WONDER

I have spent the past ten years visiting schools and often talking about bullying, hazing and character issues and how it relates to some of my own childhood experiences, those of my son and the content of my GP series of books.  I am often asked by teachers for books that would be great read-alouds and I am very careful to recommend books that will bring forth great discussion, compassion and empathy for those different from onself.  As with the main character of WONDER, I can NEVER understand how people can be so cruel as to make and already difficult situation more difficult.   

Wonder is a book told from multiple perspectives about a ten year old boy who is dealing with the perfect storm of genetic facial issues who enters into the scary world of public school for the first time in fifth grade. Having been cocooned for his whole life in the nest of loving parents, an understanding and for the most part empathetic older sister and a loving dog, Daisy, he must now go out into the CRUEL world and find out if he can make it against the odds.  

You will find yourself championing August "Augie" as he encounters wonderful people (Summer, one of my favorite characters) and will weed through betrayal and outright bullies (my least favorite characters).

I don't want to spoil the story in any way, but I will tell you half way through I said aloud, "I sure hope this DEBUT WRITER knows how to end this well.  I don't want to invest in this book both time wise and emotionally to be let down.  I assure you, there is NO let down.

I predict this DEBUT WRITER has penned a Newbery. 

I have had readers come to my book signings and thank me for including them in my books.  Primarily those with speech impediments, I can only imagine how this lovely little girl felt when she knew she was represented with such aplomb, dignity and character.  BRAVO Ms. Palacio, BRAVO!

Before I was a writer, I was a reader and the VERY BEST thing for me as a boy was MAD MAGAZINE. I was fortunate to have a mom who had one rule about room cleaning and that was "If your door is shut, I don't care how you keep it!" That meant Mom never ventured in to throw away my Hot Rod Cards or Mad Magazines, which are now stored safely in my basement. In 1974 I had the Mad Magazine (pictured here) which began my quest; To see the movie it parodied. Being a Catholic boy, there was something very, very dangerous and delicious about pondering the evil potential within the story. I was SO scared of it, it was like a single lamp in the backyard that draws and destroys the moth who continually bangs against it. I HAD TO SEE IT! But Mom said "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" For you younger readers, please bear in mind that at this time our black and white television showed four channels and a test pattern of an Indian in a head dress. The point I was trying to make was that this was a much more innocent time, when there were NO slasher movies on tv, just the black and white Creature Features with The Werewolf, Dracula and The Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman. I have always loved scary stories and for some reason because October is the month of Halloween, I always watch scary movies during the month and read a book that is in the Horror genre.




So last night, after the lights were out in my house and everyone was in bed except me, I sneaked into my office and watched THE SCARIEST movie I have ever seen. It pulled me back to the year 1975, the year I was born. Ahem... okay, not exactly, but a year that would lodge itself in my memories because of ONE fateful night, and ONE fateful movie and ONE fateful error in judgment. It all came flooding back to me last night in such a real way that I literally know what it feels like to have the hair stand on end on the back of your neck.



First; the MORAL OF THE STORY - MOM IS ALWAYS RIGHT! The way to live a better, saner, fuller life - LISTEN TO MOM!

In 1975 I was a boy emerging into the decade of impending teenagedom. My parents were fairly, to be honest, really liberal and a bit lax in their parenting skills. Both were college professors and somehow the space they gave their students translated to the way they parented.

However, I must say it was an easier time. We ran in packs and no one messes with a pack of kids, especially in a then country neighborhood! No one was worried about a kid barely in his double digits staying out 'till two in the morning on a hot, summer night because everyone slept in their backyards (kids anyway)in the summer. There were a few rules of course: NO LAKE OR POND after dark (unless there were at least five of you together). No crossing the highway after dark! Stay off the railroad track after dark. SOMEHOW everything cool happened after dark and I wasn't supposed to have any of the fun.
I was sitting up in my tree house with a couple of my pals and down below us there were some teenagers (they didn't know we were up there.) They were smoking cigarettes and talking in loud whispers about how terrifying the movie they had seen the night before was. Blow by blow they talked about The Exorcist, which to that point I only knew about through the view of Mad Magazine. They talked about the scenes everyone who ever saw that movie has been unable to erase from their minds.

When the three teens jumped in their hot rod Mustang with a "Let's go see it again!" Me and my two buddies made a pact. We were going to go see it. We made a plan which would require us to break SO many rules. We knew our Moms would NEVER let us see the movie and that we would be grounded FOREVER if we walked down the highway at night, so we made an alternate plan, which would end up breaking even more rules.

