Brotherly Love

“We don’t treat each other like that. God gave you a brother as a gift. You guys are best friends, you love each other, you look out for each other! If you two are having a problem and you can’t work it out with your words, you need to come to me to let me help you. Now what do you think you should say to each other?”

He grumbles rebelliously under his breath with his head hung low, “I’m sorry I took the toy from you… will you forgive me?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I yelled at you… will you forgive me?” the other one mumbles in a like manner.

Such forced dialogues are a commonly rehearsed in our home, and are followed by a short speech that goes something like: “It’s important to learn how to admit when you’ve done wrong and ask forgiveness. You’re going to mess up a lot in life and it’s important to practice how to repair your relationships with people, even now, with each other. I can make you say the words, but I can’t make you mean them in your heart. Only God can help you do that. I pray your heart will change as you grow in your understanding of what Jesus did for you when he died on the cross and rose from the dead to save sinners like us.”

All they seem to hear at that point is “Waa waa waa waaaaa, waa waa waa waaa.” I take a deep patient breath, and wonder if God really will ever work in their hearts.

Once JJ asked, “Mom, why do make us say those words? NOBODY talks like that.”

“Yes I know,” I replied in typical mom fashion that all kids loathe, “but you’re not ‘nobody’. You’re somebody. And someday you’re going to marry a somebody, and the sooner you learn to admit wrong and apologize, the better.”

I can’t blame him. I get it. He’s right. It’s awkward. It’s not natural for us to admit wrong. It’s painful! It takes more strength and energy in the seconds it takes to say “I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Will you please forgive me?” than it does in the HOURS we’re willing to spend building a case to justify our offenses.

Christian and Coleman really are best friends. It’s almost as if they are the same person. They look out for each other. I have caught them on many occasions putting the other’s wants ahead of their own. They generally share and take turns willingly. They laugh and play video games and pretend to be super heroes all day. They get along. They rarely ever have a conflict, and when they do, it’s usually resolved easily. They’re guys, they don’t hold grudges anyway.

So I was heartbroken the day they got into their first real fight.

They were playing with legos in their bedroom when all of a sudden I heard Christian wailing. I walked in to find him boo-hooing with his face buried in a pillow under his bed. Coleman was sitting on the trundle, visibly upset, but not crying. “What on earth is going on in here?!”

“COLEMAN BIT ME!!”

“CHRISTIAN SLAPPED me REALLY HARD and it hurt REALLY BAD! He said he was NEVER gonna get off of me and he wouldn’t let me up!” When he turned his head I saw Christian’s handprint on the side of his face. I was mortified. This was completely foreign territory to me. Their conflicts had never escalated this far before.

As if on cue, Brad came home from work right as I had put them in separate rooms. Thank God, I thought. He will be much more effective in dealing with this. As he listened to the drama unfold, his face lit up with every word I spoke. I stopped mid-story.

“Why are you SMILING?!”

“Because they’re BROTHERS! That’s what brothers do! We should let ‘em fight, just bring ‘em out here in the middle of the living room and let them duke it out. Yeah! We’ll give ‘em boxing gloves and turn them loose on each other!”

“What? NO!”

Brad put his game face on and entered the room where Christian was.

“What’s going on?”

And then it happened, just like that: a genuine desire to reconcile began to unfold right before our eyes. After a few seconds of reflection, a look of disgusted self-awareness came over him. He raised an eyebrow and his forehead wrinkled, “It was actually not very important really… it was just about legos.” He proceeded to give an accurate account of the sequence of events from the beginning. It turns out, Christian was building an animal out of legos and Coleman wanted to use the eye for something he was building. Christian refused to give it to him, and Coleman started yelling at him, telling him he HAD to. Christian got tired of Coleman yelling, so he hauled off and put his handprint on the side of his face. Then they fought for a little bit. Christian used his size to his advantage, pounced on Coleman and vowed never to let him up. That’s when Coleman sunk his teeth into Christian’s shoulder, causing him to recant and hide under the bed. After this explanation, Brad asked, “So, who was wrong?” Christian answered, “Coleman was I think…” then he confessed, “actually both of us were wrong. And I just now thought about something… I should’ve just given him the lego.”

“Oh Christian, that would’ve been nice, but we wouldn’t have made you do that. It’s ok that you didn’t give it to him. We just want you to come to us if you can’t work something out using your words.”

