Reading list with Scooter's info added

Check list for my dad's reading list

Here's a table to keep track of Michael's progress on the list. (Scooter and LJ, if you want in on this, just let me know.)

Reading to kids

Since Michael and I are on the topic of dads reading to kids and since we've been talking about my dad's reading tastes, I'll just share a bit about my dad reading to me when I was little.

I would, of course, want him to read Green Eggs and Ham or something like that to me. I would get my book and climb into his lap. He'd open my book and begin:

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred...

I'd whine in exasperation, "DAAAAAADDYYYYYY, that's not how it goes."

He'd say, "Oh, I was on the wrong page.

 "Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'..."

Me: DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! Read it RIGHT"

Dad:  Just listen:

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;


Me:  MOOOMMMMYYYYYY!!! Daddy won't read it right.


He thought this exchange was hilarious and the madder I got the harder he laughed.

Yes, he knew many poems, or parts thereof, by heart, including Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade.

In the end, we'd often compromise and he'd read The Duel by Eugene Field or some Kipling.

In spite of our differences, which in later years were a bigger deal than getting him to read what I wanted to hear, I'm appreciative of the really cool stuff he exposed me to.

My Dad's Approved Reading List

I think I've told this story here before. Michael, my cool cousin six years my elder, influenced my reading choices when I was in junior high and he was in college. (That is a key job function of being a cool older cousin, right?)

My dad was none too happy that I was reading Breakfast of Champions in eighth grade; rather than forbid me from reading such things, Dad figured he could instead eat up all my reading time with other things -- books of his choosing -- if he offered big enough incentives. It was a move of parenting brilliance, I must admit. The deal he proposed was that for every book I read from a list of books he approved, I would get one flying lesson. I was going to try to solo before I got my driver's license.

I just found the book list. Here it is:

• A Farewell to Arms, E. Hemingway
• To Have and Have Not, E. Hemingway (For Whom the Bell Tolls, which he probably would have approved as a substitution)
• The Old Man and the Sea, E. Hemingway
• Tom Sawyer, M. Twain
• Test Pilot, J. Collins
• All Quiet on the Western Front, E.M. Remarque
• Any 1 (only) by Edna Ferber
• Any 2 (both count) by J. Steinbeck (Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men, East of Eden)
• The Virginian, Owen Wister
• Any 2 of (both count) Ernest K. Gann (e.g. The Aviator, The High & the Mighty)
• The Caine Mutiny, H. Wouk
• 4 short stories, R. Lardner
• 4 short stories, E. Poe (Tell-tale Heart, Pit and the Pendulum, The Fall of the House of Usher; Poems:  Lenore, Annabelle Lee, The Raven)
• 4 short stories or 1 novel, N. Hawthorne (Scarlet Letter)
• 4 short stories, D. Runyon (Blue Plate Special, Money From Home)
• Seventeen, B. Tarkington
• The Three Muskateers, A. Dumas
• 1 (only), Z. Grey
• 1 (only), M. Albrand [? Can't read this or figure out who this is]
• Up to 3, J. London (Call of the Wild, White Fang)
• 1 (only), L. Short
• 1 (only) J. Marquand
• We, C. Lindbergh
• Treasure Island, R. L. Stevenson
• The Prince & the Pauper, M. Twain

That is one heck of a great reading list . . . for adventure-seeking boys. I read the bolded ones, for sure, and maybe a few more. A couple of these we read for school, possibly even the previous year, but he gave me credit for those to get me started.

Update:  I added blue bolding for things I know I read eventually.   Musing:  Jack London was a socialist.  I wonder if schools still assign his novels.

Update 10/28/14:  I did read The Three Muskateers a couple years ago and liked it alot.

My Dad's S&W .357 Magnum Model 19-3

Pic here.

I took it to the range on Friday with a friend for the first time and it jammed. I've never had a revolver jam before and I was heartbroken. I must have done something wrong and thought I'd bent part of the revolver.

Turns out it wasn't bent but I'd used a brand of ammunition that is known as "dirty." That means that the formula of the gunpowder leaves a lot of residue in the gun after firing.

I asked a guy at the office today who knows a lot more than I about such things. "Oh yeah," he said, "that cheap stuff is made in Serbia and will jam anything." I bought the ammunition just after Dad died well before I really got into this hobby.

I'm still not sure I haven't broken the gun but I checked and my colleague was right about the country of origin. At least I'm feeling better about it not being me.

The other thing I learned after shooting the .357? Don't even think about getting a .44 Magnum (to go with my Marlin .44 Magnum cowboy action rifle); it would break my wrist.

Semper Fi!

