Around The Campbell's Dinner Table

If your house is anything like ours, you know how hard it is to have dinner together as a family So it was a rare treat this evening at the Campbell's...as I was able to escape work a bit early so that we actually got to eat dinner together!

And it's a good thing we did!

We are sitting there discussing the day's events, listening to our 3-year old, Jacob, drone on about some imaginary project that he was working on...when I caught an angle of Noah's head that grabbed my attention. Maybe the wind had blown his hair funny...or maybe he laid on it wrong while watching TV...but his hair just didn't look right.

Now he had been at his Mee-Maw's house all weekend, and she loves to cut his hair every chance she gets...but she hadn't mentioned anything to us about cutting his hair.

So I asked him. "Noah, did you get your hair cut?" The mischievous look that feel across his face let me know the answer to my question. But it also revealed there was a significant amount of the story I was going to have to pry from his cold, dead hands.

"Uh-huh," he said shyly.

"When," I inquired?

"Uh.....today."

I looked at Robin. Robin looked at me. We both looked at Noah. He looked at us...and slowly lowered his head to reveal a two-inch gap with no hair. Robin was horrified. "Noah, did YOU cut your hair," I asked? He nodded his head, but quickly defended his actions. As his mother motioned for him to come close so that she could assess the damage, Noah told how one of his classmates had put glue in his hair.

"So THAT'S why you needed scissors," Robin said...remembering that Noah claimed he wanted scissors to cut out a picture. "Noah," she continued, "you can't do that. Do you realize that if you cut your hair like that there's a chance it won't grow back!"

I glanced across the table and saw my newly-turned 8-year old grinning at me...and I knew what was coming. He turned to his mother and asked, "So...is that what happened to Daddy?"

Wise guy!

So if anyone has a yarmulke they're not using, please contact me. We want to me sure to keep Noah's head from getting sunburned. Also, I have an 8-year old son for sale!

Fifteen Seconds of Fame

My oldest son, Elijah, turned 8 this past Sunday. For weeks Robin had asked him, "Elijah, what do you want to do for your birthday?" But we got no response. Sunday rolled around, and he still hadn't given us any idea of what we could do for his birthday.


So about mid-afternoon I hinted that he and I should go 'play' later on. So while Robin distracted Noah and Jacob, Elijah and I headed off to his favorite spot - Peter Piper's Pizza.


A Chuck E. Cheese on steroids, no one goes to Peter Piper to eat...you go to play...and play...and play. It really is a wonderful establishment, but a guy can drop $20 on one kid in nothing flat.


Elijah and I went in with a plan. He still had over 500 tickets from his last visit to PPP, but he needed a total of 1,000 to bring home the ultimate prize...a Dallas Mavericks teddy bear (one, by the way, a person could purchase for $10 at Wal-Mart!). But the joy is in the hunt, right? And we were in good company this night...as it seemed EVERY youth baseball and soccer team was having its end-of-the-year gathering at Peter Piper's.


So with tokens in hand we begin our quest. We played everything from Whack-A-Mole's cousin "Whack-A-Shark," "Jumping Jackpot" (an electronic jump rope game), "Skee-ball" (a carnival room favorite) and other assorted money-sucking festivities. When the money budgeted for the evening had been spent we redeemed our tickets. When added to the 500+ tickets Elijah accumulated on his last visit we had 919 tickets.


My tired 8-year old stared into his father's tired eyes. "Guess we'll have to get that bear next time," I said...knowing full well how that statement would go over.


Elijah's bottom lip started to quiver. He stared down at the ticket receipts in his hand. "We only need 81 more," he said softly.


"Wow," I thought, "he's getting good at math!" How could I resist a kid that figured that out so quickly!