The next night we would each tell our moms that we were sleeping in the other's backyard tent (FIRST BROKEN RULE, LYING). Then right before dark, since The Exorcist was the second feature and we didn't want to be spotted in daylight, we would head down the railroad track (SECOND BROKEN RULE, RAILROAD TRACK AND DARK)which would take us the three miles to the outdoor Drive-In Theater past a lake and a pond (THIRD BROKEN RULE, AFTER DARK BODY OF WATER) and then we would have to cross the highway (FOURTH BROKEN RULE, CROSSING THE HIGHWAY AT NIGHT) to sneak into the drive-in theater (FIFTH BROKEN RULE, STEALING BY NOT PAYING TO GET IN) Where we'd stand out in the middle of the gravel lot, next to the speakers and watch the forbidden movie (SIXTH BROKEN RULE, DIRECTLY IGNORING A SPECIFIC RULE MOM SET DOWN) We'd all been there before with our respective parents, but this time we were hoofin' it!

At the last minute one of my buddies chickened out and so it was only going to be the two of us. Me and a kid we called PeePot because of his propensity to wait too long to go to the bathroom and then frequently wet his pants (not exactly a guy you wanted spending the night in your tent). Both of us wanted desperately to beg off the dare, but neither wanted to lose face. So we stuffed our pockets with candy for the movie and headed out.

It took us forever to walk down that dark railroad track. The only time there was light to keep us from tripping on almost every railroad tie was the time the train came, sending us both hurdling down the incline, getting a bit scratched up from our overreaction. It seemed with every step it got darker as we ventured further out into the middle of nowhere.

Where was the moon? All I remember is with every passing half mile the terror began to grow to the point where neither of us spoke, because we couldn't. We both had FICM, fear-induced-cotton-mouth and we weren't even there yet. Just when I thought I would panic I realized we were where we needed to turn up a gravel road running directly into the old outdoor movie theater.

Even though not technically a highway, several cars came over hills catching us like 'deer in the headlights' and we would hear voices yelling at us to "GET OUT OF THE ROAD, STUPID!" and stuff like that. We began to jog and I swear I could hear something sloshing when Pee-Pot was running next to me. We both breathed a huge sigh of relief as we secreted our way across the highway and then slipped under the fence, finding our way to an empty spot where the speakers hung on the post. We stood far enough away from cars that no one should notice two kids standing at the DRIVE-in.

And then it happened, the credits rolled and suddenly we were in ancient Iraq at an archeological dig. "WHAT GIVES? THIS IS LIKE A NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MOVIE?" I complained loudly, but secretly a bit relieved that this wasn't going to be quite as terrifying as I had thought.

Soon enough young Regan's head was spinning like a top and floating around her room with the scariest face I had ever seen. She was using phrases I didn't understand and language that would earn me a bar of Lava in the kisser if I ever repeated any of them (mom wasn't too liberal about that one.) By the end of the movie I wasn't sure if Pee-Pot was the only one who would have that nickname from that night on. I WAS T E R R I F I E D! Pee-Pot's eyes were so wide I thought he would never blink again. I was sure the whole place was going to go up in smoke for showing such a movie.

I have never been that scared in my life and we had three miles of dark road ahead of me and by now it was well after midnight. We somehow hadn't counted on the three mile trek back in the now terrifying, "possessed" night darkness when we made the decision to go see the scariest movie ever made.

EVERY twig that snapped or coyote that howled convinced me with every step that I was becoming possessed like poor Regan. Pee-Pot completely lost the ability to speak and even though it was too dark to see his face, I was sure he was crying most of the way home.

I had never noticed how comforting the streetlight across the road from my house was at night, but seeing it as we crested the hill was like a beacon leading me home. Neither Pee-Pot nor I said a word, we both just knew there was NO sleeping in our tents that short night (by now it was around three in the morning).

I sneaked up the metal ladder that was below my window, against the house and pulled the screen off and squeezed my way in. I slipped down into my bed and pushed myself deep down under a cover in my bed, even though it was a hot summer night, I needed to be cocooned. Suddenly my bed felt like it was moving and I was sure I was about to begin floating.

I lay there wide awake, unable to close my eyes as they darted to and fro wondering when my dresser was going to scoot across the floor and pin me against the wall. I was totally terrified until the sun came up. It was the first night in my life I had stayed up ALL night. Though it was comforting to see the sun come up on the darkest night of my life, somehow I knew night would be sneaking up on me again too soon.

