Tag Archives: love

A Father’s Heart Isn’t Always Easy to Explain

31 Sunday May 2026

Posted by in Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Twins, Uncategorized

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I’m fortunate that I don’t have any doctor’s appointments this week. That doesn’t mean I’m completely free from medical matters, though. I still need to drive across town to one of my labs to pick up a copy of the results from my latest MRI, so I can take them to an orthopedic doctor next week and have him take a look at my back.

Earlier this afternoon, I received a text inviting me to go fishing tomorrow. Under normal circumstances, I probably would have jumped at the opportunity, but I had already made plans to pick up my medical records. I politely declined and told him I’d try to make it another time.

The good news is that I had already told my wife I wanted to go fishing at least a couple of times this week. I mentioned that to my daughter today, and while she has commitments every morning, she does have one afternoon available. The plan now is to spend an afternoon fishing with her and then head back out the next morning on my own. One advantage is that I’ll be able to leave all my fishing gear in the truck overnight and won’t have to unload everything until the following day.

Saturday will be spent giving my truck a thorough cleaning. I don’t want my parents riding across town in a dirty truck when we take them out to dinner that evening.

As of right now, my parents have no idea why they’ve been invited to a nice Italian restaurant. To the best of my knowledge, the daughter who’s getting engaged is still somewhat in the dark as well. She believes it’s all going to happen on the 13th. The ring won’t be a surprise—they picked that out together—but walking into a restaurant filled with family and friends who have gathered to celebrate with her afterward certainly will be.

I’m very happy for my daughter, but if I’m being honest, I’m a little scared for her too. Marriage is a life-changing step, and like every parent, I wonder if she’s ready.

She left the nest several years ago when she and her sister moved into an apartment together. At the time, it felt like a major milestone. This feels different. More permanent. More final.

I’m having a hard time putting my feelings into words. There’s joy because I’m proud of the woman she has become. There’s excitement because a new chapter of her life is about to begin. But there’s also a touch of sadness because another chapter is closing.

Maybe that’s just part of being a parent. We spend years teaching our children to become independent adults, and then one day they do exactly that. We celebrate their success while quietly realizing that they no longer need us in quite the same way they once did.

I suppose that’s what I’m feeling tonight—a mixture of happiness, pride, excitement, and just a little bit of melancholy. It’s not a bad feeling. It’s simply the realization that life keeps moving forward, whether we’re ready for it or not.

I think the strongest line in this piece is: “We celebrate their success while quietly realizing that they no longer need us in quite the same way they once did.” It captures the tension many parents feel when their children reach major milestones like engagement and marriage.

The Sunday Before Memorial Day

24 Sunday May 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Photography, Twins, Uncategorized, Weather

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For the past couple of years, my son has taken it upon himself to grill steaks, hamburgers, and hot dogs for lunch after church on the Sunday before Memorial Day. Today was no exception—except for one small flaw. It rained the entire time.

That meant no standing over the grill, no smell of charcoal drifting through the yard, and no pretending we were all professional pitmasters for the afternoon. Instead, he improvised. The hamburger patties were fried indoors, the hot dogs were broiled, and even the corn on the cob ended up under the broiler.

No matter. He still did a good job.

My wife made brownies and cut up the watermelon she had brought. My daughters made a special dip that disappeared almost as quickly as it hit the table. There was food everywhere, and thankfully, there was more than enough for everyone.

My son invited his girlfriend over, and one of my daughters brought her boyfriend. My other daughter’s boyfriend had a prior church commitment and couldn’t make it this time.

This gathering was also the first time we had been back to my son’s house since the water leak. The contractors did an excellent job rebuilding the damaged walls and replacing the flooring. Honestly, it looked like nothing had ever happened—which is exactly what you hope for after a project like that.

It was also the first time my son had met my other daughter’s boyfriend. As a father, you quietly watch those moments. You wonder how everybody will get along, whether the conversations will flow naturally, and if things might feel awkward.

But everything seemed easy and comfortable. Everybody laughed. Conversations bounced around the room. People drifted from the kitchen to the living room and back again. It simply felt like family.

At one point, I caught myself sitting quietly and just listening.

I admired how much my family has changed in what feels like such a short amount of time. One minute, there were no boyfriends or girlfriends around the table. Now, one relationship is likely headed toward engagement, and another is already hinting in the same direction.

