A royal title July 28, 2013

Published by the Times-Georgian–July 28, 2013

www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

They don’t serve cheese grits at St. Mary’s Hospital in London.

Last week, the world celebrated the announcement of the arrival of Prince William and Kate Middleton’s little boy. As thousands of people in London cheered the news, it brought back memories of my experience as my wife Ali delivered our first child Turner almost 11 years ago at Tanner Medical Center.

Instead of thousands cheering the birth of my son outside Tanner, we had every relative from both sides of the family show up after his birth. However, it was for different reasons. My uncle had heart problems and was admitted to the cardiac area. My cousin was in an accident and awaited surgery on the second floor while my great-aunt rested on the third floor. She was just sick from old age.

The flash bulbs fired away as I held my son up to a window for the family to see him. I almost dropped him with all of the excitement, but held him tight as the crowd smiled with joy.

I’m from the generation where the men are allowed to stay in the delivery room and cut the umbilical cord. Even the Lamaze classes offered teach pregnant mothers and their delivery room partners to learn about the birthing process. I’ve forgotten most of the content from these classes except I’ll never forget the title the non-pregnant partners were given—“Coaches.”

“Just call me Coach Garrett,” I whispered to my wife.

“If you try to help me count or really even open your mouth while I’m in the delivery room, you may get kicked out,” she replied. “And I refuse to call you Coach.”

So, I kept my mouth shut when we arrived on that hot August day in 2002 to await the birth of our firstborn. My wife’s mother sat with us in the delivery room while we waited for Ali’s contractions to get closer as a “Bewitched” marathon aired on the television hanging from the wall.

“Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee?” my mother-in-law suggested.

That’s when I made a great discovery.

Not only did I grab a cup of coffee from the Tanner Cafeteria, but I discovered their cheese grits which earned a five-star rating that morning. I also grabbed a biscuit and a side of bacon. Although I knew my wife would harass me for eating a Southern breakfast while she was confined to a hospital bed in pain, I knew it was important to eat if I had to step up and “coach” during delivery.

My wife allowed “Coach Garrett” to reenter the delivery room on the condition I wouldn’t speak. I agreed and a few hours later our lives changed forever as I watched the birth of my son.

There’s an old saying from the military, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” I quickly recalled that line as I now say, “There are no atheists in delivery rooms.” It’s truly a jaw-dropping experience to see a baby take his first breath while crying tears after entering this new world. It’s truly another magnificent experience to watch a mother hold her baby for the first time. The connection…the joy…the love—is there anything better?

Within a few minutes after our son arrived, my wife smiled at me. I took her smile as a signal that “Coach Garrett” could talk once again.

My guess is Prince William has experienced these same incredible feelings since watching the birth of his son. My other guess is he couldn’t find cheese grits in the St. Mary’s Hospital Cafeteria in London.

Either way, I may never meet Prince William in my lifetime. If we should cross paths, I think he would tell me that the title of “Prince” is something he’s grateful to uphold, but he’s now even more grateful to hold the grandest title of all. Because there’s nothing better than being a “Daddy.”

Ink stained July 21, 2013

Published by the Times-Georgian–July 21, 2013

www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

I don’t have a tattoo.

Not that there’s anything wrong with an ink mark. My rock ‘n roll guitar teacher and friend Kevin Lyle of B2K Music looks cool with tattooed arms, but ever since I turned 40 a few years ago, I lost any chance of ever being cool again. For me, I’ve accepted that bifocals, ointments and salves are just around the corner instead of any tattoos.

Recently, my children and I were swimming while on a trip to Florida when a group of teenage girls arrived on the scene to sunbathe. As the girls eyed their lounge chairs, I quickly realized I was the only one above the age of 18 without a tattoo. I saw tattoos of flowers, butterflies and hearts. One girl had an inscription of some type of wording assembled in an ancient language. Based on her thick Southern accent that sounded more like the mother on “Honey Boo Boo” instead of Scarlett O’Hara, my guess is she’s not fluent in other languages. She struggled with English.

Tattoos are a form of personal expression. Whether someone seeks ink as a way to make a statement, show beauty or even allegiance, tattoos are more than a display of art—they are permanent. Even though statistics show only a small percentage of our population has been inked, another type of tattoo is emerging among the majority. Blame it on Facebook.

What if Andy Warhol had it wrong?

“In the future, everybody will be world famous for 15 minutes,” said the late acclaimed American pop artist Warhol.  

Maybe for his time, Warhol had it right. But as electronic social media has expanded, our days of privacy are shrinking.

“What if you could be anonymous for 15 minutes?” asked Juan Enriquez at a recent TED Conference.

Enriquez, the founding director of the Harvard Business School Life Sciences Project, explored how social media such as Facebook, Twitter and other sites are becoming our “electronic tattoos.” As people post more information about themselves, then our content can be as permanent as an ink tattoo and in many ways will outlive us and live forever.