"Okay," I said, "I've got two more dollars. But after that we're leaving." He agreed, and we began to devise a plan to come up with 81 tickets using only 8 tokens. Earlier in the evening, as we were playing Skee-ball, I hearkened back to my days at the Fort Worth Stock Show Midway. I was maybe ten years old when an old man showed me that, if you hit the incline of the ramp just right, the ball would almost always shoot into the 10,000 point slot. I tried it a handful of times while Elijah and I were playing and found that I was fairly decent at that technique.


So I said, "Elijah, let's go try Skee-ball. If I can get a perfect score that'll give us 50 tickets with just one token." He agreed and off we waded through the mass of children.


Elijah watched anxiously as I put in a token. The spherical ammunition slid into position as the target loomed ominously in the distance. I selected my first orb, positioned my body to the far left of the ramp, and let my first shot fly. The ball hit exactly where I had hoped, arced through the night, and landed precisely in the 10,000 point slot.


"YES!" Elijah exclaimed, and quickly handed me a second ball. Again I positioned myself as far to the left I could and sent my second shot on its way. Just as before it landed precisely in the 10,000 point slot. Elijah is beside himself, jumping up and down already feeling that teddy bear in his arms.


The third shot, fourth shot and fifth shot all followed suit. Five balls - five perfect shots. As I selected the sixth ball I noticed a handful of kids had gathered around to watch the drama unfolding. Trying to be nonchalant about the whole situation I let number six fly. As I did so, Elijah exclaimed, "My dad is going for a perfect score!" Right on cue, shot number six landed in the 10,000 point slot.

A cheer went up behind me. I turned and saw no less than 20 kids all standing around watching...watching ME! My mouth instantly went dry, my hands began to sweat, and a panic leaped into my heart - the same panic that grips the heart of every married man when his wife heads to the Mall the morning after Thanksgiving.

I reached for ball #7, fully aware that I had become the main attraction. I went through the same motions as I had the six previous times. As my arm rocked back it was as though the entire game room fell silent...and then erupted as the seventh shot found its perfect mark.

Elijah's grin made The Joker's look mild as he anxiously handed me ball #8. As I turned to take it from him I now noticed not only kids standing around...but their parents had joined the fray as well. As before, the multitude grew silent as ball #8 left my hand...and, again, erupted as my perfect score remained.

Now I know both of you reading this are hanging on the edge of your seats...so I'll spare you the drama. Yeah - I made the 9th shot, too. And the crowd cheered. And parents and children wept as they embraced - I had created a rallying point for parent-child relationships.

Okay...I made that last part up.

But I DID get a perfect score. Then out came the tickets...all 50 of them. No sooner had Elijah rolled them up and stuck them in his pocket than that inevitable cry came up...

"Do it again, dude!"

Not wanting to disappoint my adoring fan club I quickly grabbed another token, placed it in the machine, and began my quest for additional perfection.

It would've been wise to remember the old theatre adage: "Always leave your audience wanting more"...as my first shot careened wildly into the 1,000 point slot. And then it was as if someone had thrown up in the middle of the group...as the crowd instantly scattered.

But for a mere moment in time...I WAS...the Skee-ball King of Peter Piper's Pizza. "So I got that going for me.......which is nice."

p.s. Oh yeah...and Elijah DID get his bear (sorry...I forgot that it's not all about me - ha!).

Neighbors and Memories

We live on a great street! Our next-door neighbors to the north are a sweet, young-married couple with great careers, a beautiful house, a love for God...and a dog that hates my guts. We've spent hours in the front yards talking about work, life, God, friends - you name it. Heck...they even let our kids borrow their Wii while they were outta town!!!

Across the street are a couple about our age. They're expecting their first child at the first of the year. They're active in their church, they have a beautiful yard, and their dog doesn't much care for me, either.

On the opposite end of the street is where my boys spend most of their time. There's kids all over the place. In the summertime, you could always find a soccer, baseball, football, or other miscellaneous game breaking out in the street. Parents sitting around enjoying each other's company watching their kids be kids. It's what's right with America.

And then you have my next door neighbors to the south.