Life changes slowly enough that you hardly notice it day by day. Then suddenly, during an ordinary rainy Sunday lunch before Memorial Day, it hits you all at once.

The kids aren’t kids anymore. Families grow. New people find their place at the table. Traditions continue, even when the weather doesn’t cooperate.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have changed a thing about the day.

The Kind of Person I Want to Be

19 Tuesday May 2026

Posted by in Leukemia, Life

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I had an oncologist appointment today. It didn’t last long. All that was scheduled was some bloodwork and a shot to help increase the production of my red blood cells.

The whole visit only lasted about thirty minutes.

As I was leaving the office, I found myself walking behind two elderly women. It looked to be a mother and daughter. The mother was using a cane and appeared to be having just as much trouble walking as I was.

I wasn’t in a hurry, so I stayed behind them as we made our way to the elevator. The three of us rode down to the first floor and then slowly walked down the corridor past the ER entrance and toward the parking deck payment kiosk.

The daughter scanned her parking ticket and tried to pay the $4 fee with four one-dollar bills.

The machine refused to take her money.

She tried several times, but the kiosk never gave her any option other than paying with a card.

By then, several more people had crowded into the small payment area. I could tell the daughter was becoming frustrated and embarrassed. She looked over at me and motioned for me to go ahead and pay for mine first.

After I paid for my parking, I turned to her and asked if she would hand me her ticket.

I scanned it and paid for their parking.

At first, both the mother and daughter looked confused and uncertain about what I was doing. But when I handed her the receipt, they realized what had happened. The expressions on their faces immediately changed to relief and gratitude. I think they were genuinely worried about how they were going to get out of the parking deck.

Truthfully, I was just going to quietly pay for it and leave without saying another word. But the daughter insisted on paying me back the four dollars.

And honestly, THIS is the person I usually am.

This is how I was raised.

I don’t care what color you are, what political party you belong to, whether you’re young or old, rich or poor — if I see someone struggling and I’m able to help, I’ll do what I can.

I follow a blogger on this platform whose husband and she are both living on Social Security. Between insurance costs and medications, they barely have enough left over for groceries. Recently, she asked if anyone could help.

I don’t get paid until later this week, but as soon as I do, I plan on sending them a little something.

Not because I have plenty.

Not because I’m trying to impress anyone.

But because I know what it feels like to need help.

I enjoy helping people. And to be honest, I especially love helping when people don’t even know where the help came from.

Sometimes the world feels angry, divided, and selfish.

But small acts of kindness still matter.

Maybe now more than ever.

Common Sense; It Should Come Standard

16 Saturday May 2026

Posted by in Family, Life, Photography, Uncategorized

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I lost my temper with a stranger today. I’m not proud of it. In fact, I’m pretty ashamed that I let myself get that worked up. I guess part of the problem was that I expected a little common sense from a fellow human being. Apparently, that was asking too much.

Normally, I would’ve filled up my truck right after church, but since I won’t be attending tomorrow due to another commitment, I decided to get fuel while my wife and I were already out meeting our two daughters and their boyfriends for lunch.

The gas station in question was the fuel center at Sam’s Club. Around here, they usually have the cheapest gas prices, which also means they usually have lines long enough to qualify as a minor traffic event.

I noticed the two end pumps had shorter lines, so I eased into one of them. The setup beside a concrete median meant once you got in line, you were committed unless you could somehow back out.

There were three vehicles ahead of me: a small car, a pickup truck behind her, and directly in front of me, an SUV.

At some point, both the SUV driver and I noticed the pickup driver put the nozzle back on the pump. Naturally, we assumed he was finished fueling and simply waiting for the lady in front of him to leave so he could pull out.

Wrong.

The lady left, and instead of driving away, the pickup driver pulled forward to the next pump and started over. That’s when we realized something wasn’t right.

Turns out, the pump he had been using was out of order.

Now the SUV in front of me was stuck trying to get fuel from a dead pump, and I was trapped behind it. I tried easing backward, but another vehicle had already pulled in behind me.

This is where the story takes a turn.

I looked behind me and saw a woman sitting in her car. No one was behind her. All she needed to do was back up a few feet so I could get out.

I got out of my truck and motioned for her to reverse.