Social media is a wonderful way to connect or reconnect with friends. It’s a way to keep up with those close to us and provides a new venue for personal expression. Although these things keep us plugged in to the lives of others, they can have some serious ramifications. Enriquez argues we should all look at lessons from the ancient Greeks as a way to safely navigate our “online tattoos.”

“Sisyphus did a horrible thing and was condemned by being forced to roll a rock up a hill and down a hill for the rest of his life,” said Enriquez. “So be careful what you post.”

Enriquez also tells the story of Orpheus who was a wonderful guy to hang around, but he lost his beloved.

“He charmed his way into the underworld to hopefully persuade the gods to release her,” said Enriquez.  “They agreed to her freedom under the condition he didn’t look at her until they were out. But he couldn’t resist and looked at her too soon and lost her forever.

“So Orpheus is walking out, but can’t resist looking back,” continued Enriquez. “With all of this data out there, it might be a good idea not to look too far into the past of the one you love.”

And, there’s Narcissus.

“As you think about Narcissus, don’t fall in love with your own reflection,” added Enriquez.

Of course, there are hundreds of other suggestions to follow when posting online, but perhaps my late grandmother Inice Green, who I called Maw Maw, offered the best advice.

“Just use common sense,” advised Maw Maw.

That’s the best advice for navigating your Facebook and Twitter pages. On second thought, that’s even better advice before picking out your next tattoo.

 

 

Releasing Prince Albert July 18, 2013

Published by the Times-Georgian–July 14, 2013

www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

It was too hot for popsicles.

As my children began to devour the frozen treats outside in the scorching Georgia heat last week, I encouraged them to come inside to slow the melting process. My oldest son Turner finished his first and disappeared to his room while I chatted with my other sons Charlie and Henry at the kitchen table about their favorite frozen treat color when the phone rang.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Excuse me sir,” said the child’s voice on the other line. “Is your refrigerator running?”

“Of course,” I replied.

“Well, you better go outside and catch it,” said the caller.

I quickly looked at the Caller ID on my telephone to realize the voice on the other line was my oldest son calling my house phone from my cell phone. He had changed his voice to trick me. I had been pranked.

Prank phone calls (also known as a crank calls) gained popularity in the second half of last century, but began to decline with the invention of Caller ID and other advancements in telephone technology. Unfortunately for those coming of age today, they may never find the joy of prank calling anonymously like their parents. But that didn’t stop me from teaching my 10-year old the art of the famous prank line of “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?”

When I was young, prank phone calling was one of my favorite past times. While others were outside throwing footballs or hitting baseballs, my group of friends used to search the phone book for funny names to call. It was innocent fun until one time we took it too far.

My mother was a guest on local radio station WLBB regarding some community event. After the reporter interviewed her, he opened the phone lines for the public to ask questions. Of course, the first caller was one of my brothers changing his voice while you could hear us in the background laughing.

“Was that you on the phone?” my mother asked us when she arrived home.

We thought we were in big time trouble after we confessed, but my mother did what she always did best. She started laughing.

“I almost couldn’t control myself from laughing when I recognized y’all on the other line,” she said. “Now y’all know better than to prank call the radio station while I’m a guest on the air. Don’t do that again.”

Thank God for my mother’s sense of humor.

In some ways, I’m thankful for Caller ID to save time from talking to telemarketers, but I must confess I miss the days of being able to make an anonymous call to someone. As technology continues to progress, there will be new ways of playing pranks on others. The prank phone calls of tomorrow will probably look and sound different as things change. I just hope people keep their sense of humor.

In the meantime, I need to end this column. I’ve got to catch my refrigerator. I just realized it’s running.

 

 

Homegrown July 7, 2013

Published by the Times-Georgian–July 7, 2013

www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett 

 

‘Tis the season to be eatin’.

Within the next few weeks, our homegrown tomatoes will turn red and ripe for picking. The squash, zucchini, okra and cucumbers won’t be far behind, and the dinner bell will be ringing at our house. Once again, fresh summer vegetables will fill my family’s kitchen.

I’ve been addicted to good food all of my life. Nothing tastes better than vegetables picked straight from the garden.

A favorite photograph from my childhood is a picture of my cousin Bill Green and me standing next to our grandfather, the late Robert Green of Bowdon, in his garden wearing a straw hat and Liberty overalls. We have our hands on his plow with a mule in the background that was being used to till his massive garden. It’s a photo spanning generations connecting two grandsons with the hard-working ways of the past. 

Technology and science have advanced our agricultural system of yesterday as gas powered machines have replaced the mule and its sound of “hee haw.” I’m forever grateful I was born to see my grandfather plow his garden with a mule. Furthermore, after seeing how hard my grandfather used to work with his mule, I’m even more thankful for grocery stores and farmers markets so I can easily pay a few dollars and pick up a six pack of corn on the cob and save my back a lot of pain. But, this summer we thought a little backyard garden may be worthwhile.

