nursing home. Once inside, the social worker at the nursing home asked my friend: “How did you manage to do this?” He replied: “I asked about their wedding vows. The husband knew I was right. It simply took a reminder for him to opt to do the right thing.”


All My Best!
Don

“It was just Parker being Parker”

A recent article associated to the mystery of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy caught my attention. There are some things the public will never know because it is thought by people holding the power that it is not in their best interest for us to know.  Most folks in my peer group remember where we were when we learned the President had been killed.  I still have a scrape book that I pulled together chronicling the news stories and press releases associated with the death of President Kennedy. Most probably remember the picture of a small boy, holding a small American flag and saluting the casket of his father.

Years ago, I listened to three audio books written by Bill O’Reilly and Martin Dugard that began with the word “Killing”. The books were “Killing Kennedy”, “Killing Jesus” and “Killing Lincoln”.

I guess when it comes to totally new information, the book on “Killing Lincoln” held more surprises for me than the other two. The book was released on September 27, 2011. It was the first of the three books written. Even then, I basically had the storyline regarding President Lincoln etched somewhere inside my head. However, I was unaware that John Wilkes Booth did not act alone and that attempted murder of others in strategically important places also transpired that same night.

One of the biggest surprises included in the book “Killing Lincoln” was historical reference to the unconscionable act of President Lincoln’s lone bodyguard. John Parker was one of four policemen on the Washington police force assigned responsibility for guarding the President.  The evening of the assassination instead of responsibly guarding the President, Parker opted to leave his post and go to the bar next door to the Ford Theatre and spend an extended period drinking.  After all, who wants to watch a play entitled, “The American Cousin”? 

I would think that vacating one’s post during his assigned shift would minimally be the basis for termination of one’s job.  Parker’s negligence and dereliction of duty could arguably be said to be a contributing factor resulting in the death of the President.  One would think that criminal charges would have resulted.

According to the historical record, Parker did not lose his job despite his failure to fulfill his responsibility. It was just “Parker being Parker”.  If you don’t believe it, look at his record.  Before being assigned the responsibility of being one of the four policemen responsible for guarding the President, the record shows:

“He was hauled before the police board numerous times facing a smorgasbord of charges that should have gotten him fired. But he received nothing more than an occasional reprimand.  His infractions included conduct unbecoming an officer, using intemperate language and being drunk on duty.  Charged with sleeping on a streetcar when he was supposed to be walking his beat, Parker declared that he heard duck’s quacking on the tram and climbed on to investigate.  The charge was dismissed.  When he was brought to the board for frequenting a house of prostitution, Parker argued that the proprietress had sent for him.”

How often in places of employment are employees excused from meeting minimal job expectations simply because they’ve never met them.  Somehow their employment is somehow viewed as an entitlement without accountability. 

Many years ago, when I worked for a public agency, I was assigned responsibility for supervising an employee who had been awarded her position based on an EEOC complaint.  To say that I’ll never forget the employee is an understatement.  Despite my best efforts to provide training, clear expectations regarding job performance, oversight and written corrective action plans, it eventually became clear the employee was consistently ineffective in her role.

Toward the end of her tenure working under my supervision, the employee eventually stopped showing up for employee conferences and sent her attorney instead. Providing supervision for the employee was a nightmare.  She simply did not meet expectations regarding her role in that position.  Consequently, it was my strong recommendation to HR that her employment be terminated. 

I had carefully prepared written documentation to back up my recommendation.  Legal counsel for the agency thought termination was risky considering the previous EEOC complaint.  Consequently, HR negotiated a transfer for the employee to an unrelated section of the agency. Crazy making, isn’t it?

If I could do it again, would I do it differently? You bet I would in areas related to supervision of employees who fell short of meeting job expectations.  Even when I worked for the public sector, I always attempted to be the kind of supervisor that promoted the best interest of employees and at the same time attempted to hold them accountable. However, sometimes under the auspices of “legal counsel”, in a spirit of “Let’s try one more thing to improve performance”, I deferred to their judgment. I’d be quicker to cut our losses now.

So how did John Parker, the absentee policeman and assigned body guard to President Lincoln manage to keep his job following the President’s assassination?  It was probably a work situation like the one I just mentioned.  You can count on it, “When employees are allowed to disregard policies and procedures, fail to meet job expectations and exercise less than prudent judgment, a supervisor’s failure to act quickly is tantamount to allowing substandard performance to become a way of life”.  When employees fail to meet corrective action plans, continuation of poor performance becomes toxic to the work environment.

