Childhood Friends

I was 9 years old when we moved from our town house in Wildwood, (an apartment home complex in Fairfield of Ohio) to our new home in the same town. Fairfield is a suburb outside of Cincinnati. It was the 70's back then. Fairfield was just at the point of changing from a rural town to a full blown suburb. It had an interesting mix of rural, blue collar, and upwardly mobile professionals living there although the city was 99% white. Based on my best recollection, I think that there were more blue collar folks living there than any other group. At least that's what it seemed like back then. We came from the more upwardly mobile group. My Dad was a furniture rep. and was fast becoming a successful one too.

I was just getting used to my new neighborhood when I met a kid that was 10, just a year older than me. He was about my size, had sandy brown hair and a few freckles on his cheeks. He had sort of a mischevious glint in his eye, and was wearing a coon skin cap straight off the Daniel Boone show. "Daniel Boone" and "Davy Crockett" were huge shows back then. I can still sing the theme songs from them if you push me to it. That's been over 30 years.

His name was Kent. When we first met, we eyed each other warily and soon issued each other a challenge to a wrestling match. I think it was he that threw me first and then I got up and threw him. I remember he ripped my winter coat during the struggle. We proceeded to throw each other back and forth several times before we were through. If I had to compare Kent to a famous literary character, I would have to say it would be Tom Sawyer. He was full of cleverness and imagination.

We got along because we had some things in common. We both were the oldest of our siblings. He had two younger brothers and I had a younger brother and sister at the time. We both loved sports. The Dallas Cowboys was my favorite football team at the time and we played many hours in the back yard either tackle football or "Kill the Guy." Some people called that game "Smear the Queer." "Queer" back then didn't quite hold the same exact meaning as it does today. The Cincinnati Reds were our major league baseball team. The Big Red Machine won the world series when we were there with the help of Johnny Bench, Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Dave Concepcion, Joe Morgan and others.

One of was funnest things about Kent was his love for storytelling. I'd sleep over at his house sometimes with other neighborhood kids and we'd listen long into the night while he spun outlandish tales. We all starred as characters in his stories. There were always a couple of common themes. One was that we could all fly. The other was that we always had the hottest girls with us during our escapades. We were always the heroes and the females always gushed over us. What young boy wouldn't like stories like those?

I remember that Kent and I played army together, explored the woods and the creek that ran through our neighbor's back yard and tried to escape from our tag along little brothers. I also remember that I started a detective club with Kent and we went around searching for clues about childhood crimes that occured in the neighborhood. I don't think we ever managed to solve one, but I think we ended up blaming Kent's little brother, Matt, for all the crimes.

Evil Knievel was big back then and we set up ramps on our street and spent hours jumping our bikes on them. When we weren't jumping ramps, we were having dirt clod fights where foundations for new homes had been dug out. When we weren't having dirt clod fights we were exploring abandoned old farm houses that still existed in the area.

Here are couple of pictures on Kent and me creating the illusion of Superman. Sometimes we went shirtless in the summer. We thought we were studs.

One time time we went exploring an old farm house and ended up removing a support beam holding up an old dilapidated wall. I was the one that was crazy enough to hold it up while Kent and his brothers escaped the collapse. Luckily I was able to move out of the way before it overcame me.

Later that day we spied on a teenage couple making out in the woods nearby. I think we ruined their experience by shouting out secret signals to each other from different sides of the woods. "Cuckoo, Cuckaw!" Serves them right. They weren't supposed to be out in the woods in clear daylight making out in front of young explorers like us.

Kent and I became loyal friends. I remember once that he defended me from a kid from the other side of the neighborhood. Kenny Reeman was his name and his group of kids were our rivals. This kid, Kenny was older than me and had been threatening me on the bus home from school. (Not an uncommon occurance in Fairfield.) After we got off the bus, I remember that Kent started pushing him. "I'm not going to let you hurt my friend!" I remember him shouting. There was a short squirmish that ensued but broke up quickly between my side of Valley Forge Dr. and their side.

He was with me another time when a kid we called "Camper Bob" started punching me in the stomach on the bus one day. He started out just playing but then started hitting me harder and harder. Once I realized what was happening I twice launched my right fist into the side of his face. I remember this well because when I connected it sounded just like a punch sounds on "Gunsmoke." "Pop! Pop!" He quit hitting me. I was proud for defending myself, but Camper Bob had it out for me ever after that experience. Kent just laughed and kept calling the kid and his little brother, "Camper Bob and Little Slob". I don't remember what their real names were.

