Dawn Comes Early…

This poem just won first place in the recent 2010 BYU-Idaho Spirit Week poetry contest.


Dawn Comes Early…

Dawn comes early in the west.
Often, the sun gathers large at first
and then shrinks behind huge purple,
gray clouds until it succumbs while the clouds pass,
and it rises further than the clouds.
Streaming rays, oranges and reds
on the horizon, speak softness
to the new day, always moving in one steady,
upward course, somewhere around the world.

With some trepidation, I walk out
into the dark morning, notice
the oranges and the reds in the east,
trying desperately to show themselves,
maybe even heave themselves
toward the west, where later in the day,
they again succumb to the night
and slip away further into the west.

Yet, I walk on, speculating why the sun creeps
along so tenuously at first, then boldly
during the day. It is like I am—
tenuous at first, and then boldly
although not overbearingly.

Perhaps, I should walk early, try to catch
the sun, learn from its steadiness and how it works
to make the world brighter, happier, consistent.

Perhaps, I should sit on the hill
and just watch the sun, just watch
it grow big and round and bright.

Perhaps, I should just close my eyes,
think of those mornings when I walk
boldly out into the rain, the snow,
the heavy winds, head down, not thinking
of anything in particular—just the mere thought
of trudging forward, into the early morning,
thinking of home, a hot bath, and Cheerios—
all one steady upward course, now and forever.

Having Dogs Can Be a True Learning Experience for Children and Adults

I wrote this some years ago, but I read through it again today and thought I ought to post it. I liked it then, and I like it now.

What do you do when one of your children likes domestic animals more than you do? Or an eight-year old who wants a dog and you are not ready to buy her one?
My youngest daughter loves animals. When I rock her at night, she has to have her animal blanket with her. One time I covered her with her blanket, but she quickly looked at me and said, “Dad, the bears have to breathe.”

For a moment I was a bit fogged in. My hesitation caused her some anxiety. She repeated, “Dad, the bears have to breathe.” She then reached down and flipped her blanket over. I had failed to put the top side up. Of course, the bears couldn’t breathe. They were suffocating on the underneath side of the blanket.

Lately, though, she has been hounding me for a dog. She doesn’t want just any dog. She wants the kind of dog that is on the PBS show “Wishbone.” I asked her not long ago why she wants a dog. Her reply, “Because they play with you.” She even has a name already picked out for her dog, whenever she gets one. She wants to call it Dodger. Sometimes, as she looks at me with those big, beautiful blue eyes, I almost succumb to her wishes. Then, I wonder if she is really ready for the experience.

I have had several dogs in my life. Actually, they haven’t been mine alone. They belonged to our family. We had a golden lab and golden retriever stolen from us. My brothers and I were in the process of training them to be hunting dogs. Another dog, a Chihuahua, became my mother’s favorite and stayed close to her. Probably two of the most noteworthy I remember were Lady and Tippy.

Lady was truly a lady. Of cocker spaniel decent, Lady was pure black and lovable. When we moved from Idaho Falls to Menan to our new house, Lady had some room to run. Our house sat on the edge of some farm ground that led to a slough and then to Hunting’s, several acres of Russian Olives, Cottonwoods, brush, and Spring Creek.

But she didn’t last long in Menan. Our neighbors up by the railroad tracks had a huge dog. I don’t remember what kind it was, but to a six-year old, it was huge, monstrous. One evening, our neighbors were out walking with their dogs. Somehow, Lady became entangled with their monster dog. Within seconds, Lady lay in the road. We ran to her, gently picked her up, and brought her home where we carefully placed her in a box full of blankets and tried to soothe her pain.

The only thing Lady could do was look up at us with those pleading dark eyes. We shed many tears before the night was over. The next morning when we woke, Lady was gone. Dad said she had wandered off in the night and didn’t come back. My brothers and I looked everywhere for her.

We scrounged the neighborhood, even walked through Hunting’s to Spring Creek. No Lady. We figured she just wandered off, knowing the pain it would cause us to watch her die.

It wasn’t too many years ago that I realized that Lady probably died during the night, and my father took her somewhere and buried her. He has never fessed up to doing something like that, but it was natural that he would try to protect us from the pain of death. Lady had become a part of our family, and Dad didn’t want to hurt us.

Probably my most favorite dog we ever had was Tippy, a wonderful collie dog that loved to play with us. I don’t remember how Tippy came to our house or what happened to him. And I don’t want to. We thought of Tippy as our Lassie. He did not have the distinct markings of Lassie, but to us, he was the best.

