(The following are the first four
of a series of published columns
I wrote in the early 80's in Oklahoma)
By Thomas E. Rutherford
August 1982
I am the father of two beautiful, young daughters. Being such has elevated me to star status (in their eyes). My oldest daughter is six and will soon be seven. The youngest is three.
In their eyes I am Superman! If it can be done, Daddy can do it. If it can't be done, Daddy can still do it.
Only a few short years ago I was just a mere mortal much like yourself. But marriage and parenthood changed all that. Now I can leap tall buildings with a single bound, stop speeding trains, etc.
When my oldest daughter lost her first tooth, it didn't hurt because Daddy was there. When my youngest daughter had her arm dislocated, she calmly accepted her pain because Daddy was there.
It really amazes me at times to think back to the simpler, less complicated days of my life. The days when I didn't know the answer to life's everyday questions; when there were a lot of things I couldn't do; when the word Dad meant someone's freedom had perished (or so I mistakenly thought back then).
Now that I am a father, I can't help but wonder why every man isn't a father. Why those who are fathers, would ever give up that right.
My daughters have enlightened me... Through their eyes I am the greatest man alive. I am also the strongest, most intelligent, best looking man to ever breathe this earth's air.
No longer am I unsure of myself. I get a full dose of confidence every time I look into those double pairs of beautiful blue eyes.
No man on this planet could ever doubt himself if he had the confidence those young, innocent blue eyes radiate.
Whenever I'm about to enter into a business deal and get a little queasy about whether I have the nerve to see it through, those little blue eyes save the day -- they just seem to say, "You're my Dad, there is nothing you cannot do!"
With that, there really is nothing I can't do. For those tiny pairs of blue eyes, the sweet smiles and those tiny locks of blonde hair, I can do anything.
But what will happen when they are grown? Will my daily dose of confidence leave when they leave the nest? As they mature and become more knowledgeable of the world, will I be returned to mere mortal status once again?
I surely hope not. Sure, they are bound to realize before long that there are others like their Dad. But will that mean their Dad is no longer a necessary part of their lives? I intend to see they never feel that way.
How? By keeping my love for them present at all time. Letting them know that no matter what they do, their Dad is always behind them in their endeavors. That is the least I can do for the immortality they have given me with those beautiful blue eyes.
A lot of parents seem to feel that their children should be grateful for all they have done for them. Not me, I feel just the opposite. I'm the one who's grateful. If not for my daughters, I would never have tasted the life of the immortals; felt the confidence they have given me; nor known what star status, as a Dad, is all about.
To my children, and children everywhere, I tip my hat. Without you there would truly be no heroes left in the world.
Parents, to you, I offer this parting word. Before expecting respect and gratitude from your children, be sure your heart is full of both for them first. After all, they did not ask you to bring them into this world. But you, on the other hand, had a choice. Your children are the result of the option you took when making that choice. Love them, respect them, thank them, and they will surely do likewise.
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
September 1982
My two daughters meet our mailman everyday to get the mail and bring it to their Daddy. To them, the mailman is a smiling, friendly character who always has a laugh and a pat on the head for them.
In their eyes, the mail he brings is always something "special" -- like a letter from Grandma. If only they knew. Our mail is usually filled with utility bills, medical bills, loan payment reminders, or some organization seeking a contribution.
But to them, each and every piece of mail the mailman brings is worth its weight in gold. And what about those rare days when he brings no bills, letters, or sale papers? My two dismayed little girls cannot understand Daddy's apparent bliss at not receiving any mail.
I wish they would never grow up to understand some things. Such as what it means to try to make ends meet in today's world.
But for now, I am thankful that they can find a little "magic" in this old world. Even if it is in the form of bills the mailman brings to our home -- bills that Daddy must somehow strive to pay.
I know that it will be all too soon when they too will cherish the day the mailman brings no mail to their mailbox. But when that day comes, I hope it will not be long until they too have children who will see the "magic" they once saw in the mailman's daily visits.
And even though the bills the mailman brings seem harder and harder to pay , those smiling faces and tiny hands that bring them to me make it all worthwhile.
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
October 1982
This week my daughters entered the world of high finance. It all began when the tooth fairy deposited a one dollar bill under my six-year-old daughter's pillow.
My three-year-old, always quick to take advantage of any situation, offered her most cherished baby doll in exchange for the dollar. The transaction was made rather quickly and the dollar hidden well away.
