70

At three in the morning on Saturday, June 27, I came into this world.

My tattered baby book has eight pounds and seven and half ounces as my entry weight.

Knowing that June can be hot and humid in North Carolina, I feel certain my mother was happy when I arrived. And somewhere in a waiting room at Alamance County Hospital, my father was probably relieved too.

Today, I turn seventy.

Luckily, I’m not alone in reaching seventy, many of my friends will also celebrate hitting seventy this year.

At different times over the last seventy years, I’ve had thoughtful conversations with my childhood friends, John Huffman and Joe Vanderford. One thing we all agree on is how lucky we were to have our parents. Any success that we’ve had through the years came from the example they set with their hard work, sacrifice, care, and unyielding love.

I think love was the key for me as my parents continued to love me when I was not at my best, and I disappointed them.

Parenting is tough, tough work. Even in good circumstances, parenting is truly never easy, and the work of a parent is never done, even when your children are grown.

I appreciate the teachers who tolerated me. I’m forever grateful to my first grade teacher, Mrs. Hughes, who taught me the life skill of reading, Mrs. Wall who taught be how to type, and Mrs. Barnwell who in my senior year of high school challenged me to read Catcher In The Rye and the Invisible Man.

Mr. Wallace Pegram my cooperating teacher during my student teaching assignment stayed with me my whole career in public education with these words: “there’s a lot psychology in teaching.”

Throughout my life, I’ve been lucky to have the support of what I call families: my relatives, church family, education family, and neighbors. When I think back, no matter where I have been, I’ve been surrounded by good people.

My sister, Lisa, and her husband, Eric, are among those good people. They have always been patient and kind to our children. And, I deeply admire their compassion for the earth. Doesn’t matter if it is about farming, chickens, horses, or t-shirts, their passion and their ability to build community relationships is unsurpassed.

Another one of those good people, Don Gumm, guided my admission into Greensboro College, and my first teaching job at Martinsville Junior High School. Don had been the Youth Minister at Davis Street United Methodist Church.

I had no business being accepted into Greensboro College. But, Don believed in me, and despite my awful academic performance in high school, Don Gumm’s belief in me was good enough for the Admissions Director.

From that admission, I met my future wife, made five friends for life, and started my thirty one year career in public schools.

This November will mark forty eight years of marriage to the love of my life, Betsy. Despite my many aggravating faults, she has stayed by my side in all the ups and downs of my wobbling through this world.

And because of her, we have three slightly above average children, and four grandchildren that provide one of the most precious gifts of life—laughter.

To our children, you need to know that time is flying, and my prayer to you in the future is this: “ I pray that I will not become a burden to you as I zip into old age.” Who knows maybe I am already a burden to you. If I do become a burden, may the ghost of Dr. Kevorkian swoop down and take me.

For our grandchildren, I’m sorry our world is such a mess. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be part of guiding the improvements that our world needs before it’s too late.

Even though that rotten cancer took your life, I still love you Pat Conroy. Your books always hit my heart.

To all the musicians and songwriters, I love it when your music moistens my eyes. There is nothing like a good cry from the beauty of a song. Speaking of musicians, Drew Willson, if you happen upon this reflection of baloney, I hope you record your third album before I croak.

Many thanks to all the curators who put together exhibits in art museums. I apologize to all of the security guards who have politely reminded me—“Sir, your leaning a bit too close to the painting.”

Hey God, I hope you didn’t expect me to skip over you in this pondering. Somedays, I wonder if you are still vertical, and then some tiny unexpected miracle will occur, and I think to myself, yes, God is still hanging around, we haven’t run him off yet.

However, God, I want to make it perfectly clear with you, no human being should battle cancer twice during a lifetime.

I forever cherish those days when a voice from deep inside my soul whispers to me “you need to go for a run.” There is nothing like an early morning run for me. I cherish the selfish, singularity of those moments. I’m thankful for the still sleepy beauty found in the first streaks of sunlight, the “good morning chatter” of birds, and the cycles of seasonal changes.

I love who ever invented the hot shower, oatmeal raisin cookies, the camera in a cell phone, eye glasses, fifty weight sunscreen, people with patience, the fishing rod, and the readers of my baloney.

I love Wayne Dementi and Nell Chesley in the development of our four books.

I apologize to all the people I have hurt, disappointed, or let down because of my multiple imperfections. In my seventy years, there have been too many. As my wife reminds me sometimes, “William, you are too hard on yourself.” But then again, aren’t we all?

It would be easy to ramble aimlessly for a few more paragraphs.

But, I’ll close with the Andy Griffith Show.

Despite the ways critics point out the show’s shortcomings, I believe the writers, actors, and actresses gently reminded us that: listening is important, patience is essential in an impatient world, common sense, telling the truth, believing in people in difficult times, and a kind heart are virtues that were as critical to our lives when the show first aired on October 3, 1960 as they are today. Sadly, those much needed life lessons are eroding like our coastal shorelines.

Thanks for letting me interrupt you, have a quiet day, I hope to see you at 80.

Love, Bill