Bursting with Pride

Posted by Danny

As a kid, I was a wimp.  Probably still am to a great extent.

The fourth of July reminds me of sitting on a grassy lawn on Owen Drive in Fayetteville, NC, watching fireworks with my mom, dad and brother.  The loud explosions scared the crap out of me!  I felt like I was in a neighborhood gang war, dodging bullets – hopeful to stay alive.

I was a mama’s boy – still am.  I cried when I left her to go to vacation bible school.  I certainly had anxiety when I went to school.  I remember one day a boy twice my size stopping me as I rode my bike home from Glendale Acres School.  He stood right in front of my bike, holding my handle bars, a pocket knife in hand.

“I’m going to slit your tires boy.”

As a small third grader, how to you respond to that? I prefer that you not…, if you choose…, that’s not very Christian of you…  I think I just froze until my neighbor, Scotty Cannon (great dodgeball player), walked up and told the kid to get off my back.  I peddled home sobbing and told my older brother what had happened.  Although he didn’t like me that much at the time, he certainly wasn’t going to let someone else harass me – that was his job.  He took out his pellet gun and shot the boy as he passed by our house.

With my genes, I can’t figure out why my kids are so poised and confident at their early ages.

Michelle headed to resident camp for a week this summer with little trepidation.  My mom would have been hard pressed to get me to spend the night with my grandma at that age.

Stephanie gets in front of groups on a regular basis to share her musical talents:  solos at school (she played the coveted role of Mary in the Christmas pageant – we were so proud), flawless piano recitals, and last week nine numbers in a dance performance for hundreds of eager spectators.

As I sat in the auditorium and watched both Stephanie and DJ dance, pride swelled within me.  I think part of it was their beauty and grace, I think other half was that they were displaying a confidence that took me years to develop.

Isn’t it interesting as a parent to sit back and watch your kids?  At times I see strong reflections of me.  At times I think we took the wrong baby home from the hospital.

Lisa would be proud of our girls, but perhaps not as surprised as I am.  In many regards they are a mirror of her.

Leave a comment


  1. Don’t remember that story. Good to hear your brother took over. Sounds like “The Beaver” and his brother. Boy,can you embroidery a story! Give you a grain of sand and you can make a mountain. Sounds like a chip off the Papa and Wayne block to me.
    Lisa was good at building confidence in those kids. She did a wonderful job of encouraging them to be all they could be and you do a wonderful job of loviing them and being their listening ear.

  2. Wanda Easley

     /  July 4, 2011

    Beautiful! Thanks so much. ‘Love your writing.

  3. great, great post. your girls are extraordinary. then again, they’re my favorite kids besides my own family, so i may be a little biased.

  4. Wayne

     /  July 4, 2011

    Unlike your children, you’re a chip off the old block. i was the same way but I didn’t have an older brother to get revenge for me. I well remember a red headed girl who was a couple of years older than me who made my life miserable. And I too was a mama’s boy. but we turned out pretty good, don’t you think? Your girls just got there faster than we did,. but tortise or hare, we all crossed the finish line and are winners! Dad

  5. Wayne

     /  July 4, 2011

    And if any one ever had Daddy’s girls it’s you and your brother!

  6. mom

     /  July 5, 2011

    Great picture! And of course, great students!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s