The worst part of my disobedience was that I couldn't tell anyone that I was so scared or why. I had to suffer night terrors for about a month before the raw, scary emotional response to seeing something I was WAY too young to see with not parental comfort began to subside.

I learned one of the most valuable lessons of my life that night about listening to people who know a bit more about things than I do. I also decided that for the meantime, the parodies of adult movies in Mad Magazine were more my style and didn't feel compelled to go see something that I couldn't handle. If Mom said "NO!", then that was an answer. I would listen to more.

I confessed to the activities of that dark and scary night when I was in high school when enough time had passed and we could all "laugh about it". Mom told me Pee Pot had ratted me out back then because he was so scared he had slept with his parents for about six months. When I asked her why she hadn't confronted me about it back then, she said something like, "Are you kidding me? You were the most compliant, helpful, obedient kid for the next month that I'd ever seen and I could see you were punishing yourself enough. I didn't have the heart to do more." 

I said it before and I will say it again: The MORAL OF THE STORY - MOM IS ALWAYS RIGHT! The way to live a better, saner, fuller life - LISTEN TO MOM!

I had all but forgotten this horrific chapter in my early life until I once again watched The Exorcist all these years later and it all came back to me. I literally remember exactly how I felt the first time I dipped my toe into terrifying story telling. Though I am mature enough now to handle the terror and have a clear understand that it is simply a story of God winning, it is not like the cotton candy of my youth, which the last time I was at an amusement park made me wonder how I at one time in my life considered it one of my top five favorite foods. No, The Exorcist has remained horrifying and good storytelling to this day. I asked the question of my friends on facebook, What is the scariest movie you have ever seen and 40%+ named this movie.

Nothing since has come close, though the fear I felt at two in the morning not that long ago, after returning from seeing the Midnight Movie showing of The Ring with a buddy set me up a bit. Once I entered my dark, cold house and my phone started ringing that old fear gripped me hard until I looked out the window and saw my buddy gripping his cell phone and laughing hard at what must have been a white face with too-wide eyes. I haven't gotten him back for that one yet, but I will... BOOHAHAHAHA...

Now all these years later, I write stories and have been working on a scary one for years titled THE MAN IN THE WOODS, which I won't release until I am sure it holds the same terror for the reader that this movie held for me once.

But, generally, in my GP series, something from real life sparks my inspiration for my character's activities. This real life incident I have just told (in a too long for blog story, nod with me now) will surely show up in book 5 or 6 as something either Gabe and his friends do or something their older brothers do. Either way, it will have a similar backfire effect.

As a Catholic schoolboy I knew Thou Shalt Obey Your Mother and Father was one of the big TEN. Believe me after that experience I did a bit more obeying for a long, long time!





Still, I wish I could head out tonight to the Drive-In, but alas, it seems for the most part, they are gone from the landscape of our modern world.

A facebook friend of mine asked me if I would repost this post this entry.  I have been so busy recently that recycling a post seems logical to me!  I am almost finished with a book I am writing, then I will return to my blogging with more regularity.  She told me of all the things I have written (does that include my books?) that this is by far her favorite and should somehow become a book.

What do you think?

As my trees are so heavy laden with blossoms and I envision a HUGE BUMPER CROP of peaches and apples this year, as long as the squirrels don't interfere, I am wondering if I should again set the trap out there???

The post below was originally put up last summer. The reason I have reprised it is that it has happened again... Who knew raccoons would fight squirrels for a cinnabon? For you, my readers, there is one thing I want to make totally clear; I LOVE ANIMALS and the reason I am trapping is to give them opportunity for a better life (there is an awesome field nearby where the cottonwood trees shade my favorite running path and a creek burbles noisily into a pond all summer long. Food is ample and the opportunity to meet the opposite sex is much better! The digs there are much more squirrel friendly than my back yard. So I carefully move them from my yard to what to a squirrel has to be heaven on earth in my wife's SUV, much to her dismay...

"Why don't you ever use your own for this?"
"Well, your SUV is wider and it is easier to move the trap in and out..."
EYE ROLL, SHOULDER SHRUG, DISMISSIVE LOOK (come on, you know the one my matrimonially embarked friends)

My new neighbors have a BIG, new dog who loves to torment the critters in our adjoining yards (and stomp all over my newly planted seedlings, perhaps I need a bigger trap?) So the mother squirrel (a leftover from last year) protects her next by jumping from tree to tree, chattering angrily and tossing pine cones at his head. He is so enamoured with her that he sticks around, usually long enough to ahem... relieve himself. Did I mention he is a BIG dog? Further reason to simply get the critters that draw him to our yard out of here!

