No. 51

To this day, I can close my eyes and see Adam and Jesse coming across the driveway at Nanny and Papaw's house. This happened a good two or three years ago, but the memory is still fresh. I hope it never fades.

For my sons, there's no place on Earth like their grandparent's house. There, they can do no wrong. Jeanie's parents love them and ... well ... pamper them, and Adam and Jesse love them right back. When Jeanie and I have to leave them at Jean and Tom's, the boys are pumped.

When they were just three or four, they both pitched fits when we got there. Getting them out the door and into the car was a battle, from start to finish. As I was strapping them into their car seats, I asked in frustration if they wanted to just move in Nanny and Papaw. Jesse very politely undid his harness and came up out of that seat like a bullet.

He hadn't known THAT was an option.

However long ago it was, I again pulled into the driveway to pick them up. When I did, I saw Adam come running across the yard, hollering for me to stop. I put my SUV in park, and he told me to close my eyes and to not open them until they were ready. I heard some sort of commotion, but I'd promised. I kept my eyes shut.

"OK, Daddy ... open 'em up!!!"

I choke up even typing the words, but I looked and here came Adam and Jesse dragging an eight-foot cross that Papaw had helped them nailed together. They were so young at the time, they struggled under the weight of it.

My God ...

What crosses will they have to bear in the future? Dear God, please, if anybody in my family has to get sick, please let it be me. When they do walk through the valley, will I be around and able to help pick them up? There was a time in my life when I was completely and utterly alone in this world, and that will not happen to Adam or Jesse or Richard as long as I'm alive and they'll allow me to be there for them.

That old rugged cross is just outside the window of my office, leaning against the house. I look at it often, just as a reminder ...

No. 50

This is the very essence of what it means to be the dad of a child with Asperger's.

Last week, I got a call from Jesse's teacher. No matter what she tried, he would not -- could not? -- complete his work. He wasn't being ugly. He just could not get going on what he needed to be doing. I went to school and wound up spending the rest of that day and two more observing and trying to prod him along.

Jesse, unpack your bag.

Jesse, get out your science book.

Jesse, work on your math journal.

Jesse ...

Jesse ...

Jesse ...

Once he did finally finish, his assignments were almost always perfect. He's got the best handwriting in the world ... not for a kid his age. In the world. Math word problems I would've taken hours to figure out, he was doing in his head in a matter of seconds. My time at school left me and Jeanie scratching our heads, trying to figure out the best course of action.

There's not a medication available that will make Jesse like other kids, and that's not our goal. Jesse was meant to be the way Jesse is, but we very deeply want to make the things that are difficult for him just a little bit easier. When that happens, watch out.

Tuesday night, Jesse had his weekly piano lesson and when it was over, his teacher had given him a book of Tziak ... Tchiacho ... Shakov ... Tskav ... Tchaikovsky compositions to practice -- yes, I had to look it up. At this very moment, as I type these words, Jesse is on the piano, playing the intro to the "Nutcracker March" in each of the different sound settings his has on his keyboard.

Thumbing through the book on the way home, he talked about the other books his piano teacher has -- stuff from Beethoven and Mozart. He couldn't wait to get his hands on them.

That's my Jesse.

No. 49

When I was a kid, Sept. 11 was one of the two most important days of the year. Christmas was when Santa Claus showed up, but Sept. 11 was my birthday and my mom always made sure that it was special. To this day, I can remember the G.I. Joe, G.I. Joe car and G.I. headquarters that I got when I turned five.

As I grew older, I still looked forward to the day. I've always been a big kid, and to be honest, I would really kind of like to stay that way. Kids don't have any worries.

Then came 2001.

The date is still the anniversary of my birth, but it will never be the same as it once was. I would love to have my birthday back, that same sense of wonder, that same sense of expectation. But how can I say that? How can I be so incredibly selfish over a birthday, when thousands of others lost so much more than I did that day?

This being the tenth anniverary of the attacks, coverage of that day has been virtually wall to wall for a few days now. Today, I've been nothing short of depressed. I wanted to maybe clear my head a little bit, so I went for a walk at the park. When I got back, Jeanie handed me some note cards that Jesse had drawn for a 9/11 project he's doing at school.

One of them caught my attention like a sledge hammer between the eyes. As far as I can tell, it's his own concept, not copied from any other source.

Here it is ...

I do not mind in the least admitting that I broke down in tears. God was there that day. We might not have been able to see Him, or feel His arms wrapped around us. But make no mistake ... He was there. He was in control, and remains so today. Best of all, there will be a day when tragedies like that day will be no more.

Thank you, Jesse. Once again, you've given your dad a lift just when he needed it the most.

No. 48

Don't know how it happened exactly, but I've developed kind of a weird habit when the boys are in the process of getting in trouble.

Instead of saying something I'll regret and have to apologize for later, I've taken to saying, "For the love of ..." -- and here's the strange part -- I'll include the name of a baseball player from the 1970s or 80s. Thing is, the better the player, the more they know it's just a warning shot across the bow.

For the love of Pete Rose ...

For the love of Mike Schmidt ...

For the love of Tony Perez ...

For the love of Johnny Bench ...

For the love of Nolan Ryan ...

They're OK, for the time being. But if I start evoking scrubs, Adam and Jesse know for a fact that the four horses of the apocalypse are about to head through our house.

For the love of Biff Pocoroba ... Jesse, we're dead men.

For the love of Ed Armbrister ... hide. NOW!!!