Why is it that we associate certain attributes with certain names?  For example, why is it that Jack is proficient in all trades but not Jerome?  Why is Dan so Dapper, but not Donald?  Maybe it has something to do with the way it sounds.  For instance, Billy Bear sounds okay, but Teddy Goat just doesn’t come across right.  Some names are very strong, diligent and courageous: Victor or Will!  And some are not so vigorous such as what I’m about to do: Peter-out.

But to be Frank, I think that the Toms of this world always come up a quart low on the dip stick of life.  Let’s face it, a Tom Cat is a horn-dog and a Peeping Tom is a pervert.  Every “Tom, Dick and Harry” is about as common as you can get (sorry Dick and Harry, but notice who is listed first).  Even the Bible comes after us Toms by giving us the skeptical nickname; I think that an alliterative Doubting Douglas has a better ring to it, don’t you agree?

I wanted to demonstrate that I’m able to overcome all these derogatory nicknames, so I thought I’d conclude with the – at least the somewhat – valiant slogan, “I think I can, I think I can,” but then discovered that it was “The Little Engine that Could” and not Thomas the Tank Engine that made that quote famous.  So, I guess I’ll just retire to my den and beat on my Tom-Tom.

… Tom

The old tall man shuffled his way up the church aisle followed by an old, much shorter, man.  Living in a nearby residential care facility, the two of them had recently started attending our church.  A few weeks later I saw the tall one return a stack of books to our church library.  “He borrows several books each week,” I was told, “reads them and returns them the next Sunday.”  I must admit I was a bit skeptical about his reading them; it would take me a couple months to read what he claimed he read in a week.  Lesson number one: don’t judge a book by its cover.

Since John didn’t have a car, he would often take a bus.  I don’t remember how it happened, but my wife began to take him places when the bus schedules weren’t convenient.  He provided an intellectual respite from a mother’s world filled with hairy puppets singing “Letter ‘B’” songs.  Lesson number two: a true friendship is when you can’t tell who is doing who a favor.

John became a true friend.  He taught me more than I could hope to describe.  He moved me to a new level of thinking and showed me that I could keep up.  He was our adopted father and our children’s adopted grandpa.  He was the same age as our dads and we celebrated their milestone birthdays together, the three old codgers, at 75, 80 and finally 85 years old.  Lesson number three: good friends are like family.

John was an intellect.  A graduate of Wheaton College and Princeton Theological Seminary, he was a friend of well known and influential people.  John was never rich or famous, but he, too, was influential.  All of us who spent time with him were never the same; you should have heard the chorus of voices at his memorial service.

As his 87th birthday approached, he was very ill.  “I just want to make it to my birthday,” he told us one time we were visiting.  My wife arranged a birthday party for him at the convalescent center.  He waited in the gathering room and friends began to appear one at a time.  And they stayed and talked and honored John.  He moved from one to another: talking, sharing and laughing.  He beamed with satisfaction.  And after all had left and as I was helping him back into bed, John looked at me square in the eyes.  The words he said were “thank you” and the tone was one of finality as if he was saying, “it is finished.”  A few days later, John was in eternity.

My friend John came to mind today; I miss him so.

There was a time, when I was a young father, that I was so enjoying my children that I thought, “This is the best age!  I wish they could stay this age forever.”  It was the “cute” stage where they were still learning to pronounce their words correctly.  For example, on a drive through the back roads of Chino they might say, “What’s it ‘mell like, Daddy?” or “Can we watch Mag-a-num PI when we get home?”  But time does not stand still….

And then they reached the “questioning” age.  This is such a great time for parents because then you get to make up all these creative answers and see what you can get away with.  “Why is the sky blue, Daddy?”  “It’s because there’s this big blue ball around our world, like the ball your hamster runs around in.”  I don’t know about your children, but mine never accepted my first answers.  “Come on, Daddy, what’s the real reason?”  And then I would remember my previous thought when they were younger and I’d think to myself, “No, this is the best age!  I wish they could stay this age forever.”

The thought of a child becoming a teenager sometimes strikes fear in the heart of a parent.  But when we reached that point, I so enjoyed the time we spent together.  I saw my children struggling to become the independent people we were raising them to be.  And truly, at this point, I once again thought to myself, “No, this is the best age!”

And now my children are adults and we relate to each other on a totally different level.  They have developed their own understanding of the world around them.  They have taken ownership of their lives.  They have made their Faith their own.

And once again I find myself thinking, “No, this is the best age!”

… Tom