My own Italian Greyhound cannot stand to have the squirrels in our backyard and of course the mother squirrel has built her nest in the pine tree right off of my dog's favorite window so there is no doubt she is moving about back there. I work at home and my dog DRIVES ME CRAZY RUNNING FROM WINDOW TO WINDOW when they move about in the yard. But the BIGGEST reason I simply must move them is my "peach orchard" which is bound to have a bountiful harvest this year (still eating peach smoothies from the peaches I froze last summer). The squirrels have a very annoying habit. I actually wouldn't mind sharing a peach or two with them, we have plenty, but what they do is climb the tree take a bite, toss it down to the lawn, take another bite, toss it down to the lawn. Who wants to eat a peach a squirrel slobbered on?

I think now that I am up to 10 peach trees in my suburban neighborhood, I can call it an orchard, so there must be squirrel memos that go out "PARTY AT THE MATOTT'S! Peaches, all you can eat! Come on by for the open house!"

By the way, I got a postcard from "RICKY", the dude pictured above. He recently honeymooned in Cabo and is looking forward to getting back to the "awesome place I left him" last summer. He will be happy to know he is to be joined by another relocated raccoon today!

We had a bear within a mile of our house yesterday. I wonder if he/she knew about the grill (mentioned within this blog) and was coming back for more. If there are going to be bears in the hood this summer, I better get a bigger trap for sure!

Though I didn't get comments on this posting last year, I got numerous emails about it, all positive. I hope you enjoy it and LET THIS YEAR'S TRAP TALLY BEGIN!


If you read my earlier blog about catch and release you might not recognize this little guy as the subject I was hoping to catch and release and neither did I. This dude or dudette was apparently hanging out in my backyard, unbeknownst to me likely feeding off my compost pile and decided that he or she would rather enjoy the wonderful toast and peanut butter spread I had left for one of the three million squirrels already taking the peaches off our trees.

I awakened one morning last week earlier than the sun and from my office window, looking out over my back yard, I could tell that the trap had closed during the night. It looked like something larger than a squirrel was in there, but it was too dark to tell. I had visions of SUPER SQUIRREL, a strange thirty pound Guinness World record holder being held captive in my backyard. As the sun came up it became apparent to me that I had likely caught one of my neighbor's cats and not Super Squirrel. I was trying to write a chapter for one of my upcoming chapter books but my curiosity kept my mind wandering. Then when I walked out into the garden realizing simply by the sound coming from the area where the trap was that this was no cat and this was no squirrel. No, this was a hissing, angry raccoon who simply wanted a little PBJ and then was hoping to be on his way... but got caught my amateur trapper-bonehead yours truly.

Having loved where the red fern grows and being permanently scarred by what a raccoon will and can do to a dog or anyone else it decides to have a beef with and having heard stories about how vicious these critters can be when trapped I decided I needed help before I did anything about this predicament. I went to the most reliable source I could find to determine what to do... google.com. As I perused the page, it first said: "UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE SHOULD YOU TRAP YOUR OWN RACCOON, HIRE A PROFESSIONAL AND DON'T BE A CHEAPSKATE!" Okay, I wasn't being cheap, I didn't intend to trap this dude. Then the warnings about the likely outcome of letting this angry dude go scared me even more. The website actually tried to tell me the preferred method of relocation would be to heaven. I am NOT going to harm an animal that simply wants to eat a free PBJ and live freely, but that I don't want simply living in my backyard, eating my garden's bounty and my orchard. SO... as I read on, the website chided me further about being a cheapskate (it must have been posted by someone who makes his or her living relocating animals and doesn't like the novice trapper-releaser-relocator) and told me if I insisted on doing this myself I should arm my self well and wish for the best.

After sufficiently feeling belittled and a bit frightened, I headed out into the already 80 degree morning wearing heavy boots and socks, jeans, a flannel shirt, heavy leather work gloves and a bandana tied around my face (to ward off the websites warnings of distemper, plague and many other possibilities if this dude simply coughs in my SUV as I am relocating which can relocate me to heaven). As I lifted the crate, he or she lunged at me, hissing and making sure I understood that once released, he or she was aiming for my carotid artery and I just might be spending my last summer moments on earth.