Brad left to get Coleman’s side of the story. Meanwhile, Christian tried to hide the lump in his throat, but his voice began to crack and giant tears welled up in his eyes as he climbed into my lap and buried his face in my shoulder, “…but legos are not important… Your LIFE is important! Legos are just LEGOS. They don’t even mean anything…” Yes, that sweet music came right out of the heart of my 5 year old middle guy.

When we joined the two up again, Brad made them stand in front of him. “Raise your hand if you were wrong.”  Both boys raised their hands. “Good. That’s right. You were both wrong. Now, I want to teach you boys to grow up to be strong men, and strong men always THINK before they act. They use their heads: not their fists, not their teeth. Strong men always THINK first.” Then, all on their own, they apologized to one another, admitting their offense, and asking forgiveness of each other from their hearts. And I, well my heart swelled with thankfulness at the preview of what God is beginning to do in their hearts. 

It Is Well With My Soul

When we announced that we were expecting baby #4, JJ pleaded to be the one to call and share the news with Grandma Sharon. He wanted to set up the conversation in a way that he could nonchalantly drop the bomb and await her reaction. He later detailed their conversation: “I asked her what she was up to, but I admit I only asked because I wanted her to ask me back. I didn’t even pay attention to what she said, but I’m betting she said something about watching the weather, since that’s what she’s always doing…” I belly laughed because I knew he was likely right on the money! My mom is the family weather-wonder-woman. Clear skies or storms ahead, I have come to rely on Mom to let me know when to be weather aware in Owasso. 

I hadn’t heard a word from her on May 20th, 2013, so I had no cause for alarm and no clue what was brewing in my hometown of Moore, OK. Following a nice, leisurely, media-free afternoon visit at a friend’s house, I rounded up my two younger boys and headed to pick JJ up from school. Waiting in the car line, I logged on to Facebook on my phone. A friend’s status read, “Tornado just touched down on 149th and May!” Hmm, that’s odd. That’s right next to my cousin’s house. It must be a joke or a mistake though, since I haven’t heard from anyone today. I’m sure it’s nothing significant. I dialed my mom’s number. I can imagine her irritation when she heard my completely oblivious voice on the other end of the line, “Heyyy! What’s going on over there?” 

“Oh, Steph, there’s a big tornado headed right for my house.” Now, my mom isn’t one to be very dramatic just for effect, but I was certain she was overreacting in this case. Tornadoes have threatened that house so many times over the last 35 years, but her house had always seemed to have a protective shield around it. All different shapes and sizes of funnels have touched down nearby but always stayed just blocks to the north, to the south, to the east or to the west. Like clockwork every spring for as long as I can remember, the dark, scary clouds circulate above her house, but change their minds about forming a funnel and retreat. I fully expected this menace to thin out and disappear before it ever came close to her neighborhood. I had no frame of reference for what was happening; nevertheless, I understood that any tornado is a scary one, especially when you’re by yourself. I just needed to be a calming voice in her ear. I assured her everything was going to be ok, she was going to be ok, etc… 

She was watching the television as she stood on the phone with me. I started asking questions to gauge the best approach to keeping her calm.
“Have you cleared out the closet?”
“Yes.”
“Are they saying to take cover in the central part of the house?”
“NO! They’re saying get UNDERGROUND … Someone’s calling on the other line…… that was Peetie, he told me I need to get out of here. I can’t leave. I don’t know where I would go.” I remembered the exact same directions given during the course of the last deadly tornado that ripped through Moore: get underground.
“It’s gonna be ok, Mom, you’re gonna be ok.” My confidence was wavering. I started to wonder. I was so confused. It was all happening too fast to process. My mom was scared, and there was nothing I could do from where I was. I just wanted to be with her. I didn’t want her to be alone. I worried more about her blood pressure than the destruction from a tornado. I just didn’t want her to be alone.
“Steph, I’ve got to hang up. It’s here. I have to get in the closet.” Her voice was laced with panic, and I fought for the right words to calm her.
“Ok. I love you, Mom. You’re gonna be ok. Stay calm. Pray. Call me when it’s over. Whatever happens, it’s gonna be ok. It is well with your soul.”
“I love you too. I gotta go.” Click.

Inching forward in the car line 2 helpless hours away from my mom, I dialed a friend who lives just outside of Moore who confirmed the severity of the situation all the while trying not to alarm me. He was already headed toward Moore to see what he could do to help and offered to check on my mom.