A few hours later, my three-year-old had forgotten where she had hidden her recently gained wealth. Not wanting to be left empty handed, she hastily retrieved her baby doll. Big sister filed a complaint with "Dad's Court." The court took the matter into careful consideration. After a few moments of deliberation, the baby doll was placed in the custody of the court until such time as the three-year-old could produce the dollar bill in question.
After an all-day, exhausting search, the three-year-old came up with a dollar from the depths of her toy chest. But the matter was not so easily disposed. After choosing her words carefully, my youngest darling conveyed that this was most definitely NOT the dollar in question.
My oldest, however, took one look at the bill and identified it as the very one the tooth fairy had left her. During questioning at the second "hearing" I asked my oldest daughter how she could be sure that this was the dollar bill in question.
Always ready with a quick comeback, she replied, "Daddy, I know this is it cause it's green and has a man's picture on it and a one in all the corners."
After such positive identification as that, what could I say?
From this point on, the case became more complicated. The oldest did not want to relinquish the baby doll she had purchased, but she did want "her" dollar back. The youngest, likewise, wanted both possessions.
"Dad's Court" finally was able to reach a decision. The doll and the dollar would become property of the court for a period of one week. At the end of the week, both items would be returned to their original owners, providing both behaved themselves.
I think I'll retire "Dad's Court" before hearing the next case on the docket -- "Mom vs The Little People" in a petition for condemnation of two dirty bedrooms.
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
November 1982
Coming home from work one afternoon, I was met at the door by my two daughters. Both wore jubilant smiles upon their small faces.
"Daddy," began the oldest. "We got our rooms all cleaned up. Come and see."
Knowing that their rooms had been a total wreck only that morning, I could hardly wait to see what they called clean. After a walk through inspection I was left speechless. Both rooms were spotless and everything was in its place. In fact, their rooms would have made a Marine Drill Sergeant proud. Now it isn't everyday that my two little darlings clean their room to this degree of perfection.
Not knowing what to do or say, I did feel that I should show them how proud I was of their accomplishment. Therefore I told them to get their shoes on, wash their hands and faces, and I would take them to get and ice cream cone. My wife gave me a somewhat smug smile and declined to accompany us on our ice cream outing.
Upon our return, however, she got me aside and informed me she had done ALL the cleaning and tidying up in the girls' rooms. Then she pointed out that in their eyes I was rewarding them for messing up their rooms and letting Mommy clean them up.
Needless to say, the next night my daughters stayed at the sitter while I treated my wife to dinner at her favorite restaurant.
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A Personal Narrative
by
Thomas E. Rutherford
One sip of coffee changed my entire life. I have had
many life changing events throughout my life (marriage, fatherhood, enlisting
in the Marine Corps and then in the Army, being a law enforcement officer,
editing several newspapers and magazines, countless surgeries and more
near-death experiences than I care to remember). But none have altered my
very existence as much as that one harmless sip of coffee.
I drink the brand of coffee that is good to the last drop. But six months ago
I took that an earth shattering sip and the last drop ended up all over the
carpet in my office along with my favorite green and black Marine Corps skull
head coffee mug.
It was a moment I will never forget. A moment forever etched in my memory. I
had been working for nearly six hours straight on writing project. The only
light in my office was the glow from my computer's monitor. Cigarette smoke
wafted gently, almost eerily, throughout the room.
At 3:45 a.m. I had taken a break to stretch my legs and back. My eyes were
watery from strain and smoke. I needed, no craved, caffeine to stimulate my
creativity. I filled my cup before the coffee maker had completed its brew
cycle. Fresh cup in hand, I returned to my darkened dungeon of an office.
I returned to my seat in my favorite typing chair and placed the hot cup of
coffee near the keyboard. Its steam joined the cigarette smoke, enhanced the
eerie fog-like effect in my office, and helped maintain my marathon writing
mood. Like a human extension to my computer I reconnected to my keyboard and
pounded out nearly three pages before the coffee cooled enough to drink. I
stretched both arms before grabbing the cup with my right hand and lifting it
to my lips while proofing my latest entry. As I tilted the cup for that first
sip, it momentarily blocked my right eye's view of the screen.
I thought I was losing my mind or at the very least that I had taken one too
many muscle relaxers. What I saw in that brief glimpse of the screen, with
just my left eye, was totally unexpected. I lowered the cup and the screen
again looked normal. I thought maybe that I had gotten a super caffeine rush
or just an extreme spurt of imagination.