I carried the cage with a wildly gyrating and noisy raccoon as outstretched from my body as possible and set it gently into the back of my SUV. Did I mention the website also mentioned that it was illegal in most states to relocate a raccoon? SO, here I was setting off to commit a possible felony with a very angry, plague ridden animal in the back of my SUV. I had all the windows down and the back door open so air could flow backwards and keep his plaguey breath away from me. I intended to do only California stops (a potential misdemeanor) so the air couldn't double back and descend upon me in the way plague tends to do, at least in my overactive imagination. I headed to a wonderfully wooded area, near an elementary school where I imagined my angry buddy living the good life and actually appreciating my thoughtfulness. Perhaps he might even send me a Christmas card with a picture of his new wife and family, all thanks to my kind desire to simply relocate him to a place better suited for wildlife.

As I eased my way down in to the elementary school parking lot and readied myself for what was to possibly be the last moments of my life as I knew it, I noticed another car descending into the parking lot too, the difference between that car and mine was that it had sirens and the words SHERIFF on the doors as well as a burly man in a uniform with a "don't mess with me" look on his face. Here I was on an early-getting hotter by the moment-morning, in the outfit I mentioned previously and the bandana now tucked up into my hat to protect not only my airways, but to pull up over my eyes in case this particular varmint preferred eye gouging to simply chewing of skin and arteries. The sheriff pulled around the parking lot and nodded at me like this was something he saw every day. I nodded back and he looked at me like the next move was mine.

SO I waited a sufficient amount of time since our last eye-lock and started my engine slowly easing my way out of the parking lot, having pulled the bandana down as though just a neck decoration and holding my breath for somewhere around ten minutes, he pulled up and stopped near the exit to the parking lot and as I glided past him, back doors of the SUV open, a chattering, banging raccoon giving my stereo a run for its money, I gave him the "guy nod" and started into a neighborhood, where I figured at the next vacant stop sign I would gift these people's pesky squirrels with a little buddy to play with. It seemed like every four way stop sign had four way busyness to keep me from exporting my little friend so I drove on for what seemed like hours, sticking my head out the window every time I inhaled through my bandana, taking huge gulps of fresh, non plague or distemper tainted air.

Finally I came to a HUGE open space with a running stream, lots of tall trees and what seemed like the perfect place to let this dude out. Did I mention that during this entire episode, the little guy was banging, bending and screaming at ever increasing in volume intervals? I pulled over, checked my mirrors and backed into a little dirt drive. I went to the back, pulled the cage out, while holding the clawed garden hoe that was to be my defense against the raccoon's attack. He was hissing, jumping, banging and screaming at me. I got into the back of my SUV and pulled the door as closed as I could in this awkward position, sticking the hoe out through the few inches of open door and imagined him running around the side of the vehicle and leaping into one of the open windows, thus trapping me inside for my flesh tearing session. I grabbed the catch that holds the trap shut with the hoe from inside the SUV and pulled back, it went up about three inches and then crashed down loudly clanging further enraging the possibly rabid raccoon, who must have thought I was just toying with him.

Thoughts of bullfighters and viciously angry bulls came to mind and how a trapped bull will turn on the matador and then gore him, throwing him ten feet into the air. Suddenly it seemed that this large cat-sized raccoon could do just that. I pulled with all my might holding the cage door open and he just sat there. I waited for what seemed like an hour, my arms falling asleep, my heart beating so loud he must have heard it, reminding me of the things I had heard about animals sensing fear and capitalizing on it by tearing their captors in two.

Then I did what anyone would do that wanted the raccoon to be calm when he finally emerged from the trap, I began screaming at the top of my lungs, "GO YOU BIG DUMMY, MOVE! GET OUT OF THERE!" Suddenly, he sprang into action, he began to scurry out of the trap like a bat out of H-E-Double-Toothpicks! A sense of relief overtook me as he emerged and ran the opposite way of my SUV. Then just as I thought this little mistaken episode was over, he stopped and turned, his yellow fangs glinting in the sunlight and looked right into my eyes, which were just slits behind the bandana. Did I mention I was drenched in sweat from the heat, now approaching 110 degrees in the SUV covered by more clammy sweat from sheer ice cold fear?

He looked at me with intent. Suddenly I saw his little masked face and couldn't help but think that he was awful darn cute. He nodded up and down as though to say "Hey thanks a lot dude, this place is SWEET!"

