Giving thanks November 23, 2023

Published by the Times-Georgian–November 18, 2023

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

Well, it’s that time of year when house gutters are collecting the falling colorful leaves, and our stomachs are eagerly awaiting turkey and dressing.

In the next few days, the grocery store lines will be longer, and families will gather to break bread, tell funny stories and listen to an angry uncle complain, “Why can’t the NFL find another team besides the Detroit Lions to feature on Thanksgiving? Nobody likes them!”

Once again, in the style of the late AJC columnist Furman Bisher, I want to give thanks for so many things. Bisher, who died in 2012, always wrote my favorite column of the year when he expressed his gratitude for the good things in life. I met him once while I was a student at the University of Georgia working in the press box of a football game, and I’ll always remember how kind he treated me. It’s these little moments we never forget.

So, here we go again. May you and your family have the best Thanksgiving ever. As for my household, we’re hosting this year, and it should be a fun day mixed with delicious food and great fellowship with family. Therefore, I’m thankful. I’m thankful for holiday gatherings, and I’m also thankful for:

When I get a hangnail and find a set of nail clippers that still work.

Salt shakers you actually have to shake so the salt doesn’t flow out like a rapid whitewater river.

Mornings when my dog decides to sleep later than I do.

Wood burning fireplaces in homes where people still burn real wood.

Thick cut bacon whether it’s paired with toast, lettuce and a fresh tomato, or placed inside a piping hot homemade biscuit.

Reruns of the Andy Griffith Show and Seinfeld no matter that I’ve seen every episode at least two dozen times. They never get old.

Washing machines and dryers. I’m glad I was born during a time that I never knew what it was like to scrub clothes on a wash board and hang clothes outside on a line to dry.

The National League has permanently adopted the designated hitter. I never really liked watching pitchers go to the plate, except for the time former West Georgia College star Rick Camp hit a homer in the wildest Atlanta Braves game ever.

Restaurants and fast food joints that still serve plastic straws instead of those nasty paper ones.

ATM machines that spit out a few dollar bills so I no longer have to walk inside a bank.

My Stihl BR 700 Leaf Blower that features 47.3 fuel capacity, 64.8 cc displacement, 3.8 bhp engine power and blows at 197 miles per hour. Now, we’re talking some serious muscle!

Email and the ability to send this column to the Times-Georgian without having to print one and drive to the office for drop-off, especially when I’m late for my deadline and send it around the time when the 11 PM news is starting on Channel 2.

Water hoses that don’t have holes.

Soft pillows, clean sheets and warm blankets when the weather starts to turn cold.

Men who don’t wear cologne, and women who wear the right amount of perfume so I don’t start sneezing.

Marching bands, fall festivals, college football games, hot apple cider, boiled peanuts, mountain roads, hot chili with shredded cheddar cheese, sour cream and hot dogs, butternut squash and basically anything that has to do with Fall.

My family, my friends, my dog and practically everyone I encounter who lifts me high and encourages those around them to be the best they can be.

May you and your family have a wonderful Thanksgiving this year!

Selah!

Pressing on November 13, 2023

Published by the Times-Georgian–November 4, 2023

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

The feather continues to fall.

There are some things in life beyond our control. Forrest Gump’s momma knew a little bit about life’s ups and downs when she taught him, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.”

Once again, the feather landed at my family’s feet.

In August last year I took a break from writing this column as Children’s Scottish Rite Hospital in Atlanta became a second home through most of the fall after my youngest son Henry was hit out of nowhere with an extremely rare spinal cord inflammation. It left him with severe muscle weakness which led to no use of his left leg for almost a month, difficulty moving his fingers and a decrease in his diaphragm strength which led his medical team to intubate him on a ventilator for two weeks.

The days and nights in the hospital were restless during this terrifying time. Every family on the PICU floor had challenges watching their children suffer.

It’s not fair.

There is no reason for children suffering. It’s hard for anyone to spend a few minutes peering into those hospital rooms without a broken heart.

Every day at Scottish Rite there are kids who leave fully recovered. Let us not forget there are too many children leaving there in a wheelchair, missing a limb, battling cancer and more. And, worst of all, there are children who don’t survive, and their families return home forever broken.

My family is lucky as we’ve had an army of people praying for us. We are grateful for the kindness of so many friends. 

As a parent who has lost a child and witnessing what’s happened to my youngest son and those children struggling in a children’s hospital, there isn’t a reason for all of this in this broken world.

No parents should have to watch their child suffer or endure the forever brokenness from losing a son or daughter.

Thankfully, our experience living at Scottish Rite transcended beyond watching the pain and suffering for some children. It was also a place where we saw hope and daily miracles. A place where we were held up by passionate nurses, staff, doctors, therapists and volunteers who displayed their unwavering optimism through what they have experienced in that hospital with so many kids.

So, let’s praise those working in the medical profession to make kids better today, and all of those who do everything in their extremely loving power to help children recover. 

And most of all—let’s praise my wife, Ali. She’s suffered more than any mother/daughter should ever have to endure losing our son Will in 2012 and her father’s sudden cancer death in 2020. Ali’s intuition, motherly instincts, sleepless nights, non-stop staying on top of everything and so much more have been the stable force through our trials and tribulations. 

She is the rock of our family.

That’s where I find God in all of this. People like my wife, our medical teams, my extended family, friends, church family and co-workers giving those in need everything they’ve got to help us and others in times of suffering.

My son has continued to improve. He’s walking and riding his bicycle again, and he’s excelling in school mixed with a lot of physical and occupational therapy. There are still challenges ahead, and he’s my hero for the way he’s battling his condition with grace and determination.