A workforce is only as strong as its weakest link.  With John Parker on the Washington police force, the reputation of the agency and the safety of others was obviously at risk.


All My Best!

Don

What Do I Know About Profit Margins?

I recently visited with a family member who mentioned in passing that her husband continues to work long hours and takes pride in his ability to do top quality woodwork. When it comes to working with wood, his skillset puts him in an artisan category. He can either start from scratch or his restoration skillset is such that he make antiques better than new.

I couldn’t believe the words that come out of her mouth. She said: “He works too much for a man his age. He is exhausted by the end of the day.” Since her husband and I share the same birthdate, I was shocked! Of course, I haven’t quite yet discovered my skill set, but this guy can do almost anything related to home repair and get accolades for his abilities.

The only downside from her perspective is that her husband shies away from most of the home remodeling projects that she has on her list of things that need to be done. She also thinks that he doesn’t charge enough for his work.

That led me to say that the profit margin is important. That is really knee-slapping funny coming from me! What do I know about profit margins? I’ve spent most of my years working for non-profit corporations.

If the lady’s husband charged what he was really worth, his price would be out of reach for many. I’ve heard it said that, “You get what you pay for?” That isn’t always true. Normally, you don’t get it if you don’t pay for it, but paying for it is not guarantee related to quality.

I have a friend who contracted with a builder to enlarge the blueprint of his property. The guys lack of skill and the corners he turned proved to be a nightmare for my friend and his wife.

In the final analysis, the profit index isn’t always most important. The lady shared with me that she has a dear friend that has rental property. I had the thought: “What a remarkable situation in which to find oneself in today’s market.” She said of her friend something closely akin to: “Her business acumen isn’t always focused on the bottom line. More often than not, she makes rental decisions based on her heart rather than actual market value.”

In other words, her friend makes decisions in the best interests of folks needing a home. It is refreshing to know there are mission-minded folks who balance compassion with the bottom line and are willing to cut folks a break and help when she can.

All My BEST!
Don

Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine

Sometimes coloring outside the lines is hard for me. The General and I had plans to attend a wedding on Sunday afternoon about an hour from where our son and his family live.  Our plan was to rush from church and hope to make it to the wedding on time.  We the would  drive back home. It was a crazy plan.

Actually that was my plan. The General’s plan was for us to spend the night in Cat Spring and visit our son and his family.  What she didn’t know is that I had a routine doctor’s appointment scheduled for this morning. It has been on my calendar for six months.

It was out of character for me, but I suggested around noon on Saturday that we call Craig and ask if it was convenient for us to come? We could take them to dinner on Saturday night.  As it turned out, his kids were all home and he thought it was a good plan.

At the time, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to yesterday being Mother’s Day.  As it turned out, being surrounded by grandchildren was rejuvenating for the General.  Okay, so I’m not purposely playing it cool. It was good for me as well.

The General is in her element when we are with family.  I’m not suggesting that she tires of my company, but as grandkids get older, the likelihood of them being available becomes more of a challenge. What not take advantage of every opportunity?

Okay, so we felt a little guilty about missing church in Henly. Being present on Sunday has been a priority for us for decades.  We miss out on something good when we aren’t present.  So, it was a trade-off for us.  It actually was a good choice.

Strange the things that pop into my head, but I thought about Tom T. Hall and his song: “Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine.  Do you remember the lyrics? 

“How old do you think I am?” he said

I said, “Well I don’t know.”

He said, “I turned 65 about 11 months ago”

I was sittin’ in Miami pourin blended whiskey down

When this old gray Black gentlemen was clean’ up the lounge

There wasn’t anyone around ‘cept this old man and me

The guy who ran the bar was watchin’ “Ironsides” on TV

Uninvited, he sat down and opened up his mind

On old dogs and children, and watermelon wine

:”

“Ever had a drink of watermelon wine?” he asked

He told me all about it, though I didn’t answer back

“Ain’t but three things in this world that worth a solitary dime

But old dogs and children, and watermelon wine”

He said: “Women think about they-selves, when menfolk aint’ around

And friends are hard to find when they discover that you’re down”

He said, “I tried it all when I was pretty young and in my natural prime

Now it’s old dogs and children, and watermelon wine.

