Papa Pat Tiny Devotionals

34 years ago, at this very moment, I became a father for the first time. I had earned my master's degree in counseling just two months earlier, and when the doctor said "It's a boy!", my response was "I don't have a behavioral repertoire to deal with these contingencies!" Everyone in the delivery room laughed; I laughed as well.  However, I was telling the truth, even if I didn't know it at the time.  I was just shy of my 30th birthday, and I knew nothing about being a father.  I knew some things I DIDN'T want to do;  everything else was just theory. That turned out not to matter so much.  I really can't remember when I formalized my guidelines for being a father, but I know it happened well in advance of his first birthday.  It's possible that I had them in place even before he was born; I know that at least one of them was on my mind, even if I wasn't yet thinking of it as a  Basic Rule Of Fatherhood. 1.  My son was always going to

A short Bible lesson in modern language. Abraham and Sarah were old, old, old; long past the time of child-bearing. It was a matter of grief. Then one day, God shows up, with a couple of angels, and tells Abraham that in a year, Sarah will be holding a baby. Sarah laughed. And God heard her, and remarked on it. Of course, ya know, she said "No, God! I wouldn't laugh at You!" Probably EVERYBODY laughed then! They would at my house, I know that. My gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa, the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA, and I aren't nearly as old as Abraham and Sarah were; but, if God dropped in for a visit, like He did with Abraham and Sarah, and told Vanessa that a year from now she would have a baby? Yeah, she would laugh. Then she would cover her mouth and pretend she didn't, and then we'd all laugh. (Ummm...probably, I wouldn't laugh. I would be too busy throwing up outside. I'm 63 years old! I've got

    I was framing this post during my morning walk, and had a small hope of getting this blog out before 8:00 AM, but stuff intervened. I wrote the review of "Tales of the Minivandians" more than two months ago, for selfish reasons. You see, the FIRST part of the book is a selection of tiny little tales, each one an example of what suburban families experience, but transported, with magic, to another place where swords and magic are a routine part of life. So, a story about the time the tree root system invades the drain line (and I have had to deal with that FAR too many times) is translated into a battle between a magician and a tree spirit. I like the concept. There is magic and nobility in a PTA meeting....yeah! Every story was funny, and delicious, and I just didn't want to read them all at once; it would be like binging on peanut brittle. So, I read enough to be able to write a review - the author DESERVES a review - and then, every night or so, I'd pick up the

I already had this post blocked out in my head during one of my morning walks. Then my daughter called me about 20 minutes ago to tell me she was in labor with her second son, William Isaac. So, I don't know if I will have the same output as intended. This just in: born at 1:48 PM, doesn't even have his weight done yet, is my latest grandson! BUT: what I wanted to talk about was morning routine, and a helpful philosophy I developed over ten years ago. The only transportation I had was a motorcycle. Those are wonderful devices, but they are NOT really ideal as a solo means of transportation. It gets really cold on a motorcycle, and when it rains (or worse, sleets) you are GOING to get wet, no matter how good your rainsuit is, even if you have a windscreen (which I did). And, for what seemed to be an interminably long time, it wasn't just ME going to work on the bike; I took my youngest son Moose to the high school, which was right next door to the middle school where I worke

Here's the song I sang to 15 month-old Logan, friend of my 11 month old grandson Eliott last night, while his parents were out with Eliott's parents eating pie. I was baby-sitting, along with my gift-from_god, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa, the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA. 12 year old Kenneth and 10 year old Alicia were there as well, but mostly their contribution was to not know how to control the TV, and to kick toys loudly by accident, right after we finally got the weeping babies to sleep. If you haven't ever been responsible for two kids that age, here's how it goes at the end of the day: played out, the exhausted toddler lays down. The other toddler observes, contemplates, and lays down as well. Do not be deceived. This is how they set up the ambush. After about 10 minutes, just when YOUR jangling nerves have calmed, the first toddler jerks in his sleep, and wakes up crying. The second toddler is thus disturbed, and wakes up

    First of all, I've got to say that making meals got a WHOLE lot easier since my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa, the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA, bought us a small capacity deep fryer last month. In fact, there was only one thing we didn't like about it: it had a 1.1 liter capacity, and that meant I had to go through about four cycles to fry a chicken. So, we bought THIS one, which is a 4 liter model, and gave the 1 liter model to son Moose & daughter-in-love Anna as a very very late wedding present. I needed some comfort food last night, after spending all day fooling around with good buddy Uncle Mylon and Diesel the Wonder Dog, trying to recover Vanessa's broken down car from the side of southbound I-75 in Atlanta. The first three solutions didn't work. (And just because the key LOOKS like the key to the Toyota from a distance, I will now check closely, because Hyundai keys are similar.) It's the alternat