Tippy went everywhere with us. One of our favorite things to do was to roam Hunting’s property, pretending we were soldiers in a grand army. Tippy followed us, wondering what in the world these boys were doing. He probably came along to protect us from ourselves. Often, he joined the frolicking and fun.

As Tippy grew older, he did not exhibit the vig and vem of old. He mostly stayed around the house and soaked in the sun. He still loved to be petted. When we came home from school, he was there to greet us. When we walked to the barn to do chores, Tippy followed us and then lay out of sight of Bossy, our cow. He knew Bossy became agitated when she saw him. So he stayed out her way.

Sometimes, when I am at my parents’ house in the summer, looking out across the garden, listening carefully to the past, I can still hear his bark. Sometimes, I turn to see if he is there beside me or following me down the beaten path to the barn. But he isn’t.

Maybe it is the death of these two dogs that keep me from buying one for my daughters. Like my father, I do not want them to feel anxiety, pain, or even death. But then again, maybe having a dog would help them understand some of the trials of life, maybe help them learn more about responsibility by taking care of an animal.

Maybe having a dog could be part of their contextual learning. Maybe having a dog would be good for them. And I need to remember: Children and dogs need to be on top. I wouldn’t want to suffocate them.

Significance

The following is the graduation speech that I gave on Saturday to the 2010 graduates from Laramie County Community College.

Creating Significance

Not long ago, I sat in a meeting and listened to a retired Air Force Colonel discuss the importance of significance. I was intrigued by his insight and his use of the word in a spiritual context. Tonight, I would like to extend the meaning to five areas: education, family, community, world, and self.

The simplest definition of significance is the “state or quality of having meaning or importance.”

In order to make the connection to the five areas, I have a few questions to ask you—

Question 1: What significance are you making in education? What you are doing today creates significance. What you have been doing for the past several semesters is significance. The other evening, Joanne and I were sitting with a young single mother who said, “I earned my GED, and now I am enrolled in the College.” I will make sure my daughters do not drop out of school. Her oldest daughter, now 16, is an honor student. Do you think she has created significance by returning to school? I do. And she has much to more to do. Investment in education will be the best investment you will ever make. I promise.

Question 2: What significance are you being as a member of your family? I believe families are important. For most of us, our families created significance in our lives by pushing us forward, motivating us to do better, and creating opportunities to succeed. With mother’s day just last Sunday, we celebrated Mother’s Day and remembered our mothers, no matter where they were. In another month, we will celebrate Father’s Day, another significant day. If you are a mother, what kind of mother are you? If you are a father, what kind of father are you? If you are a son or daughter, what kind of son or daughter are you being? If you are a brother or sister, what kind of brother or sister are you? You can create significance in your family.

Question 3: What significance are you making or will you make in your community? I believe many of you through service learning projects in our community have created significance. People are appreciative of what you have done. Now, what will you do as you graduate? Will you continue creating significance in the community you live in?

Question 4: What significance will you make in the world? Some of you will go out and do grandiose things by the world’s standards. Others will do things that will ultimately create significance that will reverberate throughout history—and often we may not know what significance we have done. And that’s the beauty and the power of significance.

Question 5: And, perhaps, most importantly, what significance will you create by being you? Your example, good or bad, will create significance in whatever you do. No matter whether your job is small or great, your significance, your importance, will create an aura that will touch people in small and great ways. Your mere smile will encourage others to smile. Your kind acts will motivate others to reciprocate. Your reaching out to help others will encourage them to do the same. Everything you do creates significance, and it is up to you what level of significance it will be.

Finally, I extend to you an invitation to create significance knowingly: Write a note to someone who has made a significant impact on/in your life. My preference would not be an e-mail, not a text message, not a tweet, not a Facebook or MySpace message—unless, of course, you do not know this person’s address. An actual letter or card written by your hand in real ink would be preferable. Let them know specifically why they are significant and how they created significance in your lives. When you do this, I sincerely believe you will experience “significance” in your life and in your being. Thanking those who have “created significance” for you and in your life need to know why they have and how they have. You may be the first person who has ever done this, and your mere act will create significance in their lives.

Often, many people just do what they do, not realizing what significance they might create or have created in the lives of those with whom they work and serve. It is when they receive a message from you and me, thanking them, that they finally realize, perhaps, what they might have done. In many cases, they will pass it off as being some trivial thing that they remember vaguely. But to us—you and me—what they did truly turned our lives around. I believe that is truly the meaning of significance: when we do something because that’s just what we do to better the world around us. That enthusiasm for doing what needs to be done seeps into the lives of others and somehow changes them, turns their views, helps them contemplate a new way or a more effective way of living their lives or doing something. They change because we provided them with “significance.”