JJ stepped into the car and as we headed for home I explained what was going on. Dread and concern trickled in with each passing moment of no call back. I decided to try calling her, although I knew even if she were safe the phone lines were likely down. To my surprise, she answered! In all my years I had never heard such distress in her tone, but I was just so relieved to hear her voice I didn’t care what words she spoke. I asked what happened. “Oh, Steph, it hit my house. All my windows are blown out. There’s mud and debris everywhere. I don’t know what to do, what do I do? This is awful! I wonder if someone can come…?” I made sure she wasn’t hurt and then assured her that someone would get to her soon, just hang tight and be careful about walking around. I asked about the roof. “I don’t know. I haven’t even been outside. I’m going to go see, I’ll call you later.” Click. 

Later she recounted that when the tornado barged in the front door and ransacked the place, she prayed aloud and used every ounce of her strength to keep the closet door pulled shut because the force of the suction was so strong. She compared the sound of the wind to that of fighter jets zooming right past at close range. As far as damage, the roof was completely lifted off but set right back down about 3 inches away from where it was supposed to be. Flying debris punctured several holes in the roof and the walls both inside and out. Bricks had fallen off the house. Windows were busted and blinds were mangled. The garage door twisted and blew in. Broken glass, insulation, and splintered wood littered the ground inside and out. Yet the house still stood, and strangely most of her belongings remained in place.

The same was not true for any of the homes around her. Next door on both sides and across the street, the homes were reduced to heaps of rubble and maybe a few 2X4s still standing. Their walls came crashing down and the roofs have disappeared. The house diagonal from her was identical to hers and had the whole 2nd story, carpet and all, ripped away and thrown who knows where. But her house put up a fight. 

Split personalities are warring within me, and vying for attention:

The sentimental sap in me just can’t help but be devastated at the thought that 800 S. Bouziden as I know it, is history. Even though it stands, it’s too badly wounded to survive. Nearly every childhood memory I have is tied up in those walls. My mama poured her heart and soul into making that house a home, not only for us kids, but for all of our friends, our kids and their friends, our extended family on both sides, and even perfect strangers. 800 S. Bouziden was the central gathering place for holidays and special occasions, a safe and secure place to go when you were struggling. Always good food to eat, a soft clean bed to sleep in, and conversation for as long as you could keep your eyes open. She took care of that house as if it were a living being. Looking back now, I like to imagine that it did actually come alive just long enough to show its appreciation for all the years of her TLC. It’s almost as if the walls themselves somehow absorbed the overflow of love poured into the all the folks that came and went over the years, and used the strength of that love to stand up against the winds that tried to claim it. Only after that F5 tornado tapered off and vanished back into the clouds did the house quietly relent to its wounds. It wasn't about to let that monster claim my mom's life, and it certainly wasn't going to let the bastard have the satisfaction of seeing it die. 

The child of God in me realizes that the house and everything in it is just stuff. The house doesn’t have feelings, it’s not a person. It was not a living spirit-house of love that provided a hedge of protection around my mom that day. It takes little more than a quick glance down Bouziden Drive to own the fact that God himself protected her. But in making such a bold statement, a troubling question surfaces: why did God provide a hedge of protection around my mom and thousands of others and yet remove His protection from 24 other helpless individuals that day? How heartlessly presumptuous would it be to assert for any moment that my mom had more faith, loved more, or that she/her house/her emotional investment was stronger than anyone else's? We certainly can’t say that God was on her side but not on the side of the 24 others, because the Bible tells us for any of those 24 who are in Christ, “to live is to die and to die is gain.” The bottom line is that it just wasn't her appointed time to go yet, so God protected her. There remains a purpose for her life here on earth. But the sobering truth is that her appointed time WILL come someday, as it will for all of us.

From the moment we draw our first breath, death begins to pursue us, much like this inescapable tornado. We don’t know when, where, or how it will happen. Even if we can see it coming, we can’t stop it from happening. We can't hide behind any of the stuff we accumulate when it comes for us, and we can’t take any of it with us when we go… not even our own bodies. When death has come, we are left with a bare naked, fully exposed soul, and nothing more. Personally, I hesitate to genuinely examine my own heart, but when I do, I can think of nothing scarier than my fully exposed soul. Lay that soul out before a human judge and I’d no doubt crumble with shame. Without an attorney with exceptional credentials to plead on my behalf, I shudder at the idea of any portion of my soul laid out to be judged by God. My heart runs to Jesus with even more desperation at this thought. The Judge’s SON, he's my attorney. It's so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take him at his word that he died and rose to save souls. And that my soul, the only thing I’ll have left when it’s all over, is safe and secure, and can never be separated from him. 