I sat dumbfounded for several hours (probably just mere seconds) before
taking my right hand and covering my right eye. Again, the distortion was
incredible. It was like looking into a fun house mirror. Everything was
distorted. I tried covering the left eye and everything appeared normal. With
both eyes uncovered everything appeared normal. I don't know how long I sat
experimenting with my eyesight. I covered, uncovered, blinked one eye, then
the other, and then both eyes simultaneously. I tried turning away and then
snapping my head back to the screen suddenly to see if I could maybe see
something that I was missing otherwise.
I couldn't sleep. I just paced through the house while my wife and daughters
slept. At 8 a.m. I got an emergency appointment with an ophthalmologist who
quickly diagnosed my condition. I was in the early stages of macular
degeneration, a disease that normally strikes persons age 65 and older. He
reassured me that it might not be as bad as it seems since there are new
retinal surgical techniques to excise the lesions this disease causes. He did
tell me, however, that current surgical techniques could not fully restore my
damaged vision--only halt its progress.
The Friday before the 1999 spring semester finals, I underwent fluoroscopy of
my left eye and was told that it might take years before the disease caused
me anything more than distortion. I was also told that, left untreated, the
disease would eventually destroy my central vision and leave me legally blind
in my left eye. It took me several months to cope with this new information.
I even practiced with a patch over my left eye (when no one was around) to
get used to my eventual left eye blindness if surgery didn't stop the
condition from progressing.
I had just gotten used to the idea of possibly losing sight in my left eye
when disaster struck again. I began noticing that my night vision was greatly
reduced. Also, car and streetlights at night had a halo effect and severely
hurt my eyes. This happened midway through the 1999 fall semester and I
returned to my retinal specialist a month before my next exam was scheduled.
The bad news was nearly more than I could bear. Not only had the disease
progressed to my right eye, but also the main lesion in my left eye had
progressed to the central macular region. Surgery now would excise the legion
but the cure would be worse than the disease. It would completely destroy my
central vision immediately. I elected to let the disease run its course in my
left eye. The lesion in my right eye has not developed towards the center
region yet, but more than likely will. However, it is too close to the
central region to be excised by surgery without immediately destroying vision
in this eye also.
I became completely depressed and withdrawn for nearly three weeks. During
most of that time I didn't think I would even be able to function when (not
if) my vision completely deteriorates. I dropped one course (Discrete Math)
because I had fallen too far behind to catch up. My grades and attendance
suffered in my remaining classes. Then in the 2000 spring semester I began to
have blurring vision when I did any close up work for more than fifteen to
twenty minutes at a time. Another trip to my ophthalmologist indicated that I
am experiencing the early symptoms of glaucoma and the pressure in my right
eye was extremely abnormal. I began steroid injections, which seem to have
slowed the two lesions' progress.
By this time I had become increasingly depressed, yet hyperactive, and
developed insomnia. A twenty-pound weight gain (a side effect of the
steroids) pushed my blood pressure extremely high. At this point I was ready
to quit school and just completely retire. However, I stopped by my former
place of employment to visit some old friends who work there. While waiting
for them to return from lunch I began visiting with a part-time worker at the
office. She had on really thick glasses and was using a magnifier to read
applications so she could key them into the computer. She explained to me
that she had been legally blind most of her life. Yet, here she was, answering
the phone, interviewing clients, keying applications, and encouraging me to
stay in college.
My visit with her changed my entire outlook on life. My visit with her gave
me a lot to think about that evening on my drive home. I realized that I had
had nearly forty-five years of near-perfect eyesight and still have better
eyesight than she has ever known.
Coping with this disease has been the greatest challenge, and I do see it as
a challenge now, that I have ever faced. But thanks to a very brave young lady,
one who faces each day with almost tireless energy and an ever-present smile,
I realized my problems were very small indeed.
I have taken a great interest lately in the development and use of voice
recognition computer software. I've been reading as much as I can, although
my eyes blur out after twenty minutes and I have to take an hour or longer
break before I can return, but I do return. I have also developed a new
appreciation for audio books and I rely more and more on family and friends
to help with my typing and studying. For me, this is the worst setback of
all. I have always been an extremely independent person who never relied on
anyone. Therefore it is hard to have to ask for help from my family when I
can't accomplish something on time without it. Yet this has given me a new
appreciation for the love and assistance I have received from my family since
this ordeal began.