Robin, the boys and I have lived here for almost a year. We have met every family in the neighborhood, and have been in half of their homes...except for our next door neighbors. I THINK I would recognize the man if he walked outside - I've seen him once. I know that he is married, because I've heard the other neighbors talk about the house. To say their house is uninviting would be an understatement. The blinds are always shut, and the curtains are always drawn. A handwritten sign is taped to their door. It reads: "No Solicitors, No Pamphlets, No Peddlers. Only UPS, FEDEX and Postal Workers are welcomed."

And they're not kidding.

I came home from work this week. As usual, pandemonium had set in with balls flying hither and yon, kids wrestling and yelling, and Robin looking relieved that someone else has arrived to share in her joy. "How was your day," I asked Elijah as he looked up from giving his brother an atomic neckbreaker?

Elijah cast a glance at Robin. "Tell him what happened," she said.

Shyly, he told me, "Our neighbor told me to get out of her yard."

Naturally, I figured Elijah had commandeered a 4-wheeler and must have been trenching her yard to get such a cold retort. "What were you doing," I inquired.

"Nothing," he said. "Noah threw the football over my head, and when I went to get it, she stuck her head out of the door and yelled at me."

I was steaming. My first inclination was to go over there and find out what made her such a crotchety, miserable woman. My second thought was take all THREE of my boys into her front yard and have a spontaneous, high-decibel game of Red Rover. But I chilled...and it drew me back to my old neighborhood in Fort Worth.

Overton Avenue was a great street. There weren't many kids, but it was very family friendly. I have many fond memories of retired folks who would let me ride my bike in their driveway, or pick pecans in their front yard, or even help them clean their golf clubs after a long day on the course. All of the grown-ups that lived on our street LOVED children....

Except for the Ashmore's.

I distinctly remember the first time I ever met Mr. Ashmore. My friend Joe and I were throwing the football across the street one day. We looked down the street, and a brown Caprice Classic was making it's way up the hill. Joe took one more throw. The ball bounced once in the street and safely into my yard - a good 100 feet before the car crossed our paths. When the car got even with both of us it stopped abruptly. Both windows rolled down to reveal a married couple in their mid-50's. The lady had unkempt salt-n-pepper hair; the man had wispy brownish-red hair and a pair of Buddy Holly-like glasses.

"You damn kids," he yelled! "You ever try to hit my car again, and it's the last thing you'll ever do!" And off he drove to his garage four houses down. We were stunned. Joe and I, both having lost the will to throw the ball any longer, went to our respective homes.

A week later, a game of touch football was underway in my front yard. An errant pass brought play to a halt as the ball rolled out into the street. Another friend from the next street over went into the street to retrieve the ball. Driving up the street again was that familiar brown Caprice Classic. The next play was about to begin when our game was interrupted by an angry voice coming from the car. "You damn kids! I told you to watch where you throw that damn ball of yours!" And off he drove.

It was at that moment that he no longer was known as Mr. Ashmore. From that day forward, we referred to he and his wife (I hope I can say this) as the Ash-holes. Every time we saw them coming up the street, each of us would run as far away from the street as possible, turn our backs, and wait for them to drive past. That unhappy couple has been etched in my memory for the better part of 30-years.

So a note to our next door neighbors: I don't know who you are, where you're from, or even what your names are. But hopefully you will see the error of your ways and will reach out to my children with a friendly gesture and seek to mend this broken bond.

And if not...well...I hope your name is Ashmore! Because after 30 years, saying Ash-hole STILL makes me giggle!

Open Mouth, Insert BOTH Feet

Last Sunday I was desperately trying to navigate my three offspring from Bible class into the sanctuary for worship. It's similar to herding cats. Cats that must stop at each water fountain. Cats that talk back to you. Cats that like to try and swing on one of your arms while you're trying to beat the other two cats that are fighting with one another.