The May 20th tornado stole my childhood home. 
Even so…  it is well, it is well with my SOUL. 

Blind-Sighted

I often say that those who truly grasp the magnitude of what Christ did on the cross, cannot help but impulsively respond with a lifetime of overwhelming awe, gratitude, and praise. I thought I truly grasped the magnitude of what Christ did... until today when God used someone to open my eyes to something that pierced my heart to the very core. I wanted to share it with you ... that you too might grasp the magnitude of what Christ did, if you haven't already, and if this is old news to you, that you might share my joy with fresh eyes and be reminded of the beauty of the work of Christ. 

It was like I knew what 2 was, and I knew what 3 was, but I didn't put together that 2+3=5. Before today I knew that before Jesus was taken by the Roman soldiers, He prayed to the Father to "take this cup from Me, nevertheless not what I will, but what You will" I knew that He was burdened about what was getting ready to happen to him to the very point of sweating drops of blood... 

I also knew that on the cross Jesus bore the wrath of God for every sin of those who trust Him ... past, present and future. 

However, I always thought it was the process of being crucified that Jesus was "scared" about in the garden, and asking God to take from him.... which would be completely understandable. Jesus, in his human body felt every ounce of pain that was inflicted upon him. We see beautiful portaits of Jesus hanging on the cross that do the horrific death by crucifixion no justice at all. He was beaten UNRECOGNIZABLE. His face was bruised and swollen, his flesh and muscles and tendons were dangling from his body in places. His death was slow, agonizing, and torturous. We have no concept or point of reference to begin to even fathom the truthful reality of the suffering. And to top it all off, those who participated in crucifying Him HATED Him. They enjoyed seeing Him suffer... and all of his friends deserted Him. 

You know, we have it so good. We start out separated from God, so if He never sees fit to bring us to faith, it's almost like we don't know what we're missing. Once we have been brought to faith, He promises nothing will ever separate us from His love... JESUS on the other hand, is co-eternal with the Father and the Spirit. There was NEVER a point, NEVER, not even in his humanness that He wasn't enjoying full intimate communion with God... But the wages of sin is death and what is death but separation from God? What I did not grasp until today is that when Jesus bore the wrath of God on behalf of sinners, that He was SEPARATED from God for the first time in all eternity. Somehow I did not realize that God wasn't still with Jesus, helping him "get through it". In the garden, knowing full well ALL of what was getting ready to happen, Jesus understood that being separated from God for ANY amount of time, even for a split second, was FAR WORSE than all the mockery, horrific suffering, and human desertion he would endure in his last moments. Being deserted by God is the cup that Jesus was asking God to take from Him, what He was burdened by to the point of sweating blood. If you read the accounts in the gospels, you find that through all of the torture, Jesus kept silent. He never cried out in pain, never cursed his murderers. It wasn't until the felt the impact of being separated from God by our sin that He cried out in a loud voice, "MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?" 

But it's what had to happen in order to justify loving little old ME, some sinner going on with my daily routine 2000 years later in Owasso, Oklahoma, USA, North America, World, Universe. How else could I respond but a spend a lifetime in praise and gratitude and bible research, satisfying my curiosity of this Jesus that would do such a thing for someone like me? Guess you could say God blind-sided my blind-sightedness today. I can only pray I'll never be the same for it.