“Old dogs care about you when you make mistakes

God bless little children while they’re still too young to hate

When he moved away, I found my pen and copied down that line

‘Bout old dogs and children and watermelon wine

I had to catch a plane up to Atlanta that next day

As I left my room, I saw him pickin’ up my change

That night I dreamed in peaceful sleep of shady summertime

Of old dogs and children and watermelon wine.

With the General, she’s got two of the three covered. She love old dogs and children. She doesn’t like watermelon and she doesn’t drink wine.  Some of you are thinking, give her some time. I have the wherewithal to drive anyone to drink.

The respite from our routine, was good for the two of us. Did I mention that Craig and Becky have four rescue dogs, three children and one foreign-exchange student. Sharing time with them was good for us.

All My Best!

Don

Playful, Fun & Engaging

My mother has been on the other side of eternity for the past 13 1/2   years. As I write that, I question the authenticity of what I’m saying. That  seems like a very long time ago. How can that be possible?

Out of curiosity, I did a Google search to substantiate the date of her death.  Mother was born on December 6, 1925 and went to be with the Lord on December 4, 2010. We opted for her “celebration of life service” on her birthday.  

Just yesterday, as I was thinking about my mother, the word playful came to mind. My mother enjoyed life. She had a sparkle in her eyes and a very playful personality. She could easily interact with both adults and children. There was something about the way she presented herself that she could light up a room by simply being present.

Mother was always conversational and engaging when our friends came over to play. She also frequently had homemade snacks for us to share with friends. During our elementary school years, she took on the responsibility for our cub scout troop leader.  

Mother was also active in the PTA.  When volunteers were needed, she never hesitated to step up to the plate. No one could have been more supportive of us. 

Mother ensured that our childhood was filled with trips to the library, periodic movies for children, seasonal swimming lessons, frequent trips to the skating rink and weekly participation in a multiple of actives at church. We stayed busy.

Perhaps more importantly, she role modeled for us the importance and value of extended family. Mother was one of six children and all of the siblings lived with devotion to their parents and love and support for one another. 

I guess that one of the reasons that I push back on the thought that my mother has been gone for the past 13 1/2 years is that she continues to be so much apart of my life that she is still present. The same is also true of my dad. Both made investments in our lives that continue to reap benefits.

I have a number of friends that lived a very different kind of childhood. Some detest the thought that Mother’s Day should be recognized annually. They live with a sense of estrangement from their family of origin. That, too, has to be a disappointment even though they fail to express it.

I will spend this day counting my blessings and grateful that my mother continues to have a place of importance in my life.

All The Best!

Don

I Think I Can – I Think I Can

The Little Engine That Could is a classic tale of a little engine that, despite her size, triumphantly pulls a train full of wonderful things to the children waiting on the other side of a mountain.

When he was a very little boy, if I read the book to Craig once, I read it to him a hundred times. He was always fascinated with The Little Engine That Could. For that matter, I vaguely remember the book from my childhood.

As you no doubt recall, a stranded train is unable to find an engine willing to take it on over a difficult terrain to its destination. Only the little engine is willing to try and, while repeating the mantra “I think I can, I think I can, overcomes a seemingly impossible task. On the down grade after completing what seemed an impossible task, the train congratulates itself by saying “I thought I could, I thought I could.

Perhaps it was with that same principle in mind, I successfully completed weeks of physical therapy to restore the ability associated with mobility issues regarding my right foot. One of the exercises I hated was to spell the alphabet using my foot. By now, I’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

That exercise, along with the sound of Velcro securing or releasing my orthopedic boot, are two things I don’t mind parting with for the next forever. Been there/Done that is my seasoned response.

How often do we give up on accomplishing a task because we cease to believe “I think I can, I think I can? Sometimes our endeavors set us up for failure. In the years that I’ve been flying to Washington, D.C., I’ve only flown into Dulles Airport one time.  Getting from Dulles to D.C. was a challenge.  Reportedly, you can now make the commute by train.

The one time I flew into and out of Dulles, I remember entering the airport and seeing several rows of escalators going up and several going down. As I was headed up, out of the periphery of my vision I noticed a woman attempting to go up on an escalator going down. Talk about two steps forward – two steps back. To add to the difficulty, she was pulling luggage behind her.

It was like watching someone run on a treadmill. She was moving fast, but there wasn’t much forward motion.  Eventually a person coming down the escalator redirected the woman to the escalators going up.  I didn’t see her facial expression, but she had to be grateful to discover an easier way to get to the second floor.