Two days ago, I ranted about A POSSIBLE future for public education. Yesterday, I clarified that with my heartfelt tribute to the work and sacrifice of home-schooling parents. And last night, I babysat for grandson Eliott. It provided an occasion for me to have a conversation with my firstborn son, Sgt. Eli Jordan Patterson, U.S. Army (retired). He is also the Dean of Students and teacher and coach at King's Ridge Christian School. I gave him a commie beer can daughter Tobiyah had brought back from Cuba, and he told me he was going to write a response to my commie post disparaging private schools. So, that would be the FIRST guest post for Papa Pat Rambles. Now, you MUST understand that there are HUGE demands on his time, because in addition to his for-pay duties, he is the full-time husband of the beautiful and talented Courtney, and the full-time father of two of the most handsome, smartest, and most delightful little boys EVER (Heath, 4; Eliott, 11 mos). Therefore, he may not hi

Yesterday, I launched into a rant about education, specifically what might happen to public education if a voucher system gets implemented. Home schoolers need a better statement on their behalf than my single comment that home schooling is TOUGH if you do it right. This is where I MILDLY do that. It's not under duress; So far, nobody has complained that I blah blah blah.  I have lots of friends who are able to home school, and they haven't complained about how tough it is, because if you are a complainer, you DON'T home school. The people who home school are the kind of people who ACTIVELY look for solutions, find them, and implement them. Home schooling is TOUGH if you do it right. Here's what you HAVE to do, it's a state requirement: you have to have lesson plans which you turn in to the designated official in the public school system; you have to keep a log of the hours spent in direct instruction. There's probably a lot more, but those two things I know abo

Disclaimer: I have three college degrees, and worked in college admissions for seven years and in a public middle school for 16. I am not a disinterested party. Every kid has a right to a free and appropriate public education in the least restrictive environment. I don't know how we are going to pay for that if the voucher system happens. I n my home town, lots and lots of people abandoned the public school system after grade school (those were neighborhood schools) and enrolled their kids in private schools. Then, when time came to approve a special purpose local option sales tax to rebuild/maintain the existing public schools, they voted NO NO NO NO NO!!!! and the public schools got worse and worse, increasing the flight of people who could afford it. And those kids LEFT in the public schools, getting a marginal education, went on to become the cops, firemen, plumbers, electricians, and all the other jobs holding civilization together that don't require college. Some DID go t

In the late '1970's, early 1980's, I was a big Atlanta Falcons fan. Then, in the early 1990's, I was a big Atlanta Braves fan. Note the use of the word 'big.' I had been a regular fan of the Atlanta Braves since they moved to Atlanta in 1966, and a regular fan of the Atlanta Falcons since the franchise started, also in 1966. But for years (and years and years and years) both teams didn't do well, as a rule. But I was still a fan. The Falcons got quite a few lucky breaks (and had the talent to take advantage of them) in 1978 - 82, and made the playoffs a few times. The Braves collected some astounding pitchers and a few stellar hitters, and essentially owned the 1990s as a dominant franchise. And that was when I was a BIG fan. I lived for the scores. I knew who played each position; I suffered when someone got injured, and when the ump / ref blew a call. I had to give it up. It had actually gotten to the point that I felt as if  -I-    had lost something per

This morning at 7:00 AM, I'm walking Alicia Ann to the bus stop on the corner. This is something I'm doing for me, not for her; I have a goal of taking 8,000 steps each day, and a bus stop visit is worth around 800 steps. I will walk Kenneth to the bus stop at 8:30, which is about ten minutes from now. That's 1 1/2 hours between send-offs. Friend Cedar    has the same issue. Oh, for the bygone days of yore, when we tossed everybody out at the same time! Alicia Ann is a speed walker. She has ALWAYS been a speed walker. And since she's gotten so tall, her speed walking moves her rapidly ahead of me, with my longer, but slower steps. Asking her to slow down? Nope. Doesn't work. She just...zooms. I DON'T think it's because she doesn't want to walk with me; it's just... her pace. She has an uncle Michael, an aunt Elizabeth, and a first cousin Esan, who were all track stars in high school, to the point that college scholarships were a reality. And she has

    I was in the sandwich line in the grocery store. In front of me stood a frail older man, wearing an oxygen tube, and sporting a 'Viet Nam Veteran' ball cap. Next to him stood a white haired lady. Both were somewhat bent over by age, but the man's posture somehow still was straight and tall. In my pony-tail, t-shirt and worn black sweatpants, I stepped up to him and patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you for your service, sir." He took another look at me, and smiled. "You're welcome! I was in Viet Nam!" Another look. "And you?" I stood to attention. I didn't MEAN to, it was in no way deliberate, but I popped up like I was on a parade ground. "Yes SIR!" "Viet Nam?" he asked. "No sir, Viet Nam era, but I was in Germany. It was my job to grease the Soviet tank treads when they rolled across the Fulda Gap." He laughed. "I was in Germany, too. I was at Bad Tolz, so they had to get through me before you c