Which F word on July 4?

No, not that one. There’s lots of others to pick from.  Fourth?  Fireworks?  Family?  Fun?  Freedom?  Maybe. But for me this year – Father’s Felt Football. A home-made pillow, a belated Father’s Day gift from step-daughter Tiffany, hubby Elmer, and granddaughters Lily and Rosalie, during my two-day stay with them this week in Nashville.

Biker Chicks

Elmer patiently worked with me trying to teach me how get this infernal blog up and running. Lots of food and laughter, debates and bad jokes around the kitchen table, rolling in the floor with frenetic, energy-laden kids, wild hamsters on the loose, a smorgasborg of nothing…and everything.

On my peaceful motorcycle ride back, a human easy-bake cookie in the 95-degree blast furnace of I-65, I couldn’t help but give thanks for the priceless opportunity to be taken in by adults who teach their children love every day. Some of us aren’t so lucky. It makes me grateful. And a little ashamed when I slip up and gripe during those fleeting moments of frustration and disappointment that follows us around.

My other step-daughter Hailey, with Tom and young Finn, and daughter Layne, with Zach & their 4-legged children Winnie, Munch, and Maggie, are all just as loving. My times with them just as fulfilling, brimming with love and laughter. In reflection I realize, as I often do these days, that the 4th of July is only what we make of it. And every other day after that.

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