For the last two years, I’ve heard the old commandment ring in my head that says “thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house or anything that belongs to thy neighbor.” Well, I break that commandment daily. Instead of trying to keep up with Joneses, my wife and I have tried to keep up with the Cousins.

Recently, my neighbors Byron and Devereaux Cousins, who grow the juiciest, best tasting tomatoes, agreed to help us with our first garden. My wife, Ali, is really interested in nurturing and tending to a new backyard garden. I, on the other hand, am more interested in eating the vegetables our garden will eventually produce.

Byron agreed to build two above ground garden beds and teach us about dirt. I thought I knew a lot about dirt since my mother used to always tell me how filthy I was after playing in the yard, but Byron studies dirt like Charlie Grisham used to study the Notre Dame Box.

“Good dirt is not cheap,” Byron warned me. “But it will be well worth it.”

And he was right. After loading the many sacks of dirt from Home Depot, I left it in Byron’s hands to lead the way. Within a few days, Byron had worked his magic to help make our garden like his. My wife and my 3-year old son Henry planted tomatoes, squash, zucchini, cucumbers, okra, cantaloupe, strawberries and asparagus. For the first time in two years, we were finally keeping up with the Cousins.

On a daily basis, my wife and Henry have been tending to the garden by pulling out any weeds and keeping things properly watered. She even bought Henry some gardening gloves so he can monitor his favorite vegetable—okra. Even my dad comes by weekly to see the garden’s progress and he’s also breaking the “thou shalt not covet” commandment as he’s jealous of how good our tomatoes are growing.

It’s definitely a long way from the days of my grandfather working with his old mule to grow a summer garden, but lately I’ve been thinking about the words attributed to Jesus when he said, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.” That’s the beauty of having a garden. Just like time and the clock that keeps ticking, a farmer with his plow has to move forward and not look back. And maybe that’s what we all should do too.

 

Searching for words July 3, 2013

Published by the Times-Georgian–June 30, 2013

www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

 

There are no words.

Last Wednesday, our community learned of the horrific crime at The Mobley Company Jewelers Inc. in Villa Rica where one of Carroll County’s finest citizens lost his life. In the last few months, our news stories have been filled with the school shooting in Connecticut, the Boston Marathon bombing and countless other crimes.

What’s even more disturbing is one of my friends was recently held at gunpoint when the Wells Fargo Bank in Carrollton was robbed and now a senseless murder has occurred in our own backyard. In the words of the late Marvin Gay, I look to the sky and ask—“What’s going on?”

We can ask a million questions why tragedy strikes our lives, but the reality is we live in a broken world. On any given day we all run the risk of tragic consequences. However, most of us think this happens to people on television. But when these events happen in our own community, we realize just how fragile life can be.

I didn’t know Mitch Mobley personally, but our lives have crossed along the way. For years, I’ve heard his name as he built a first-class jewelry store and I understand from mutual friends he was a loving person who always had a big heart for his family and community. He was supposed to have years ahead of him. Instead, his life ended much too soon in a way that should never happen to anyone. It’s just not fair. It makes no sense.

When I closed my eyes Wednesday night, my thoughts drifted towards the Mobley family and the difficult days ahead as their lives will change. Since experiencing my family’s own tragedy last October after losing our son, I’ve learned more than I care to know about grief and loss. And now another family will have to walk down this path.

I must confess before my son’s accident, I had no clue what to say or do for someone who suffers after losing a loved one. Now that my life walks on the other side of tragedy, let me share with you some of things I’ve learned and continue to learn.

Often times, we want to provide comforting words and try to fix or take away someone’s pain. Please don’t say he’s in a better place. He isn’t here with us. Don’t be afraid to have the courage to ask how someone coping with grief is doing even if it brings her to tears. Just be wise enough to be quiet and listen. In times of enormous grief, words are always said with the best intentions, but hugs are needed more.

Recently, a friend who lost a child recommended my wife and I watch a YouTube video of Vice President Joe Biden’s Memorial Day speech from 2012 to a group of military families coping with loss. Biden, who lost his first wife and daughter in a tragic car accident in 1972 just seven days before Christmas, told the families—“I know people meant well when they came up and said, ‘Joe, I know how you feel,’ but they didn’t have a damn idea.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I was angry,” Biden added. “Because you’ve been to the top of the mountain and you knew you’d never get there again. There will, however, come a day, I promise, when your thoughts of your son or daughter or husband or wife will bring a smile to your face before it brings a tear.”

For the family of Mitch Mobley and so many of us who’ve walked the road of tragedy—it’s going to be a long journey to once again smile before a tear appears. Even in the midst of chaos and grief, there is always the possibility of hope. Unfortunately, there are just no words.