Nothing.

I waved bigger.

Still nothing.

I even yelled directions while making motions large enough to guide aircraft onto a runway.

Nothing.

At this point, I honestly couldn’t tell if she wasn’t paying attention or if she simply had no earthly idea what my “wild arm flailing” meant. I’ll admit, I was getting irritated fast.

Finally, I got back in my truck and started inching backward anyway. That’s when she honked at me.

That was the exact moment my temper left the building.

I climbed out, walked to her window, and very firmly — and not exactly politely — informed her that I had been trying for the last ten minutes to get her to back up because the pump was broken.

Her response?

“You didn’t tell me to back up.”

Apparently, years of directing traffic with hand gestures have failed me. Either that, or she had never encountered the universal sign for “please move your vehicle before I lose my religion.”

She eventually backed up… though not nearly enough. I somehow managed to squeeze my truck out and circle around to another line.

As I was doing this, a young guy in the next lane who had witnessed the entire circus was laughing so hard I thought he might need oxygen.

His exact words were:

“Your hand gestures were plain enough for a chimpanzee to understand. I guess you can’t fix stupid.”

Now, before anyone nominates me for “Christian of the Year,” let me say this: I know I was wrong for losing my temper. I absolutely was.

But I will also say this — while my mouth got ahead of my better judgment, there were several things my brain suggested that thankfully never made it out loud.

So maybe there’s growth there.

The whole thing could’ve ended much worse than it did. I may have shown my rear end a little, but eventually she understood the message I was trying to convey:

Put the phone down and pay attention to what’s going on around you.

Because if she had been paying attention in the first place, she would’ve noticed the broken pump… and the growing collection of trapped vehicles trying desperately to escape fuel-line purgatory.

A Busy Mother’s Day Weekend

10 Sunday May 2026

Posted by in Arts and Crafts, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there!!

After completing the CERT program last Tuesday, we had our first drill at the local fire station. We spent the day going over everything we had learned during the past nine weeks. Overall, I think everyone did pretty well. However, one of our team members managed to get “electrocuted” during the simulation and had to be carried out along with the other cardboard victims.

Before anyone panics, it was all simulated. Nobody actually got electrocuted.

He was properly embarrassed, though, which is probably the best kind of lesson because I doubt he’ll make that same mistake again anytime soon. I’m not sure when our next drill will be, but hopefully it won’t be too far off. We learned a lot over those nine weeks, and at my age, if you don’t use it, you start forgetting where you put it.

I made it home with just enough daylight left to finish my mom’s Mother’s Day gift. Thankfully, most of the hard work had already been done. All I had left was to nail everything together and add the flowers. By the time I finished, though, I was more than ready to introduce myself to the recliner and heating pad for the rest of the evening.

The pain block seems to have helped a little. I think I may have overdone things yesterday and irritated my back again because I can definitely tell the difference between yesterday and today. Apparently, my back still believes I’m twenty years old right up until it sends me the bill the next morning.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll be heading in to have another spot of skin cancer removed. This one is on my right side. The last time was on my left arm, so apparently, my skin believes in equal opportunity. I’m hoping they can get it all in one visit, so I won’t have to keep going back week after week to have more cut off.

Other than that, tomorrow is my only appointment, aside from Bible study on Tuesday morning. Depending on how well my back feels, how the procedure goes, and whether the weather cooperates, I may try to sneak away and go fishing one day next week.

At this point, sitting in a boat holding a fishing pole sounds a whole lot better than sitting in another doctor’s office waiting room.

Running on Faith, Coffee, and a Heating Pad

05 Tuesday May 2026

Posted by in Arts and Crafts, Family, Kayaking, Uncategorized, Weather, Woodworking

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Today started at 4:00 a.m.

Not because I wanted it to… but because apparently my life has decided that sleep is optional now.

I got up, got moving, and made my way across town for my 6:00 a.m. Bible study. There’s something about starting your day that early that makes you feel accomplished… and slightly confused about what day it actually is.

After that, I met up with my fishing buddy Rick for breakfast. Not long into it, my brother-in-law showed up—another fisherman, and to make things worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), he lives on the river.

So naturally, what was supposed to be a quick breakfast turned into a full-blown fishing summit.