Since it's Memorial Day and since Dad was a marine, I have to link to the Semper Fi Fund:

Established in May 2004, the Injured Marine Semper Fi Fund is a nonprofit 501(c)(3) organization that has provided over 14,000 grants totaling over $30 million in assistance to our Nation's OEF/OIF wounded heroes and families. Since our inception, we have consistently maintained our program expenses at 92%, or above, and our fundraising expenses have averaged just 2 cents per dollar raised. If the mother of a wounded Marine needs help with travel expenses to be with her son or daughter, the Semper Fi Fund is there. If the wife of an injured Navy Corpsman falls temporarily behind on a mortgage payment because she left work to be with her husband in the hospital, the Semper Fi Fund is there. If a wounded Marine who has lost his sight from combat needs a special magnifier, or special computer, the Semper Fi Fund is there. Whatever the legitimate need, the Semper Fi Fund is ready to help. “Semper Fi” means “always faithful,” and that is our pledge to the heroic OEF/OIF Marines, Sailors, and other OEF/OIF service members assigned to Marine forces who are injured in the line of duty or face life threatening illness while protecting our Nation.

Re: That Curfew Thing

Mine changed over time. From what I recall (it was many brain-cells ago), in jr. high it was 10pm. High school until my senior year was 11pm. Senior year was midnight on school nights, "reasonable" (whatever that meant) on non-school nights. Once I turned 18, I didn't have one. I was expected, however, to make sure they knew I was home whenever I got home. My mom is a very light sleeper (that is where I get it from) and would almost always say "you're home?" when I walked towards my room. If not, I would just go to their door and say "I'm home" and she would answer. During my college years (and the one year after when I still lived at home), the always telling them I was home fell by the wayside.

I didn't abuse my curfew in my high school days and very rarely came home drunk. I did my share of stuff, but by the standards of many of those I knew, I was a fairly good kid. I do remember coming home one Sunday night when I was a senior and my parents were still up watching TV. I laid on the floor "watching" with them and could barely see the screen. I told them years later about that night and they had no idea I was so wasted.

Recent reading on the GWOT

I've often thought and occasionally said that my second greatest regret in life is not "having served." I've recently finished two and and am starting a third first-hand account of service in Iraq and Afghanistan. Knowing what I know now, had I served (even in my prime) I'd have been extremely lucky just to have made it through basic training and then headed off for a life as a JAG officer, at best, or some kind of Radar (O'Reilly, that is) clerk, at worst.

The first I read was David Bellavia’s House to House. What struck me most was the absolutely honest description of the horrors of battle. Shamelessly lifted from the Amazon site:

Product Description

One of the great heroes of the Iraq War, Staff Sergeant David Bellavia captures the brutal action and raw intensity of leading his Third Platoon, Alpha Company, into a lethally choreographed kill zone: the booby-trapped, explosive-laden houses of Fallujah's militant insurgents. Bringing to searing life the terrifying intimacy of hand-to-hand infantry combat, this stunning war memoir features an indelibly drawn cast of characters, not all of whom would make it out of the city alive, as well as chilling accounts of Bellavia's singular courage: Entering one house alone, he used every weapon at his disposal in the fight of his life against America's most implacable enemy.

The next was Marcus Lutrell’s Lone Survivor. Also pilfered from the Amazon site:

Product Description

Four US Navy SEALS departed one clear night in early July 2005 for the mountainous Afghanistan-Pakistan border for a reconnaissance mission. Their task was to document the activity of an al Qaeda leader rumored to be very close to Bin Laden with a small army in a Taliban stronghold. Five days later, only one of those Navy SEALS made it out alive.

This is the story of the only survivor of Operation Redwing, SEAL fire team leader Marcus Luttrell, and the extraordinary firefight that led to the largest loss of life in American Navy SEAL history. His squadmates fought valiantly beside him until he was the only one left alive, blasted by an RPG into a place where his pursuers could not find him. Over the next four days, terribly injured and presumed dead, Luttrell crawled for miles through the mountains and was taken in by sympathetic villagers who risked their lives to keep him safe from surrounding Taliban warriors.

A born and raised Texan, Marcus Luttrell takes us from the rigors of SEAL training, where he and his fellow SEALs discovered what it took to join the most elite of the American special forces, to a fight in the desolate hills of Afghanistan for which they never could have been prepared. His account of his squadmates' heroism and mutual support renders an experience that is both heartrending and life affirming. In this rich chronicle of courage and sacrifice, honor and patriotism, Marcus Luttrell delivers a powerful narrative of modern war.

This one touched me pretty deeply as his love for Texas and his country (no secessionist here) really comes through. Even more so, his love for his fallen comrades really touched me. Also, he really explores one thing that I really admire about the Muslim (in particular, the Pashtun culture), the concept of lokhay, an extraordinary concept of hospitality. If one offers you shelter, food, er..., hospitality, one will risk one's life, family, and entire village to preserve that hospitality.