“Tough times don’t last. Tough people do,” I once heard a TV preacher say.

When you close your eyes tonight, please think about those children living in a hospital who, unlike my son, will never walk again, recover from trauma or any other life-threatening disease—especially those families returning home never to see their child alive again. 

In our brokenness, it’s easy to give up.

“Momma always said you got to put the past behind you before you can move on,” said Forrest Gump.

Hopefully, my writing muse hasn’t totally disappeared. After taking time off from writing during Henry’s illness, my plan is to meet you again every other week in the Times-Georgian.

In the meantime, let’s all live an abundant life. Let’s all love unconditionally. Let’s be all we can be. 

And, when the day comes and the time is right, let’s all go out, hug each other, toast the sunset, laugh like there’s no tomorrow, and sing until we pass out.

And, when we wake up, let’s grab an All-Star breakfast with a side of hash browns.

I’ll take mine scattered.

Stand by me November 5, 2023

Published by the Times-Georgian–October 21, 2023

http://www.times-georgia.com

by Joe Garrett

Time, oh good time, where did you go?

The Earth keeps spinning and some things are constant—wars, disease, poverty, Big Chic fried chicken and that Jardiance drug commercial on TV with the woman singing about wanting to “dance with her A1c.” I’d rather dance with my wife.

In the 1986 coming-of-age movie “Stand by Me,” there’s a line the narrator says that’s stuck with me all of these years—“Friends come in and out of your life like bus boys in a restaurant.”

In the last few weeks, I’ve attended two reunions—one with my Lambda Chi UGA college fraternity brothers and the other with the Noah’s Ark summer camp where I worked during my college years. It’s been 32 years since I’ve seen some of my old friends. Our faces look the same but other features have changed. Most of us are heftier, graying in the hair and moving a little slower. Yet, there’s always the one or two who look like they haven’t aged.

“What are they eating?” I ask myself.

“Not as much Big Chic as me.”

As we grow up, there’s always that one adult who will tell you, “Son, enjoy these days. This is the best time of your life.”

Well, maybe so and maybe not. I’ve enjoyed the ride along the way in the circle of life, and I thank God for the friends who’ve entered, exited and re-entered again. In some ways, I’m much happier at the age of 54 than I was at 24. My 84-year-old friends, however, tell me that won’t be the case 30 years from now.

“Do you know how many people we’ve lost since our last class reunion?” my dad asked me last week. “We’ve lost six people.”

“When was your last reunion?” I asked.

“Last year,” he said.

It’s tough saying goodbye to old friends like my wife’s grandfather Bobby Lovvorn who I loved dearly. He died this week at age 91. These events remind us to enjoy every moment knowing today could always be our last.

I’ve started reconnecting with some of my old friends as we’re realizing if we wait this long to have another reunion, we will be 86 years old. We’ve been too busy establishing careers, building families and attending everything from a million kid birthday parties to now reaching the age of attending weddings of our friends’ children.

My mother used to say, “I’ll be glad when all of you boys get over Fools Hill.” And, as another wise prophet answered when asked what the future will look like, he replied—“Expect to be surprised.”

When I was at the University of Georgia, fraternities were required to send a report to the brothers showing everyone’s GPA. The result was like the Pareto Principle 80/20 Rule that showed 20 percent of our members with B averages while the other 80 percent subscribed to the philosophy that “C’s get degrees.”

“Look around this room,” one of my fraternity brothers said. “The lower the GPA they had in college the more successful they’ve become in life—except Ben who always maintained a 4.0 and is now a Georgia Superior Court Judge.”

He was right. These guys have grown up to become husbands, fathers, business executives, attorneys, doctors, contractors, farmers, entrepreneurs, engineers, free spirits and a mayor. A few of them spend their time working under the Gold Dome at the Georgia State Capital. Lord, help us. I can remember when the only ambition in life they had was to down a six pack of Natural Light.

One even ate a goldfish after he decided to drink one more in addition to the six pack.

Yes. I know it’s hard to believe. Then again, maybe my mother’s comment was one of hope and not cynicism to believe that it’s not impossible to get over “Fool’s Hill.”

Three days ago, I learned one of my childhood best friends died of a heart attack. His name was Jim Perry, but we called him Bodie, and he was always the life of the party. Bodie was the type of person who attracted mischief and curiosity like the time he opened the parakeet cage at WalMart and let the bird out.

He’s the reason WalMart no longer sells live birds.

I’m not sure Bodie ever got over “Fool’s Hill,” but I love him for the way he viewed life as one to be lived with laughter, travel, fun and mischief. In his new book “How to Know a Person,” NY Times columnist and author David Brooks writes about two distinct different types of people, diminishers and illuminators: “My theory is that in any group of people, there are some people [who] are diminishers. They make you feel invisible, unseen. They’re not curious about you. They stereotype you. They label you.

“And then, there are other people who are illuminators. And they are people who are just curious about you, and they make you feel lit up.”

Bodie was an illuminator, always wanting the best for everyone in the room while making us all laugh at his antics.

I had lost touch with Bodie until the last three years when he reappeared like the bus boy cleaning tables. It was as if time had never passed. We were 12 years old again still laughing at the most stupid things. Like the time we had a spend the night party and after we turned off the lights, Bodie lit a match close to his fanny, and passed gas to blow it out.

We all celebrated and held our noses at the same time.

So, here we go—there will be one less person whenever I have another high school reunion. Suddenly, I feel like the narrator from “Stand by Me” when he writes on his computer screen at the end of the movie—

“Although I haven’t seen him in more than 10 years, I know I’ll miss him forever. I never had friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anybody?”

Time, oh good time, where did you go?