We sat there long after the plates were cleared, swapping stories about recent trips and, of course, honoring the sacred tradition of talking about “the one that got away.” I’m convinced those fish get bigger every time we tell the story.

They started talking about the next fishing trip, and I had to sit that part out—for now. I’ve got a pain block scheduled this Thursday, and I’m hoping it gives me enough relief to get back out on the kayak soon. Because right now, the only thing I’m catching is back pain.

The afternoon was spent in the shop creating a respectable amount of sawdust, which is my way of saying I worked hard but also made a mess I’ll deal with later.

Then it was off to my CERT class this evening—our final one. For the past nine weeks, we’ve been learning how to respond in emergencies, and this Saturday is the big test and drill. Not just a written test either… we actually have to prove we’ve been paying attention.

No pressure.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I’ve been working on a Mother’s Day gift for my mom. I had a bigger idea planned, but after looking at it… and looking at it again… and then criticizing it like only I can, I decided to pivot.

My wife says it looked fine.

I say it looked like a future “learning experience.”

So I scaled it down to something simpler, and honestly, it’s going a lot better. I’ve got most of it done—just some sanding and paint left. If all goes well, I should have it finished tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow… the weather has decided to add a little excitement back into the schedule. There’s a risk of severe storms, including tornadoes.

That’s something that always hits a little differently.

Back in 2011, our town was devastated by a tornado. Our home was spared, but many weren’t. Lives were lost, and that’s something you don’t forget. So yeah, when the meteorologists start using words like “rotation” and “severe,” my anxiety tends to show up right on time.

If everything goes according to plan, I’m hoping for a little reward at the end of this week. If the pain block works, I may try to get back out on the water on Friday. After the CERT drill on Saturday, I’ll handle any last-minute touch-ups on Mom’s gift—if needed.

It’s been a long day. The kind that starts early, ends late, and somehow still feels like there’s more to do.

But it’s also been a full day.

And I’ll take that—even if it comes with a 4:00 a.m. alarm clock and a recliner waiting on standby.

Built with Love (and a Little Bit of Crooked Math)

30 Thursday Apr 2026

Posted by in Arts and Crafts, Cancer, Disability, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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With Mother’s Day fast approaching, I decided it was time to push through the pain and make something for my mom. She loves plants—like, really loves plants—so I figured a couple of wooden planters would be the perfect gift. Plus, I’ve got a pile of scrap wood that’s been quietly judging me for months, including some cypress fencing material my wife has been not-so-subtly encouraging me to “do something with.”

So, around 9:30 this morning, I dragged all my equipment outside and got to work. By about 11:30, I had everything cut down to size and was feeling pretty good about life. That’s usually the exact moment things take a turn.

I started assembling the first planter and quickly realized something wasn’t right. The pieces weren’t lining up like the plans said they should. Now, the plans called for ¾-inch wood… and I’m working with ½-inch. Details, right? Apparently not. Turns out, those little fractions matter.

Still, I pressed on.

At this point, I’ve got one planter about 90% complete. It’s… let’s just say “custom shaped.” Not exactly square, which means putting the top boards on requires some math. And if you’ve followed me for any length of time, you already know—math and I are not on speaking terms. I’m pretty sure an angle finder is in my near future, the next time I wander into the store pretending I know what I’m doing.

After spending most of the day bending, lifting, and moving around, my back has officially filed a formal complaint. Sitting usually doesn’t bother me, but tonight I can’t seem to find a position that doesn’t make me question why I thought this was a good idea. The heating pad is doing its best, but the second I move, my back reminds me who’s really in charge. I took a pain pill earlier, but it’s apparently operating on its own schedule.

After looking at what I’ve completed on this planter, I’m not really happy with it. It’s one of those projects that looked a whole lot better in my head than it does sitting in front of me. So, there’s a good chance this one becomes a “keep it at the house” planter, and I’ll come up with something else for Mom.

I guess you could say this was my practice run… whether I planned it that way or not.

It all really depends on how I’m feeling after this upcoming pain block. If I can get a little relief and move around without feeling like my back is plotting against me, I may give it another shot and build something I’m actually proud to give her.

If not, well… Mom may be getting something a little less handmade and a little more store-bought this year—and honestly, she’ll probably love it just the same.