Thus, my challenge, each and every day is create significance, be significant, and do significant things because you are significant.

Thank you.

Eyes Peeled

This is a poem that I recently published in the High Plain Register.

Eyes Peeled

I cannot see it, really,
from my view atop the spud truck.
Just beyond Mercer’s Corner

and the ancient cottonwoods.
The panel truck shifts slowly like some fish net,
scooping cod from the sea.

Instead of fish, this net scoops up los hermanos
from the spud cellars, trucks, bunkhouses, unfit even for chinchillas.
Dust rises inevitably from the truck’s slow loathing

of those sin papeles—yet those important to the harvest.
Sometimes it is hard to get the gringos, those young dudes,
to heft the 33’ sprinkler pipe, often full

of silt water and carry it forty feet
through knee-high alfalfa, wet potato lines,
mosquitoes and horse flies licking blood,

and sweat oozing over day-old bites.
At night, Instead of returning home to Nintendo,
HBO, and a hot shower, the pulsating kind,

they saunter to the plywood shacks, tortillas de harina,
and another night of yearning for their casas, sus familias,
instead of sitting idly on their own veranda,

their queridas in the crook of their arms.
Now their eyes stay peeled for the panel truck,
picking up speed through the alfalfa field.

Contemplations about Orbs

I drafted this some time ago and haven't returned to it. But I thought I would post it to contemplate its sense of being. Take a look and let me know what you think.

The Orbs

The lights in the distance
somehow stifle the darkness,
treat it indifferently,

try to lighten up its grueling mess
that overshadows even
the most miniscule light.

Our lives are like that, sometimes.
We take on more than we can do.
Sometimes, we burden ourselves

with other’s burdens.
Sometimes, we even cross ourselves,
hoping for some redemption

when none is available, even for them,
our so-called friends, the ones
we hide from others.

Why we do such thing remains
a mystery to me.
Why we extend ourselves, often,

more viscerally than we truly should,
more viciously at times than truly needed.
But the fact of the matter is this:

the lights in our horizon are dimming,
slowly fading into the orbs of nothingness,
only because we have failed to pay the bill.

Hailey Hammon Keller: BYU Graduate 2010

Friday was Hailey’s graduation from Brigham Young University-Provo (BYU). What a thrill it was to watch her walk across the age with her husband Joseph! Although she finished her coursework in December, she decided to wait and walk with Joseph in April.

For parents, having one graduate from college is a wonderful opportunity to reflect on the child’s life as we see and remember it. Hailey has truly been a wonderful daughter. She did extremely well in high school, participating in tennis (state all three years), speech and drama (state all three years), and several plays, including a play at Miles Community College. Her switch from speech to “mime” was unforeseen and unpredictable, but she excelled in it, winning second place in the state tournament her senior year with her now famous “bouncing ball” routine.

Like Anna Rose, Hailey graduated from high school with having completed one year’s worth of college credits. While she wanted to trundle off to the university early, Hailey came with us to Cheyenne and enrolled in the Mass Media program at Laramie County Community College. She did well at the College and in her chosen field. Her phenomenal writing skills propelled her toward writing for the national-award winning College newspaper Wingspan. As a result, she ultimately received the “Journalist of the Year” Award, which was a fitting bestowal, particularly to those of us who know Hailey and her delightful style of writing.

Having graduated from Laramie County Community College, she was accepted at Brigham Young University (BYU) in Provo as a transfer student and was ultimately accepted in the Communications Department where she focused on the Public Relations program. During an interview for a job on BYU’s campus, the interviewer said that Hailey’s portfolio from the Mass Media program was “one of the best” he had ever seen.

Hailey’s engaging personality has always been one of her best assets. She makes friends easily, and her smile and “delicious” laugh is intoxicating. One of her other assets is that she makes people feel comfortable when they are around her. Plus, she is a leader—always has been and always will be.




While we were here in Provo, Hailey and I went on a “daddy-daughter” date to the movie Sherlock Holmes. It was fun to be with her. When she was younger, we always went on daddy-daughter dates. She and Anna Rose would alternate weeks. We either went to the museum or to a movie or to ice cream. It was always their pick as to where we would go. When I went to visit my parents in Quartzsite, Arizona, when they play snowbirds, I would either take one of the girls or the whole family. We enjoyed being together, taking walks out in the desert, negotiating for some trinket in Mexico, sauntering through acres and acres of flea markets in Quartzsite, or eating date shakes on one of the date farms around Yuma.