A Goodbye to Remember: The Day He Deployed

The subtle sound of the door clicking shut behind us pierced the silence of the darkness and echoed through the crisp morning air. I shuddered: it sounded so final. Not a word spoken, we climbed in the car and left. He flipped the windshield wipers on to clear away the condensation that accumulated over the night. The fog was dense, our headlights illuminating the clouds of white. The windshield was dry now, but he mindlessly left the wipers on…. squeak…squeak…squeak. I remembered that this was the first quirk I pinpointed in him when we were dating and forced a smile in my heart. I kept it to myself, and filed it away in my secret collection of idiosyncrasies that only I know about him. Squeak…squeak…

          Tears boiled and stung my eyes, taunting and threatening to fall. I commanded them to simmer, swallowing hard and blinking them back. I replayed the evening before in my head: how JJ had set up 3 different board games to play with him – the one special activity he wanted to do with Daddy before he left… how he said goodnight to Christian, “I’ll see ya in two months, buddy.”… how Christian just melted into me, taggy in hand, thumb in mouth, eyes heavy – I wondered if Christian would miss him or even realize he was gone … how I watched through the video camera as he recorded a message to our boys in case he didn’t come home … how the restless baby boy in my belly kicked him relentlessly as we settled snug under our sheets … and how I drifted off giving sweet tickles on his back, just praying to always remember how his skin felt –  on the off chance this would be the last night I touched him. Recalling these events in the car that morning, I was sick that I hadn’t held him with two months worth of intensity the whole night. I could no longer hold back my tears. The first one fell and then the silent steady steam flowed. I stared out the window, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I wanted him to think I was strong, and have confidence that I would be ok, that I could handle this with grace. “It’s only two months,” I told myself. But myself snapped back sharply, “Yeah, two months of war, how’s that for uncertainty?”

          We continued to the base, very few idle words uttered, tying up loose ends. The security forces officer at the gate glanced at his ID and waved us through, “Have a good day, Major” Have a good day? Is this guy oblivious? Has anyone given this guy a heads up on what’s going on? Is ‘have a good day’ the best he could do?  I smirked to myself and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, dismissing him as being totally uninformed.

          We parked, went into the squadron to pick up the rest of his gear, loaded it in our vehicle and dropped it off to be packed on the plane. We drove a few yards away and spent our last few minutes together before we parted. He leaned over to kiss me. My heart ached so badly and my tears sought and found their way to our lips instantly. I kissed him with every ounce of love I had in me. “What now?” I mustered, pulling away only slightly. He smiled, “We sit here and talk for 9 more minutes before I have to go.” I glanced at the clock- 6:21.

          So for the next 9 minutes we kissed, he kissed and lectured the baby in my belly, I giggled and we exchanged words that I’m sure we both wished were more profound under the circumstances. I meant it with all my heart when I told him that I never knew I was capable of loving another person so much, and I knew he meant it when he said he felt the same way and that it was everything he’d hoped it would be. He, being the “big picture” person in our relationship, reminded me that years from now we’d look back at this experience and realize that it made us appreciate one another more, love one another, grow fonder…. We sat in silence for a few short moments and then got out of the car. I hesitated to wrap my arms around him because I dreaded letting go. I held on tight to him instead for as long as I thought was healthy. I told him I loved him. I’m sure he said it back, or maybe even first. We pulled away, he smiled, I murmured something about letting me know when he landed in the next city. He smiled again and nodded and turned around and began walking away. I climbed in the car, finally able to release my tears freely, and drove away.

          As I passed all the unsuspecting homes just before sunrise that morning, I imagined all the ordinary lives that were being lived in them. I imagined alarms going off, coffee brewing, men getting ready for work and children dressing for school. I became smug and proud, knowing that it is partly because of my husband that they have freedom to live those ordinary lives; that in the grand scheme of things, they slept safe in their homes the morning I let him go, because of what I let him go to do.

25 Random Things About Me

Someone tagged me in this game on Facebook, so I obliged. Maybe my kids will get a kick out of this someday.

1. I eat for the pleasure of the taste more than for nutritional value. Unlike others who inhale their food, I like to taste it.

2. My best friend and I used to remember what happened on a certain day by recalling what we ate that day… “When did we do blah blah blah…? Oh remember? It was Sunday, because that was the same day we had such and such for dinner….”

3. Didn’t realize it before I met Bradley, but I tend to adapt to my surroundings instead of altering them when something goes wrong. If a light bulb burns out, I think “Oh man, now it’s going to be dark in here” rather than “I need to replace the light bulb.” Brad’s the opposite, which is a good thing. 

4. Speaking of Brad, he’s my hero. I’d rather be writing 25 random things about him.

5. I believe I’ll still like him when we’re 70.

6. I don’t hold grudges, as best I know my own corrupt heart… 

7. I misplace essential items often, and I wonder if I subconsciously surround myself with observant people or if the people I spend my time with become increasingly observant as a result of being my friend? They always seem to pay attention to where I put things like my phone, my keys, my wallet, my id, my credit card, etc… When JJ was 2, I buckled him into his carseat and then took my position in the driver’s seat. He reminded me then not to forget my glass of tea that I had put on top of the car. It’s pretty sad when your own 2 year old has learned to make mental notes for you. 

