About A Boy

It's not the first time The Boy came into my life that I really remember.

It was the second.

One of the toughest aspects of being a foster parent is the letting go. You open your home to a child in need, welcome them into your family, make them feel loved and hope that you're making a difference. It's only natural that over time they feel as if they belong. It feels as if they may never leave. Of course, gnawing there at the back of your heart and mind is the knowledge that they will leave at some point. You tell yourself it's what you are meant to do. Break the cycle. Help the child. It's all part of the process. You tell yourself you won't let it bother you.

In other words, you lie to yourself. 

The Good Life

I can remember a time when my wife and I had just gotten married that weekends were a time of relaxation, recharging and quiet nights together.

Those days are long gone, replaced by soccer games (i.e. Caden pictured above seeking net returns), baseball practices, dance recitals, birthday parties and the such. Needless to say, my weekends have become blurs thanks to the activities of my children. 

Happy Accidents

My name is not unique, but is different enough that I'm insulated from running into too many people who share it. While Michael, a biblical name, is fairly common, Gresham isn't. In fact, my father once told me that if you run into someone named Gresham, they're probably related. I'm not sure that's true, but I'll likely try to put it to the test by getting free tickets to a Cowboys game the next time Jermaine Gresham and the Cincinnati Bengals roll into town.

Playing With The Future

“Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for." — Lawrence Block

Something happened to a good friend of mine recently. Something life changing. Something that has led him onto a path of clarity. I'm fairly sure he'd argue it was something miraculous.

He suddenly found himself unemployed. And do you know what? It was easily one of the best things to ever happen to him.

I'd be lying if I didn't say the thought of suddenly being unemployed scares the living shit out of me. I'm a father. A husband. A worrier. An overachiever. A competitor. And an unabashed workaholic.

My good friend was just like me. Heck, for much of my adult life, we've shared the same path, career, dreams and ambitions.

In unemployment, though, he has found something that I'm afraid I lost sight of a long time ago. 

Contentment.

A View From The Porch

No wit, wisdom or deep thoughts today. Instead, just a little view from my back porch last night.

The storms that blew through Kaufman produced plenty of wind and a fairly spectacular lightning show, but little rain. Fortunately, the noise didn't wake up the kids.

Chasing Miracles

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." — Albert Einstein


My favorite part of being a father is watching as my children experience the wonders of life. Each moment is truly a treasure as they discover the world around them. This past Sunday, my younger son turned 5. As you can see from the photo above, he made the most of every minute of that day.


That is the way kids approach life — realizing each day is a new gift, a new miracle.

The Hard Truth

I've got thin skin. I try to let things roll off my back, but I just can't. I care about what other people think about me. I'm concerned about how they judge my work. I suffer every insult, agonize over every error, sulk about every failure and fume over every negative comment.

Those are not exactly the best traits for someone in my line of work, but that's just who I am.

Of course, I'm also a glutton for punishment because I want need to know all those things.

Look, it's not difficult to surround yourself with people who won't tell you about your fallacies. It's natural for friends and loved ones to dismiss your critics as bitter trolls. It really would be easier to just ignore the criticism and move on. In doing so, though, I believe I would be doing myself a disservice.

Criticism is a necessary evil. It reminds us that none of us are perfect. We all make mistakes.

"You Never Write About Politics Anymore."

With my change in jobs, trips to the local courthouse have become less regular. When I stopped in last week to snap a photo of Kaufman County's new district clerk for a story, it didn't take long for one of my old acquaintances to find me. It took even less time for him to utter that phrase.

"And why don't you update your blog more often?"

Every weekend, I call my father. We've exchanged phone calls off and on for years, though, it's become more regular of late since my father's BS-ing buddy passed away a few months ago. Typically, the talks start off as nothing special. There's a recap of how the kids are doing. I probably complain about work. We both will talk a little sports.

And then it happens.

When Worlds Collide

In my line of work, I get to cover a lot of high school sporting events. I have to admit that's really one of the parts of the job I like. I cut my teeth in the journalism world as a sports reporter. While these days I'm usually just lending a hand shooting photos at these games, it still takes me back to a simpler time in my life.

My love of sports — combined with my lack of true talent playing them — led me down a path to a journalism career. Simply put, I've always been a huge sports fan. It started at an early age and can probably be directly attributed to my father's love of sports.

So, knowing that my eldest son has also developed a love of sports is somewhat rewarding to me. Let's be honest, whether everyone believes it or not, being a small-town journalist means lots of time away from the family covering different events. But anyone who has seen me shooting photos at a game, knows that a lot of the times I have my son in tow with me. He loves sports and he loves the time he gets to spend with me covering sports.