He jumped down the little concrete curb and scurried off into the tall grass, his funny little body bumping up and down heading across the field headed right for the tall cottonwood trees I had intended for him to find. I pulled the bandana off my face and jumped out of the SUV and shouted HAVE FUN DUDE! Then I stripped off the flannel shirt, pulled off my boots and socks and headed for home (driving barefoot is at least a misdemeanor).

That night I had about three hundred dreams that the raccoon was on my front porch, back porch, garage, bathroom, bedroom, kitchen and pretty much everywhere else I frequented including my regular Starbucks! Believe it or not, he was behind the counter waiting in cahoots with my regular barista to size up my tip and attitude deciding if it was going to be the carotid or the face that got attacked first.

Several days passed and no signs of him returning, but alas, I thought, another squirrel was in there that I would have to find a new home for (this is getting old) No, not a squirrel, I awakened to something strange in the cage. Sitting there staring at me in my office was a huge black bird, trapped by my peanut butter treat. That relocation was the easiest; I opened the cage, the bird flew away and all I lost in the deal was some bread. Come to find out, it didn't like the peanut butter after all.

SO, the current backyard count is 4 squirrels, 1 raccoon and 1 bird all happily living elsewhere. My next door neighbor, amused at my early morning Daniel Boone forays, said something yesterday that terrified me, "What are you going to do if you catch a skunk?"

Do skunks like peanut butter? Back to google, I'll let you know. Oh and by the way, after further research I have found out that I wasn't breaking any laws, Colorado is one state where you can, by law, relocate a racoon, but not a fox? And that thing about driving barefoot. I don't know if that is urban legend or if you really have to have shoes on to drive a car.

Did I mention that a few years back a black bear disassembled my backyard grill partially? Then she left her footprints in my next door neighbor's kid's sandbox. How did I know she was a she? She was on the news. She had fallen asleep in a tree a few miles away. Perhaps the heavy grease from the drippings in my grill made her tired. I just hope her babies don't like peanut butter.

Birth day - Birth Mom

 On the eve of my birthday, I want to give thanks to the woman who carried me for 9 months of true hardship. 9 months that were physically, emotionally and psychologically straining and then she did one of the hardest things a woman will ever do; she gave her baby away.  She gave me away. 

She knew my life would be better with a different family and MAN OH MAN was she right (it's a long story, one that I have actually written a yet unpublished book). 

I don't have an earlier picture of myself than the one above.  The picture was taken the day my mom and dad brought me home at six months. 

Her life's testimony since is encouraging to many people, especially women.  Our story is one that encourages and has allowed me to speak to groups that minister to young women who are making tough decisions as they are carrying "unwanted" children.  My youngest son, Ethan, used our story in Uganda this past month as he ministered to pregnant teenage girls to encourage them.  

You see, as my all time favorite bumper sticker said: 'GOD DON'T MAKE JUNK!' with a picture of a little baby next to it. The picture above could have fit on that bumper sticker.

I am not, nor ever was a "mistake".  The circumstances surrounding my birth were in many ways horrible and tragic, but I WAS NO MISTAKE and neither are those unwed mother's babies!  I don't mean for my blog to be political or devisive in any way, but the most startling thing I found out the morning I met my birth mother was that she had tried to abort me, not once, but twice.  Her life circumstances were so desperate and hellish that she felt out of choices, so she desperately searched for a resolution that might help her preserve her life and those of her three children. 

I have never told the story about finding my birth mother without the person I am telling either crying and/or telling me to finish the book, you see, she isn't the same person she was when she carried me.  Ours is a story of hope, faith and grace. She has a faith in God that she is loved, forgiven and free of any guilt and I bear no ill feelings about the past. God had a plan for me then and he still does now. 
 

 She is my birth mother and the reason I can celebrate my birthdays in spite of her earlier tragic circumstances.  

My mom, the woman who raised me, used to tell me on my birthdays that there was a special woman out there who gave her one of her greatest gifts; me.  

My mom was thankful for her and so am I.   

Please hug your mom!

Today was my mom's birthday.  I say was because I don't think birthdays are a big thing in heaven because everyday is like a celebrated birthday there!