There are a million and one things I would like to see and accomplish while I
still have my eyesight--things that I won't be able to see or do when the
disease finally robs me of my central vision in both eyes. The past few
months I have caught myself admiring the beauty of the world around me.
Seeing things I had previously failed to notice or had just taken for
granted. I never realized the true beauty of nature until now. Each waking
day provides another feast for my eyes. They devour everything within sight
and make me marvel at the spectacular panorama of the world around me.
At times I wistfully wonder what I'll do when I can no longer pursue the
things I love doing the most: hunting, fishing, driving, reading books and
magazines (with wondrous printed words, not Braille, and illustrations), and
most of all just observing nature's beauty. I often wonder what I will remember
as the last, non-distorted image of this world.
I think the things I will miss most about seeing the world around me is the
sight of my daughters', my wife's and my grandson’s faces each every day,
faces that exude love and beauty. I have learned to appreciate the forty-five
years of full sight I have thus far enjoyed. Oh, and before I forget, I still
haven't cleaned up the coffee stain on my office carpet either. Somehow even
this has a certain charm, character, or beauty, in and of itself.
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
October 29, 1997
The first time I saw Penny I knew she was everything I could possibly ever want in a girl friend. Before I even got enough courage to speak to her, I had already planned our wedding, children, and future together.
After several months of avoiding her, yet always being around her, I finally decided it was now or never. Still lacking the courage to speak to this goddess of my future, I decided to approach her older sister. She told me Penny felt the same about me but was way too shy to speak to a guy.
Her sister told me to come by their house before the school bus ran and offer Penny a ride to school. The next morning, I sat in my car a few blocks from her house from 5:00 a.m. until just moments before time for her bus. I had just pulled up to Penny and asked if she wanted a ride to school when the bus driver pulled behind me and honked for me to move.
As Penny was getting into my car, I gunned the engine and pulled away from the curb to get out of the irate bus driver's way. Unfortunately, Penny was not completely in the car yet, and the door swung open, causing her books to spill into the street and her purse to empty into my floor board. I was so nervous by now that I slammed on the brakes and stopped suddenly, throwing Penny against the dash of my car. While she rubbed her head, the bus driver showed no mercy and honked continuously while I scrambled around the car and gathered up her books.
Finally, after retrieving her books, making sure Penny was okay, and getting out of the bus driver's way, we were on our way to school. Things weren't working out quite the way I had so carefully planned all these months for the first meeting with the love of my life. Just when it looked like things were going to be okay, they got worse in a hurry. Penny finally spoke as we turned onto School Street. I'll never forget those first words.
"Thanks for giving me a ride to school," was all she said.
The magical lilt of her voice caused my world to stop. Unfortunately, my car kept going, straight through the turn onto School Street and into a huge oak tree in her grandfather's yard. As luck would have it, Grandpa and Penny's dad were sitting on the porch drinking coffee. Her dad ran to the car, yanked open the passenger door, extracted his daughter and called me a few choice names--none of which my parents had given me.
He checked Penny over, put her in his truck, and took her to school. Grandpa was a little nicer. He helped me get my car off his tree and made sure it would run without a grill and headlights. I drove on to school. That was the longest morning of my life and the longest drive to school. However, it also turned out to be the shortest romance in our school's history.
At least for several weeks, I'm sure I was constantly on Penny's mind. Especially whenever she looked into the mirror and saw the knot on her forehead and the black eye looking back at her. After that tragic morning, I never asked her out on a date, or anywhere else, for that matter. We never married, had kids, went on exotic vacations--at least not together.
We have run into each other a few times over the years, both of us happily married to other people and with families of our own. So I guess everything worked out. Still, I wonder, what would we have named those kids we would have had?
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
August 24, 1996
Imagine shopping in a grocery store where none of the products had labels on them. The vegetable and meat counters would not be much of a problem -- but what about canned items and products like sugar, meal and flour?
You could waste a lot of money buying things you do not need and probably get quite a few surprises when you opened some of your purchases at home.
According to the U.S. Department of Education this is a reality for approximately eight million American adults over age sixteen.
Who are these people?
They are adults who cannot read and write. They hold labor intensive jobs if they are even employed at all. Those who are employed have little hope of advancement of of finding another job if they lose the one they have.
According to a 1992 survey, by the U.S. Department of Education's National Center for Education Statistics, nearly twenty-one percent of the adult population of our country had only very basic reading and writing skills. That is more than forty million Americans, all over the age of sixteen.