Most touching, and I had to remove my contacts to read through the tears, was the way his east Texas community came to the moral support of his family while he was missing.

He had two insights on the US Press that I found very disturbing. Caveat: these insights may ruin the whole account for those not of my political bent though the book was an NYT bestseller and I'm not sure righties alone can get a book that high on the list.

Finally, I haven't read this one yet but heard the author interviewed on the Bill Bennett show. I'm particularly interested in this because the author Donovan Campbell mentioned a crisis of faith as a result of his experience. Also, because my Dad was a marine.

This one is called Joker One:

Product Description

After graduating from Princeton, Donovan Campbell, motivated by his unwavering patriotism and commitment, decided to join the service, realizing that becoming a Marine officer would allow him to give back to his country, engage in the world, and learn to lead. In this immediate, thrilling, and inspiring memoir, Campbell recounts a timeless and transcendent tale of brotherhood, courage, and sacrifice.

As commander of a forty-man infantry platoon called Joker One, Campbell had just months to train and transform a ragtag group of brand-new Marines into a first-rate cohesive fighting unit, men who would become his family: Sergeant Leza, the house intellectual who read Che Guevara; Sergeant Mariano Noriel, the “Filipino ball of fire” who would become Campbell’s closest confidant and friend; Lance Corporal William Feldmeir, a narcoleptic who fell asleep during battle; and a lieutenant known simply as “the Ox,” whose stubborn aggressiveness would be more curse than blessing.

Campbell and his men were assigned to Ramadi, that capital of the Sunni-dominated Anbar province that was an explosion just waiting to happen. And when it did happen–with the chilling cries of “Jihad, Jihad, Jihad!” echoing from minaret to minaret–Campbell and company were there to protect the innocent, battle the insurgents, and pick up the pieces. After seven months of day-to-day, house-to-house combat, nearly half of Campbell’s platoon had been wounded, a casualty rate that went beyond that of any Marine or Army unit since Vietnam. Yet unlike Fallujah, Ramadi never fell to the enemy.Told by the man who led the unit of hard-pressed Marines, Joker One is a gripping tale of a leadership, loyalty, faith, and camaraderie throughout the best and worst of times.

On George Will's silly denim column

I love GW; he was my only lifeline on ABC throughout the 80s but his column is just nuts.

Lileks blasts the silly thing here.

For the record--I don't think I saw my dad in jeans until he was in his 70s. He never,ever wore shorts even here in Texas unless one counts bathing togs at the beach or lake. I don't think he even owned a pair of shorts. He mowed the lawn in khakis.

To Will's point I do concur a bit. Growing up and taking the train from Dallas to OK City to visit the relatives in the 60s, my brother and I may not have worn suits but we were dressed up. Likewise on SW Air in the70s.

My stodgy GW side does hate it when I board a plane and am surrounded by shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops.

Today

Today is the 48th anniversary of the luckiest day of my life. 49 years ago my mother got the phone call, “Congratulations, Betsy, you have a son.” Obviously, the adoption procedures were long since finalized. Dad and a neighbor (who was also my mom’s physician) were on the way to the hospital to pick me up, with Mom and her mother waiting at home.

Mom paced around the house while her mom tried to reduce expectations by reminding her that some infants are plain ugly and red. Mom continued to pace and could only think one thing, “I’m a new mother. I need to be clean. I need to be clean.”

So she went to the bathroom to take a shower. It was only after the water was rushing over her did she realize she was fully clothed.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Semper Fi

Because Dad was a Marine, this is my obligatory and joyous link from Hot Air on the Corp's 233rd birthday. OORAH!

(I hate doing that last part since not having served is still my greatest regret.)

Last Friday would have been my Dad's 83rd Bday

Wore one of his shirts in his honor (sleeves are too long). I hadn't had a real relationship with him in 3 years. Who'd have thought I'd miss him so much?

On Valentine's Day in 1928...

My mom was born. Wow. First birthday/Valentine's Day without dad since 1951.

My Dad

Mom found this note to her on the fridge this weekend that my Dad had written sometime before his death. (The fridge is covered with stuff from the grandkids so I know it was easy to miss.) In the hand of a second grader indicating his poor condition. As his speech deteriorated he communicated with notes and at the very end he could only point at letters to spell out his thoughts.

Almost five months after his death she finds it. I'm glad my brother was there with her and I'm sorry I was not. I know it caused a lot of tears but was certainly not taken down. A friend has recommended, and I've agreed, this baby is being printed and framed. I'm going to give to her this weekend.

another thought about Dad (really about Mom)

I've come to the conclusion that if there is any chance that one will go quickly, going Home at home is overrated. Dad would have been in the living room...the room one first sees on entering Mom's house. I'm glad that Dad's passing will not be thing of which she thinks when she enters her house.

Well, I should have seen this coming...