As for doctor updates, I’ve now got two appointments lined up—one with the orthopedic in mid-June and another with a pain specialist next Thursday. I’m hoping the pain specialist can help take the edge off until June gets here.

And yes, I’ll admit it… I probably shouldn’t have stayed out on that kayak as long as I did last Thursday. But I’ll still argue it was worth it. I needed that time on the water—maybe just not that much time.

Tomorrow looks like it’ll be a recliner day. I plan on catching up on my Bible study material for Tuesday morning. Theology isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m giving it my best shot—kind of like woodworking and math.

I also had a visit with my oncologist last week. My iron levels were low again, so they gave me a shot of Epoetin alfa to help boost my red blood cell production. They also ran my BCR-ABL1 test to check on my CML. The last several tests over the past six months have come back non-detectable, which is great news. I’m curious to see how this one turns out, though—it seems like those numbers like to keep me guessing. Should have results in a few days.

Other than that, things are pretty quiet around here. I’ll finish up that planter (eventually), survive the math, and hopefully have something worth showing for it.

I’ll check back in when I’ve got something else to write about… or when the second planter decides to humble me too.

It’s Not the End of the Road

27 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by in Cancer, Depression, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Uncategorized

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Just a quick post.

I have Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML). I was diagnosed back in 2014. I’m not going to lie—when I first heard those words, I thought my world had come to an end.

I was devastated.
I got depressed.
I was angry at everything and everyone.

I couldn’t even carry on a simple conversation without it turning into something it didn’t need to be. In short, I wasn’t exactly easy to live with.

The truth is, everything I felt is something a lot of people experience when they hear the word “cancer.” That flood of emotions hits hard. But what I’ve learned since then is this—there is always hope, no matter the diagnosis.

I follow several CML groups online, and I try to help people who are just starting this journey and struggling to process it all.

Last night, I came across a post from a young woman who had just been diagnosed with CML. She was going through the same emotions I went through—fear, anger, and the overwhelming feeling that her life was over. She had just gotten married and was planning to start a family, but now she was ready to give up on that dream. Her husband, loving her the way he does, was willing to give that up, too.

That hit me.

So I reached out to her privately.

I told her what I wish someone had made crystal clear to me in the beginning: things have changed. Years ago, this diagnosis looked very different. Today, it’s not the same story.

There are medications now that can control this disease. It may not be something that just disappears, but it’s something many people live with—and live well with.

I also told her I understood exactly what she was feeling, because I had been there—the anger, the depression, the uncertainty. And I let her know she didn’t have to go through it alone.

And I told her about this blog—about my life after diagnosis, the ups and downs, the fishing trips, the everyday moments. I wanted her to see that there is still a life to live after hearing those words.

Honestly, I didn’t expect a response.

But she wrote back.

And after several messages, I could tell something had shifted. Knowing that someone else had been walking this road since 2014—and is still here—gave her a different perspective. It even made her reconsider the idea that her future, including having a family, might not be over after all.

That right there is why I share my story.

CML is not a death sentence. It’s a bump in the road. A big one sometimes—but not a roadblock.

My numbers still go up and down like a rollercoaster. Some months are good, some aren’t. But it’s been that way long enough that it doesn’t shake me like it used to.

Life goes on.

And that’s exactly what I told her—live your life. Keep your appointments. Take your medication. Listen to your doctor.

But don’t stop living.

Because this diagnosis doesn’t mean the end of your story.

Hidden in Plain Sight

19 Sunday Apr 2026

Posted by in Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Uncategorized

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The mind can play some terrible tricks on you.

Sometimes it convinces you that you saw something that wasn’t there. Other times, you can look straight at something—multiple times—and somehow never actually see it. I can’t explain it, but I’ve experienced it enough to know it’s real.

The other day, I wrote about my wife and I panic cleaning the house. In the process, I moved several things to what I thought were “safe places.” You know the kind—those spots that make perfect sense at the time but completely betray you later.

One of those items was a set of red flags I bought for the back of my kayak. They’re there to warn drivers that I’ve got a load sticking way out past the truck bed. Bright red. Hard to miss… or so you’d think.

Well, those flags disappeared.

I tore this house apart looking for them. I knew exactly where I put them. I knew the room. I knew the box. I checked that box more times than I can count. Opened it, moved things around, looked carefully… and every single time, nothing.

Gone.