I could write piles and piles of stuff about Hailey and why I am proud of her. But the number one reason is that I love her, and I enjoy being her father and watching her grow and develop. It seems that her teenage years zipped by so rapidly. But when I think about all of things that she did during those times, I have to wonder when she found time to complete them all.

Hailey, congratulations! At 21, you are a college and university graduate are married to a great young man. Together you will continue to grow and develop even more talents. I know you expect to do that, I know that your Mother and I expect that, and I know that Heavenly Father expects you to rise to your birthright and become the Queen you are destined to become.



I love you tons and tons.

Dad

Crayons Used to Come in Plain Brown and Green or Bus Barns Are Off Limits to First Graders

Before my first year of school, we moved from Idaho Falls to Menan, about 18 miles north of Idaho Falls. Since I arrived just after school had finished, I missed the opportunity to go to summer kindergarten. My mother told me it was all right because I was from the big city and I had an older brother and sister who taught me everything they knew when they came home from school. So we spent the summer roaming the woods in back of Hunting’s, riding bikes to and from Spring Creek, finding pop bottles, and trading them at the Menan Store for winner suckers, penny candy, and Big Hunks.

Summer fled by, like all summers do, and school lurked closer and closer until the day arrived. We purchased our new school duds at JC Penny, either the one where my great-aunt Enid worked or the old JC Penny in downtown Idaho Falls.

I remember getting my shots, and tearing off the scab on the corner of the kitchen cabinet when I didn’t turn quickly enough to get away from my brother. It hurt so badly I thought I was going to die. Nonetheless, the ripped scab did not deter my mother from taking me to school that first day. With me in school, it meant three of her six children gone between 8:00 a.m. and 3:15 p.m., surely a great relief to her.

Because of where we lived and because of our school district’s propensity to bus everyone everywhere for every grade, it touched me to start my educational career at Lewisville Elementary, an elementary school about three or four miles from Menan. I did not mind the opportunity to ride the bus. I had never ridden the bus, and the ride sounded like an adventure. The adventure lasted about four days.

The first day of school at Lewisville Elementary was full of discoveries, my first being my sister Telecia being assigned to another elementary, just a couple of blocks from my house. The thoughts of staying there alone without someone I knew caused me enough anxiety. I did what most first graders did—I started crying and moaning about Telecia having to go to another school. I just couldn’t take being left alone. Mrs. Williamson, the principal, stepped up and let my mother know that she could change Telecia to Lewisville Elementary. That assuaged my crying for a bit.

Of course, Telecia was not particularly happy that she had to stay at Lewisville with her little brother. Somehow my crying created a sense of sisterly love to exude from her, and she reluctantly stayed. I think I forgot about her after a couple of days after I became entrenched in the educational process. Unfortunately for Telecia, she had to stay for the entire school year.

Mrs. Williams, my first grade teacher led me to my desk, the old wood bench kind, ornate steel legs and a flip top desk. We had about five or six in a row. One of our first assignments was to color a picture. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any Crayons. The schools didn’t offer lists then so we usually waited until after the first day to see what we all needed and then headed to the store to buy the goods.

Since I wanted to participate in the lesson, I turned around to the kid behind me and asked to borrow a Crayon. He let me have a green or brown one, one of the six he had. He introduced himself as Jon Poulter, also from Menan. Because of that crayon we became good friends throughout our entire school career.

In first grade, I learned to read about Dick and Jane, play army with my friends, slapping our thighs as we rode our pseudo ponies hard around the playground; venture in “the Grove,” a huge stand of trees between the church and the school; play T-ball with our class; watch one of the girls tromp through the barrow pit in snow up to her waist because she didn’t want to ride the bus; participate in a Christmas play; stay in my seat on the bus; and call mom on the school phone because I had stay after for not obeying (I received a “ticket” for straying beyond the boundaries of first graders and lining my “men” on the bus barn wall. Hey, I could still see the rock school house, and there were no buses in the bus barn. So, Mr. Third Grader Ticket Giver, what was the problem?).

Now when you go to the store, you have your choice of 64 or 94 Crayons, and I suspect you would really have to dig to find a plain green or brown in them. I think Jon is in Las Vegas without his pack of Crayons. Jon, if you read this: Thanks for loaning me one of your Crayons. It helped me acclimate to first grade.

Finally, I have only two caveats for first graders: don’t ever play by the bus barn and take plenty of Crayons the first day. Just think of all the friends you’ll make.