Dad had some kind of heart event over the weekend. Not much was getting better so I drove back to Athens last night.

Got there late and discovered my two aunts/cousins were there (Dad's brother and his brother's wife were killed in a car wreck before I was born and Dad's parents adopted the two surviving daughters.) I hadn't seen them since the death of Dad's mom. They looked a lot different after almost 20 years but if either or both had snuck up behind me and said, "Hi, Scott," I'd've recognized their voices immediately.

So, all four of his children and his two sisters and wife were with him today. His breathing pretty labored...mask on all the time. Arrangements made for hospice care at home.... I spent the day in funeral homes; that is not very fun though I found the procedure much less ugly than I suspected.

Reported the results to my sisters...his sisters and my brother having returned home thinking all the arrangements were made. Mom had rearranged a hair appointment to today thinking tomorrow, Friday and the weekend were going to be moving days for Dad.

I jumped in the truck and drove the 4 hours back to Austin. Got home about 30 minutes ago and sure enough, Dad was mercifully taken into the arms of G-d while I drove home. I'll return to Athens tomorrow. After seeing him struggle to breathe today, I'm primarily relieved. I'm also selfishly relieved for Mom...she would not have been equipped for him at home...even with "Visiting Angels" and hospice care.

More Dad

Some kind of heart event late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. For the first time he is in pain and requires morphine.

This for a guy whose orthopedist said he couldn't believe Dad could possibly have been walking on the stumps of bone that came together at his knee before the his knee replacement...must be some kind of pain now.

Feeding tube put in his stomach this morning but won't be fed until tomorrow. He's down to about 150 llb.

Looks like hospice care at home coming in the very near term.

Sorry for the morbid commentary but since I can't talk to him, this is my only other outlet besides my mom and sibs.

More Dad (and Mom)

Hard day today as they denied him water because of choking possibilities. Mom ultimately insisted and he drank some water with no repercussions. She just can't deny him water.

Mom and Sibs

I can't ignore what toll these events are taking on them.

Dad is now on an anti-depressant that is causing him to want to just sleep more than anything else. Mom is seeing this as Dad taking a big turn for the worse. We try to explain that even with completely otherwise healthy individuals this would be the result as the body adjusts to the drug. (She'll get that eventually though that was part of my unspoken objection to administering the drug...what if he'd prefer to being fully aware?) We visited before going to church this morning after breakfast and it was clear all he wanted to do was go to sleep. Mom left sobbing and it was left to me to provide comfort as I pursued her out of the room. As LJ and Michael can attest, this is not my strong suit...emotional availability, even to the one person who loves me more unconditionally than anyone save G-d. Still, I was able to put my arm around her and mumble something that quieted her...hopefully something of comfort and not just something stifling her sobs. For such a woman who adopted me as an infant and treated my like her very own and loves me like she does, why is it so difficult for me to be more comforting? Yes, she can push my buttons like no other, however subconsciously that might be but she deserves better from me.

Back to the drug; I have really mixed feelings about this. So far I've been overruled in my belief that Dad should be fully apprised of his condition, the theory being that what is the benefit to him if he wakes every morning only to wonder, "Will this is be the day I die?" I understand that from an emotional/comfort argument the medication makes sense, but what if he doesn't realize these will be the last days that he has to say something to his wife, children or G-d? I probably underestimate him greatly. He probably has to already knows.

The elder of my two younger sisters informed me that the prognosis is more likely a max of three months, not six, contrary to my previous post.

As for the sibs, two of the three were there this weekend. Baby sister in Montana with her husband's family and her four children on a long planned trip...available to return on a moment's notice. (What about my trip to Alberta for fly fishing at the end of August?) For the first time I'm starting to see the toll this takes on them, too. Extreme efforts to be as comforting as possible to Mom and Dad. I am grateful to the three of them and to baby sister's husband as well. All three really fill the gaps that I'm incapable of filling.

Since this whole post is such a downer, I have to leave on something positive. Regarding this "facility" Dad inhabits., I couldn't be more pleasantly surprised. No, it is not a high dollar facility where fortunes are spent to have oneself pampered as life's end nears. It is a pretty basic nursing facility in a small town in East Texas. Still, Dad's primary caretaker apart from genuine nursing or medicine has been a short, though robust 60 year old woman who has taken her job seriously for more than 40 years...making Dad as comfortable as possible while doing impossible tasks...all the while not taking any guff from Dad or anyone else. For that, I am grateful, too.

Re: Dad

Sorry to hear this Scooter. I think you are right though - better now than earlier in life. Thank God my parents are in good health, though I can see the signs of aging in them. Memory loss, getting tired out more quickly, more frequent minor health issues. I rue the day, which hopefully isn't close, but certainly is getting closer, of having to deal with something major.
You and your family are in our thoughts....