One of the ladies at church, who has a son the same age as my oldest, saw my efforts, smiled, and said, "Chris, your children are just so cute."

Now what parent doesn't love hearing compliments about their children. Anytime someone has a kind word to say about how well-behaved my kids are (don't hear that one too often!!!), how handsome they are, etc., it just really makes me feel wonderful. So I was about to tell this lady how much I appreciated her kind words at this frantic moment in my life.

But her next sentence came out before mine did.

"They remind me of the kids from 'Village of the Damned.'"

I guess the look on my face made her think she needed to further explain her comment. "You know, they're all blond-headed, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned. And their adorable, just like those kids in the movie." Yeah...adorable...in a demonic, zombie sort of way.

The continued perplexed look on my face caused her to start panicking. "Or maybe it was 'Children of the Corn'?"

"Uh, no, Malachi had red hair in that movie," I said. "Yep, it was 'Village of the Damned,' then," she said as she walked on down the hall.

Funny...and awkward...all at the same time!

But not HALF as awkward as what I found myself in about six years ago. I had just started a new job at my alma mater in Abilene. It was my second week, and we were having one of those team-building exercises that everyone just LOVES. After it was all over, they wanted a group picture to remember the moment. As they began to line us all up, the person taking the picture asked me to move to the front. This group of folks were all taller than I was...and since they were younger, they all had MUCH more hair than I. So as I moved to the front of the group I made the comment, "Great...move all of us short, chubby, balding folks to the front of the line."

Well...it just so happens that as I was saying this, a lady that we work with was also being asked to move to the front to stand beside me. She was significantly shorter than I am, and her hair had begun thinning for some reason. No sooner were the words out of my mouth that she turned and looked at me with this hurt, horrified look on her face. While I did not look directly at her, I could see her face through my peripheral vision...and all of the folks behind me had borne witness to what had happened, and they were doing their best to hold in their embarrassment for me.

So they took the picture...and I got the heck outta there!!!!!!!!!!!

Noah Strikes Again

Both of you may remember Noah’s first shocking photo…the one where he appears to be ‘shooting the bird’ at the photographer taking his Rainbow School class’ picture. In case you don’t recall it, I’ve attached it for your benefit.

Well…he’s done it again.

Noah was “Student of the Month” in his class for the month of September. A prestigious honor, I think. One DEFINITELY worthy of having your picture taken.

I would even venture to guess that the picture was taken with a digital camera. A digital camera that allows you to look at the picture to ensure it meets your expectations.

SURELY someone could’ve looked at THIS picture and thought, “Maybe we ought to re-take this and be sure that EVERYONE has their hands to their side or behind their back. I’m sure you’ll figure out where Noah is and what he’s doing.

I’m one proud papa!!!

The Gum Man

Fletcher "Dit" Wright was an unassuming, humble gentleman. Small in stature, his face was constantly plastered with a smile. He loved the Lord, loved serving in the community, owned his own successful business, and was the quintessential family man.


And he was also the biggest celebrity within the walls of the Altamesa Church of Christ in Fort Worth. While the grown ups called him "Dit," all of us kids simply referred to him as "The Gum Man."



Every Sunday morning when worship was over kids would flock in droves to see the Gum Man with arms outstretched ready to shake his hand. Because each child knew that when they shook hands the correct way, they got a prize. Big Red, Juicy Fruit, Doublemint, Fruit Stripe -- you name it, the Gum Man had it...and he always had plenty. I don't know that he ever calculated how much gum he distributed, but I'm sure the numbers would be staggering. He was always one of the last folks to leave the building because he wanted to be sure every child had a chance to shake his hand. The kids loved. Not just because he gave us gum...but because you could tell he loved us, too.

His love for people spilled over into the 'grown up' world as well. My grandfather and he spent countless hours serving in quiet ways around the church building - fixing the church vans (which, for some reason, were ALWAYS breaking down), working a variety of benevolent opportunities, and doing countless other things to fulfill the mission of Christ. He served as a deacon for as long as I could remember, and you could always rely on him being an integral part of anything going on at the building.