This was my status update on Facebook this morning:

Today, I lift a glass to toast my mom. She has been gone since I was in my twenties, but she is so ever present in my heart and my personality. She (and dad) adopted me when I was a baby, but she never let me forget that "she worked damn hard" to get me. Today was her official birthday, but true to form for my mom and her unique style, she wouldn't celebrate her birthday on the same day as D-Day, so she unofficially changed it. Here's to a wonderful mom, who is so often missed!

Immediately my friends started LIKING the status.  This tells me two things, I have thoughtful friends and MOMS are popular!

My mom was an unpretentious scholar.  She was very loved by students and staff at the university she spent most of her career at.  My mom was a tough as nails first generation immigrant. She was a no BS'r and taught me there is no room for excuses.  The last thing my mom said in the ICU was to a nurse, "My son is a Vice President!"  Mom was very proud of my accomplishment in the business world.  My goal had been to hold the title of Vice President by thirty and I beat it by a few years, just in time for my mom to see "her boy had made something of himself".

Then my mom died. I was heartbroken and lost in many ways.  I tried to make sense of it all. I had two young sons and she needed to stay to be their grandma.  She needed to stay because I needed her.  She needed to stay because she was AWESOME!  I loved and liked my mom with an intensity that could only come from the fact that we had three years of battling and sadly a year like the cold war, where we both simply avoided each other.  Then I called her after listening to a friend tell me how much he hated his mom and I watched as his hatred was all consuming.  I realized in that moment that I had a chance to do the right thing, so I called her and told her, no matter what has happened between us, no matter who is to blame, I AM SORRY.  Please forgive me.  I miss you.  Mom cried and asked me to forgive her too.  That was about five years before she died, so I had five years of an adult to adult relationship with one of the most fascinating, wonderful individuals I have EVER met; my own mom. 

My biggest regret is that my scholarly mom, my English teaching mom, my great listener mom, my champion of anything I endeavored mom, my rock mom, my wonderful, complicated, crazy mom never saw me published.  I can think of nothing my mom would have loved more than to see her son in print. 

My biggest irony as a published author was that my first book; My Garden Visits, was about her and the eternal imprint that she left.  That all moms leave.

I wrote of experiences I thought would be universally comforting to those whose moms had left their earthly bodies and it worked! It works! My book is now out of print, but just yesterday a woman who read it for her book club ten years ago approached me to tell me how the book touched her heart.

So, PLEASE hug your mom today!  Call her if a hug isn't possible.  Tell your mom specifically what she means to you.  I would give a lot to sit with my mom and have one more lunch.  I played a game recently where you decide what three people in history that are no longer alive would you most want to have lunch with.  Of everyone I could choose my mom was one of them.  Seriously, to sit with her for a few hours, physically face to face is one of my biggest wishes.  If you still can do so and aren't, please do.

  

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Though the book I wrote about my mom is out of print, you can get it for a few cents on amazon.com.  I do plan to see the book uploaded for the Kindle and other eReaders soon. 


http://www.amazon.com/My-Garden-Visits-Justin-Matott/dp/0345412516/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344274444&sr=8-1&keywords=my+garden+visits

Of all human creations, a garden comes nearest to heaven. In Justin Matott's garden, sweet peas, larkspur, peppermint, peas, corn, tomatoes, and a hundred other sweetly-scented and delicious things bloom and ripen daily -- gifts of earth's bounty.

One day in that garden a very special miracle occurred. Justin felt the loving presence of his mother, who had left this earth five years before. Why had she come? What could her invisible but palpable presence mean?

As he sowed, weeded, and harvested, he listened to his visitor's silent communications and felt the movement of change and growth within himself. In the forget-me-not, he was reminded of the precious uniqueness of his mother -- and every other part of creation. Along with crocuses and daffodil, memories of childhood blossomed. The cycle of garden life impressed upon him the eternal flow of beginning, renewal, loss, and new beginning.

At first, Justin hesitated to mention these mysterious, wordless colloquies, but when he did, family and friends urged him to write about them. So now we have this wonderful book, which invites us into the author's beautiful garden to share the love and wisdom that flowered among poppies and bean poles.

http://youtu.be/BecZRNPwR7k

My son Ethan and his three "brothers" are traveling the globe to make a difference.  They are using their skills (my son Ethan graduated with a Broadcast Journalism degree and produced and narrated this well done film) to change the world. 


Please check out the youtube, click link above.  Please post the youtube link on your Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and any other mode of social media communication you have.  There are literally children's safety, chastity, health and lives at stake and it takes SO little to do SO much for them.

This is the link to their website, please check it out too!

www.theac.org