Now, I’ve been down this road before. When I can’t find something after a while, I usually just give up and buy another one. That’s the reason I own more tape measures than any one man should. Same goes for hammers. I’m pretty sure I’ve got at least 15 scattered throughout this house.

At any given moment, I can find four of each.
At other times… not a single one.

It never fails.

So while packing for my fishing trip, I gave up on the flags and moved on. I grabbed my Nikon camera, put a fresh battery in it, set the time and date, and placed it in a Ziploc bag along with a notepad and pen so I could keep everything together.

Or so I thought.

Because when I got to the river… the bag and the camera were nowhere to be found.

Now I’m standing there wondering how something can vanish between my house and my truck. Later on, I start searching again—this time for the camera.

And guess what I found?

The flags.

Right there.
In the same box.
In the same room.
In the exact spot I knew I had already searched.

I didn’t just glance in that box—I looked in it. More than once. And somehow, I never saw them.

But the moment I stopped looking for them… there they were.

At this point, I’ve just accepted it. There’s no explaining it. The mind sees what it wants to see—and sometimes, it refuses to see what’s right in front of it.

So tomorrow, I’ve got a plan.

I’m going to look for something else entirely. Maybe a missing tape measure or one of those fifteen hammers. And if history repeats itself, I’ll stumble across that camera and Ziploc bag like it’s been sitting there the whole time… just waiting for me to notice it.

Because apparently, that’s how this works now.

Caught in the Act… and Given a Chance

17 Friday Apr 2026

Posted by in Boy Scouts, Diabetic, diet, Life, Uncategorized

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Earlier today, I stopped at a convenience store I don’t usually visit. I could feel my blood sugar dropping, and I needed to grab something quick to bring it back up.

Funny how priorities can shift in an instant.

As I was scanning the shelves—trying to find something that would help but still be somewhat healthy—I noticed a young kid. He couldn’t have been more than 12 or 13. Something about the way he was moving caught my attention.

Then I saw it.

One item… then another… quietly slipping into his pockets.

Just like that, my low blood sugar wasn’t the most important thing anymore.

I glanced over at the cashier, but she was tied up with another customer. So I grabbed a pack of crackers and headed to the counter, waiting for my moment. When she finished, I motioned like I needed help with something and quietly told her what I’d seen.

We both stood there, watching.

And as we watched that young man, I couldn’t help but think back to something that happened years ago during a Boy Scout Winter Blast trip.

Every year, right after Christmas, we’d load up and head out for five days of camping. One year, the boys were working on the Railroad merit badge and took a trip to a train museum. On the way back, they stopped to get gas, and while the leader was pumping gas, one of the boys decided it would be a good idea to steal a can of snuff.

Not only that—he went back in multiple times. And somehow, others encouraged it.

We didn’t find out until later that night when one honest scout came forward, wanting to come clean.

When we got back to the scout hut, we handled it.

We searched bags, found everything, and then made a decision that stuck with me to this day.

Instead of calling the police, we made other plans. A couple of weeks later, with the parents’ approval, we drove those boys over an hour back to that store. They had to face the manager. Look him in the eye. Own what they did.

Then they spent the afternoon cleaning bathrooms, picking up trash, and sweeping the parking lot. Let me tell you—nothing builds character faster than a public restroom and a push broom

It wasn’t fun.
It wasn’t easy.
But it mattered.

Those boys learned something that day. And years later, I still see some of them—and they turned out to be good men.

Back in the store today, the manager approached the young kid and asked him to empty his pockets. He hesitated, but eventually did.

Then something interesting happened.

The cashier asked him what he thought he should do.

He didn’t have much to say. Turns out pocket-stuffing confidence doesn’t translate well into public speaking.

Then she turned to me and asked for my opinion.

I told her what I had seen work before—that maybe giving him a chance to make it right, to work it off, might stick with him more than anything else.

I don’t know what they decided. Maybe he spent the afternoon sweeping. Maybe he just got a warning. Maybe he swore off convenience stores forever.

Maybe I’ll never know.

But I do know this—sometimes the best lessons don’t come from punishment… they come from accountability.

From being given the chance to face what you did and make it right.

I just hope that young man takes this moment and carries it with him the way those scouts did.

Because one decision doesn’t define you…

But what you learn from it just might.