Although those forty million can read and write, they are unable to comprehend even an average newspaper article or to draft a letter explaining an error on their credit card bill. The majority of these are otherwise intelligent, working class people. But due to a variety of circumstances eight million never learned to read and write and forty million developed only basic literacy skills.
Many companies and businesses have instituted employee literacy programs. One example of the business community involvement in improving adult literacy here in Arkansas is the Cooper Tire Company in Texarkana. I worked as a volunteer reading tutor for the Miller County Literacy Council there and we held classes on site for their employees.
As an incentive to learn, the company paid their employees to attend these classes during working hours and rewarded them for progress.
According to Jane Goodwin, Literacy Council Coordinator for Hot Spring County, most literary council offices have more adults who want to learn basic literacy skills than the council than the council has available volunteer tutors.
What can you do? Get involved. Contact your local literacy council and volunteer to become a tutor or help in other areas.
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
July 15, 1999
One of my favorite teachers of all time was Mrs. Francis Crain. She was my high school algebra teacher at Gurdon High School. She placed education (in all subjects) as the priority of all her students, no matter the cost.
I worked part-time after school for her husband, Mr. Ralph Crain, owner of Crain's Eggs. As soon as I showed up at their family chicken farm for work, she would meet me and ask if I had done my homework yet. Of course I never had since I went to work immediately after school.
If I didn't have my books and assignments with me, she would send me after them. Once I had them in hand, she would sit me down on her back porch to do my homework. Only when I had completed all assigned homework to her satisfaction could I begin work. It's the only job I ever had that I was "paid" to do high school homework.
Even during my junior and senior years when I did not have her for a teacher, she kept a vigilant eye on my homework and encouraged me to excel. I always felt I had to do my best, and still do, to justify her faith in me and my abilities.
She never "helped" me by solving problems for me, only checked my work to see if I had done it correctly and to her standards. If I hadn't she would shake her head and tell me to try harder and to pay better attention in class when a teacher explained anything to me.
She always told me, "Teachers can only teach, you have to learn. If you do not listen to what your teacher is saying, you will never understand what you are trying to learn."
She was the first person, other than my parents, who was a true mentor to me and whenever I have tackled any new problem, assignment or job, I have always imagined her critiquing my work. I have been extremely blessed to have the excellent, supportive parents I have. I have also been very lucky to have had many great mentors since Mrs. Crain. But, aside from my parents, none of my mentors have been as memorable to me as this extremely caring and professional teacher.
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By Thomas E. Rutherford
October 18, 1997
"Service with a smile." That was the slogan on the big sign at the entrance to the car dealer's lot where we bought our car. At the door to the dealership's service department was another sign that proclaimed, "Professional mechanics who can resolve any problems you may experience with your new car."
We drove a few cars and finally settled on a white sedan my wife really liked. She drove the car home that evening and parked it carefully in the garage. I made sure the car was serviced every time the odometer rolled past three thousand miles. My wife kept the car washed, waxed and immaculate inside and out.
We had only had the car six months when my daughter turned sixteen. She had gotten her driver's permit shortly after her fourteenth birthday and was a really cautious and safe driver. On the night of her sixteenth birthday, I let her drive solo to the high school football game--two miles from our home. At ten o'clock that night the phone rang, and it was my daughter.
"Daddy, I've had a wreck," she stated calmly. "But, I'm okay."
My wife and I rushed to the street where she said she had wrecked--not knowing what to expect. I saw the car, only blocks from our home, sitting underneath bushes, vines and a small tree. It was a mess. The windshield was shattered, and the front end was demolished.
My daughter said that as she turned the corner she heard something pop and lost control of the car. We later learned that the A-frame on the car had been faulty and had broken. I had the car towed to our dealer who began repairs after the insurance adjuster had estimated the damages.
Our car was in the ship for four months. Every time we would go by to check on it, the professional mechanic would smile and say, "We're almost done."
Finally, I picked the car up at six o'clock one evening from the smiling business manager. I was driving to Little Rock in the newly repaired and repainted car when the front wheel drive locked up, leaving me sitting on the side of the road. The dealer's wrecker driver arrived an hour later and smiled the whole time he was hooking up to my car.
Three months later when the judge said, "I find for the plaintiff and award him ..." -- I smiled. I smiled again at the owner of the dealership as I left the courtroom. It was the first time I ever saw him frowning.
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