8. I wonder when does “reminding” cross over to become “nagging”?

9. My television stays put on the Disney channel. For this reason, I can sing the theme songs to all the following shows: My Friends Tigger and Pooh, Handy Manny, Imagination Movers, The Suite Life, Hannah Montana, Wizards of Waverly Place and Phineas and Ferb. I actually enjoy watching Wizards of Waverly Place.

10. I love to listen to the laughter of my 3 boys.

11. Upon entering college I had aspirations of becoming a substance abuse counselor. My advisor laughed at me and told me that I didn’t really need a college degree to do that, just a personal history that included overcoming substance abuse… I briefly considered abusing a substance for the sake of my career, but decided to become a Spanish teacher instead. Little did I know I’d have plenty of opportunities to counsel substance abusers in the teaching field.

12. I begged Brad for our dogs, and now I blame him for adopting them.

13. I have 2 dogs that are PRECIOUS but needy and are free to a good home! 

14. When I was a kid I used to dress my cats up in baby doll clothes and cradle them like newborns. For some reason, they let me. Later I had two cats that played fetch. Honest! One of them even played catch with little rolled up pieces of paper. She could have been a Heisman trophy winner had she been human. And a boy. Who played college football. Now I have a Persian cat who is the most tolerant little angel. We have him shaved every summer. It serves a practical purpose but is also quite funny.

15. I’d love to see the aurora borealis before the Lord calls me home.

16. I am a despicable person and yet the Lord chose me unto salvation and set me apart for a purpose before the foundation of the world. I love to sing praises to the Lord because of this.

17. I spend my entire Christian walk clinging to the cross. 

18. I believe this sums it up: "Things which gracious souls discover: To preach devotion first, and blessing second, is to reverse God's order, and preach law, not grace. The law make man's blessing depend on devotion; Grace confers undeserved, unconditional blessing: our devotion may follow, but does not always do so,-in proper measure." William R. Newell 

19. I love to watch movies with a happy ending to a long journey, movies that make you laugh, movies that make you think and movies that jumpstart a good dialogue with someone.

20. My track coach never coached me. In our first track meet, I collapsed way short of the finish line from fatigue. Oh and by the way, I was running a 4X4 relay so my part was only a quarter of a mile. The people in the stands rose to their feet and cheered me on like Rudy as I picked myself up and staggered breathlessly to the line. True story. The next meet we decided to try a different event and went for a sprint instead. The extent of the coaching was “sprint on your toes when you round the corner”. What does that mean anyway? I tripped over my own two feet and scraped my knee so badly I had to limp the rest of the way with blood trickling down my shin. My teammates were less than pleased. That was the end of my track experience. Please do not bring this up to me. It’s a sore spot.

21. Ok, something I hate…. When people snort their snot up and swallow it. Could there be a more disgusting sound?

22. Give me a specific subject and I can engage in a delightful conversation, but I am socially awkward when it comes to small talk. I stumble over answering the simplest of questions like, “How are ya?” I say “I’m good” and then I pause and wonder if people want me to elaborate or not… I’ve seen this happen on tv between Ryan Seacrest and socially awkward auditioners on American Idol and it’s painful for me to watch. 

23. I enjoy writing when I’m inspired.

24. I love to laugh. My twin nephews, Katie Rathkey, Lacy Baranski and Tony Layne are five people I know who can make me belly laugh without fail.

25. There are few memories that have power to make me laugh out loud at the recollection. 4 are: 1) when we were 13 and my best friend tried to glide down our stairs as if on skis in a brilliant attempt to catch me and instead tumbled down them, trying to regain balance the whole way but ending up head first on our marble floor and 2) when in the presence of another best friend I tried to imitate to Bradley over the phone the strange sound my car made when it broke down. Sorta like “CRACK! Ooohhhhmmmm HUM ninner ninner ninner…”and 3) Brad’s violent reaction to being sprayed in the face with dirty toilet water while he was trying to fix the plumbing problem at my old house. 4) For Brenee: “You got CORN ON THE COB?”