It wasn't too long before Kent's family decided to move to another town in Ohio. I was very sad to have my best buddy leaving me. We hadn't had enough time being buds. It was only something like a year or so that we lived in the same neighborhood. When I consider all the memories that we packed into such a short time, it's amazing. I could go on and on telling you stories about our childhood experiences and the era and town we lived in. There is more to the story I want to share but this post borders on being too long. Stay tuned for the next edition of Childhood Friends.

Part 2: The Second Gift

I was a colicky baby I've been told. I used to cry inordinately as an infant. My mother says I had a chronic upset stomach. One fine day, my Grandma Ada was all set to take me to the hospital after several hours of crying. When she got me into the car and began the trip, I finally found restful sleep to the rhythm and temperature of the car engine.

As I grew into childhood, I was strong like my Dad. The only problem was that I kept getting sick. Lot's of colds, flues and other ailments. Once when I was about 9 or so, I was out playing with some friends in a corn field in Fairfield, Ohio. I hadn't been out there too long when my eyes began to itch with the kind of itch that doesn't go away but just gets worse the more you rub. Soon the itch began to move down into my lungs. It changed from being an itch at that point and began to transform itself into a vice. The normal airflow that one takes for granted, begins to require great exertion for a person like me. I could hear my lungs whistling at that point, an ugly tune with no discernible melody. I couldn't expand my chest cavity to full capacity. A full breath wasn't possible and it was hard to push out what little air I could take in. I made it home to an alarmed mother. By the time I reached her, I could barely see. The bags under bloodshot eyes were filled to brimming. They were virtually swollen shut.

This didn't stop me at the time from pursuing my dreams. As I said before, dreams are powerful things. They take hold of the imagination and emblazon themselves upon your mind and heart. Soon I began along with my parents down the road of visiting many medical experts to see if they could improve my symptoms if not my condition itself. Asthma and allergies are treatable conditions or so they seemed. But the truth is that they are not the only complications that have vexed me. For years I have suffered from chronic fatigue, food intolerances and other things. I have never found a doctor yet who understood the symptoms I have described to them. That was part of the test for me. Life would have been much easier to deal with if all my symptoms were easily attributed to some known condition. Instead I have dealt with mystery illnesses with no answers. This was especially hard for me while I was growing up. Many times I didn't look sick on the outside. I wished that I had some broken bone that was visible so that people would know I wasn't faking.


Here are a couple of pictures of me during my early dreaming years:

The picture on the left was when I was first starting out with my big dreams. I was nine years old and it was my first year of tackle football.

The picture on the right was when I was about 14 years old. I was a champion wrestler for my team. I only lost once that year and I was able to avenge the loss against that opponent later in a subsequent match. Both pictures were taken in Fairfield, Ohio.

I don't look sick in these pictures and I wasn't all the time, but the older I got, the sicker I got.

By the time I got to 10th grade we had moved from Ohio to Atlanta, GA. My asthma and allergy problems got so bad there that I came to a point where I could no longer successfully compete. I decided to retire from sports after that sophomore year, a decision that caused me considerable mental and emotional anguish. That pain was heightened by the fact that I didn't look sick to my coaches or my peers. They now thought of me as a "quitter", a "could have been", titles that in no way represented the true me.

I could never explain how this trial affected me on so many levels. It still affects me to this day. I still have my limitations, though thankfully I don't have the same pressure to win at all costs like I did when I was growing up.

I can tell you that I spent many hours consulting with God about the issue. As you might guess, I used many arguments and proposed many deals and contracts to have these health issues removed from me. I did my best to try to change God's mind. It reminds me of the scripture in 2 Corinthians 12: 7-8. It has become precious to me.

"And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.

For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me."

Like Paul I was answered through blessings and the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

"My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness."

Only recently in my forties have I begun to feel the rest of the sentiment that Paul expressed.

"Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

Paul goes on to say, "Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong."

I have also come to love a new scripture that I discovered recently that helps a dreamer on his way.

"He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully." 2 Corinthians 9: 6

We may not be able to reach all of our childhood dreams in this life. Every crop we plant doesn't always flourish. However, I know this, the more you try, the more you gain. We can sow and reap bountifully in all areas of our lives and of course, the greatest gift I mentioned is still available to all, the gift of eternal life.

Please join me in pursuing that dream which transcends all other dreams.

Reflections of a Sporting Dreamer

Are you a dreamer? I am, and unabashedly so. Dreams are what make life worth living, the incredible prize waiting just over the next ridge. They are the substance of things not yet realized. They can be said to be closely related to the principals of faith and hope. If the dream is powerful enough, it can change your life. Not only can it change your life, it can transform your life. It's done so for others. It probably has done so for you too, for dreams define you. We are who we are now because of all those choices we made based on our dreams.