It was later in life that I learned that this quiet little man with the happy countenance was also a decorated war hero. He served in the Army Air Corps during World War II. He was captured by the Japanese during the Battle of the Philippines, was a Prisoner Of War for almost four years, and a survivor of the Bataan Death March. He earned the coveted Bronze Star.

For all that he experienced in that time overseas, it would have been easy to be a cruel, angry, distant human being. But instead...he became The Gum Man.


So I hope at the funeral today someone places a stick of Big Red on his casket from me...

Aristotle, He Isn't...

…but our middle son, Noah, is becoming renowned around our home for saying things that make you scratch your head.

Take this past week, for example.

It’s a sports-intensive time in the Campbell household. Elijah is playing basketball, baseball and soccer…while Noah is pulling double-duty of playing soccer and baseball. You can tell Noah LOVES baseball, because every spare moment he is striking another major league-emulated batting stance. So I am constantly asked, “Daddy, who’s the guy on the White Sox that bats like this…” and he strikes a Paul Konerko or Ken Griffey, Jr. pose. Now understand…it is IMPERATIVE that I answer him. Otherwise, I will spend the next 45 minutes detailing the batting stance of every player he ISN’T imitating in an effort to conclude our conversation.
Among the drives to practices, games, practices, games, and practices, both Elijah and Jacob managed to acquire a stomach virus of some sort (it’s always great when you walk in the front door and have your children run into your arms and hug you…and then promptly yack chocolate ice cream down your back!).

Elijah got attacked by this little bug most viciously…with both ‘ends’ participating in the festivities. Upon walking in the door on Friday, I asked Noah about his day at school. After he told me about his day in P.E. (I think that’s the only subject Noah is enjoying), he told me that Elijah didn’t go to school.

“Yeah, I heard Elijah had to stay home. What happened,” I asked?

“Oh, he was sick. He had DIABETES,” was his reply.

“Diabetes?!?!?” I tried not to laugh too loudly so as not to hurt my future doctor’s feelings.

“Don’t you mean…” Oh…never mind…

Later that evening we headed out for Noah’s baseball game. As Noah and I were warming up, one of his teammates came over to play catch with us. Noah is still in the mode of getting to know all of his teammates, and he didn’t know Nicholas’ name. When I said, “Hi, Nicholas,” Noah interjected, “Nicholas…that’s a weird name!”

Nicholas’ feelings were hurt…and he stuck his tongue out at Noah. I quickly took Noah aside and told him he can’t say things like that.

“Just because you have never heard that name before doesn’t mean it’s weird,” I explained. In an effort to make peace, Noah went over to Nicholas and said, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean ‘weird.’ I meant that your name is FASCINATING.”

HUH???

Later that same evening, Elijah’s latest baseball game revealed that he has a teammate with an over-the-top dad. A WAY over-the-top-dad. With all due respect to either of you who are vertically challenged, Cory’s dad is a bit on the Zacchaeus side…and I think that translates a bit into his constant berating and scolding of his 7-year old. Well…it made Robin and I both extremely uncomfortable…as it did Elijah.

“Cory’s dad isn’t very nice to him,” Elijah commented on the way home from his game.
“No, he’s not is he,” was Robin’s reply. And so Robin and Elijah began an in-depth discourse on the integrity of the game, the responsibility of the coach-player-parent relationship, the importance of doing one’s best, etc. Not to be left out of the conversation, Noah interrupted with this jewel: “Not everyone has a red tongue!”

Well…you can’t just let that pearl of wisdom go! So Robin asked, “Really? Who doesn’t have a red tongue?”

“Nicholas, my fascinating friend. His tongue is kinda brown.”

After getting the wheels back on, we finished discussing Elijah’s teammate situation…but anxiously anticipated another commentary from Noah.