I remember that the incident reminded me of my mother. Mother never attempted to go up an escalator going down, but she was always afraid to step onto the escalator. There was something about the first step on the moving stairs that created fear for her.  Consequently, we took her by the arm and told her when to step. Even then it was a challenge for her.

I suspect that my grandsons have the memory of “The Little Engine That Could” in their backgrounds. I think both have overdone it in their quest for lifting weights, but who am I to say?  Maybe I gave up way too early.

All My Best!

Don

We Had Hail

We were on dog duty last night. My daughter and son-in-law are out of town. We had just pulled up to the gate in front of their house when I told the General that the dark sky looked threatening. I got out of the truck to open the gate. Out of nowhere, intermittent drops of rain and hail began to fall. By the time I had pulled through the open gate and gotten back in my truck, it became apparent that we’d do well to get inside the house quickly.

A huge hail stone hit the windshield of my truck and from the sound, I thought for sure the window would be shattered. Fortunately, it was not. We managed to get inside the house without getting hit in the head by hail, but it was a very close call. Seconds later, the deluge of rain and hail was a force of nature putting everything in its path at risk.

The shrill sound of a weather alert warning went off on my phone. The message was ominous. Outside was not a place for man or animals – Seek cover. In addition to heavy rain and large hail, the threat of a tornado also existed.

The experience triggered a memory from long ago. Our family had gone to a drive-in movie. As I recall, we were in a 1953 Chevrolet. That would have put me between the first and third grade. At any rate, out of nowhere we found ourselves in the middle of a storm and we headed to the safety of home long before the movie was over. I don’t recall that there was any hail damage to the car, but we got home to discover that hail had broken out one of our windows.

From a childhood perspective, I don’t remember feeling unsafe. I guess dad orchestrated the kind of command that we had nothing to worry about. During the drive from the gate to the house yesterday, there was a surge in my anxiety level. Hail stones the size we experienced was a definite threat.

My daughter’s home has lots of windows. Along with the dogs, we stayed in an interior room just to be on the safe side. The sound of hail hitting the metal roof was a little concerning, but we weathered the storm. Fortunately, no windows were broken.

Of course, my tough Ford truck didn’t fare well from the storm. Surprisingly, I decided not to let it make me crazy. Historically, I’ve never driven a vehicle with a door-ding without getting it quickly repaired. The same will be true for my truck. Actually, I probably won’t get it done quickly due to supply and demand.

All My Best!

Don

We Don’t Yet See Things Clearly

Eugene Peterson is an incredibly gifted communicator. His scripting of the love chapter of the bible is figuratively a home run, so to speak. He begins the 13th Chapter of 1 Corinthians this way: “If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.”

My dad seemingly was of the mindset that you can resolve a lot of difficulties with a roll of duct tape and a can of WD-40. Duct tape can hold things together rather than to allow them to fall apart. And of course, WD-40 takes away the irritating sound of the creaking of a rusty gate.

I particularly like the way Peterson scripts verses 12-13: “We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.”

There is something about a heavy fog that obscures the ability to see clearly. The past several mornings, it has been foggy in my neighborhood. As the sun rises in the east, I attempt to inventory the weather by simply looking outside.

I took the picture I posted with this blog one day last week. The fog served as a filter to minimize the view from the back deck of my home. On another morning, I made my way through the fog to the local grocery store and upon returning home, had difficulty locating where to turn left off the highway into my neighborhood.

There is a cellphone tower near the entrance to my neighborhood. Because of the fog, I could not see the tower at all. I almost missed the turn. It felt eerie.

Sometime our self-assessment of how well we’re doing at trusting steadily in God, hoping unswervingly, and loving extravagantly reflects something other than reality. I suspect that we often give ourselves more credit than we have coming.

I don’t remember the name of this poem written by Edgar A. Guest, but I think it offers direction in evaluating the aforementioned characteristics:

I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town.
With a ho-heave-ho and lusty yell,
They swung a beam and a sidewall fell.

I asked the foreman, “Are these men skilled,
The men you’d hire if you had to build?”
He gave me a laugh and said, “No indeed!
Just common labor is all I need.

I can easily wreck in a day or two
What builders have taken a year to do.”
And I thought to myself as I went my way,
Which of these two roles have I tried to play?

Am I a builder who works with care,
Measuring life by the rule and square?
Am I shaping my deeds by a well-made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?

Or am I a wrecker who walks the town,
Content with the labor of tearing down?

All My Best! Don