I continue in my adult life to have many dreams. My desire for good things has not dimmed with the passing years. My wife can attest that this is true. When I see something worth loving, I desire that thing and my spirit leaps inside me. I fearlessly attempt to capture that goal, acquire that skill or attribute. This sometimes causes my wife and children some embarrassment. I suppose that just because I can hear and appreciate a famous Broadway singer float on the wings of angels while he renders my favorite selection, "Bring Him Home" from Les Miserables, it doesn't necessarily mean that I can immediately do the same. Go figure. But there's nothing wrong with trying and reaching for something is there? I can say that I've gained much more by trying and reaching than by playing it safe. How do you think I won my wife all those years ago? Winning her was not for the faint of heart.

When I was younger I had big dreams; the biggest. I wanted to grow up and play football for the great Mormon University, BYU. I also wanted to win an Olympic gold medal in wrestling. I just knew I could do it. I was one of those kids who was self motivated, someone who was willing to work his guts out to become the best. I also had some talent. I could just visualize myself cutting, weaving, and bulldozing my way to pay dirt in the end zone of what was then, Cougar Stadium. I could also imagine myself setting up a giant Russian wrestler, fishhooking his right tricep, pulling down on his neck with the other forearm knowing that he would resist and thus provide me with an opening to get his momentum moving forward against me, then slipping underneath him and jacking him up with a fireman's carry move to win the gold medal at the Olympics.

It was glorious in my imagination. I repeated this vision in my mind and heart 'till it became so ingrained in me as to become part of my young identity. Brett, the superstar, the stud athlete. Nothing was going to stop me. The gift of imagination is powerful my friends, more powerful than many people comprehend. I told God and the universe what I wanted and then I went to work to make it become reality.

I was fortunate because I was born to parents who supported me 100%. My Dad was my idol, a superhero in his own right. He had been an all state football player in high school. I revelled in his stories from the past and longed to create my own. He quickly saw my potential and provided numerous opportunities for me to grow and develop. It was he that first taught me to bump and spin to escape opponents on the football field. It was he that taught me to stiff arm would be tacklers. "Stiff arm them right in the helmet" he said. "Knock 'em back when you do it." He also taught me to cut block and take the legs right out from under defenders as often as I could on blocking assignments. I was a good learner and quickly became very adept all of these skills.

During the early years I had great success. Nothing could stop me it seemed. My future looked bright. It appeared to me that my dreams were getting closer. I could smell them as they began to take on flesh and bone. What I created within the walls of my mental and spiritual universe were becoming real.

Little did I comprehend that wrapped carefully and securely within the bright package of physical gifts that God endowed me with at birth was another gift. This gift was different. It had rough edges. It was heavy to carry. It could and would cause pain. It even didn't seem to be a gift to me, nor did I recognize it as such for many years. Nevertheless, as the first gift fades a little with time and age, the latter gift remains with me, my companion for life. Like a child who is disappointed at a Christmas gift she didn't want, I was sure I didn't want this second gift. "Please, not the second gift," I said to God. "I'll take the first one. I just don't want the second one," or so I thought for a long time. Only recently have I begun to appreciate the second gift. Only recently have I begun to understand what the second gift does.

The truth is that the second gift has been the one helping me to prepare for the greatest gift to come much later. The greatest gift is what I've truly wanted from my core from the beginning. How can I despise this second gift when it is the one doing all the work?

Next Edition: The Second Gift

Teenage Beauties

Check out my oldest two daughters:

Don't you just love them?

Needless to say, I am pretty proud of these two.

Please don't send your sons around for at least another 5 years. I'm still enjoying them.

I'm trying to help them through those turbulent teenage years.

I'm trying to help them remember who they really are and how special they are.

I don't want them falling into all those false beliefs that plague girls in this modern society; lies told to women about how to look, how to feel, and about a woman's role etc.

I want them to know that they are precious daughters of our Heavenly Father. I want them to know they are spiritual beings endowed with special gifts and talents that can be used to bless the lives of all of us around them.

I want them to know that they can keep on progressing forever and that they never need to settle for anything less than what our Father in Heaven has promised them.

I don't seek to control them or take away their agency, but I am actively protecting them, nurturing them and providing opportunities for them to develop in every way that I can think of.

Sometimes it's hard for me because I have so much to tell them, so much I have learned in my life that I want to share with them. Sometimes I forget that people learn line upon line, precept on precept. For that, I will have to ask them for their patience with me. I'm only an overzealous father like many others.

I only ask those of you who read this blog one favor. If you ever run in to my girls, remember how I think of them, how I believe in them. Remember they are your sisters if not your granddaughters, nieces or cousins. They are your fellow human beings that merit the respect and love that the Savior showed women in his day. Join me in encouraging them to be all that they can be and remind them that their father is watching. I'm talking about both of their fathers.



Thanks for reading.


Father of the Girls