Baa baa black sheep have you any wool?

Drench AND BE Drenched!

So, this weekend was the time for the annual sheep worming festivities. I call it festivities because is was an entertaining sight to observe. There were only three willing participants, Dad, Malcolm (my brother in law) and me. The planning started the night before, Friday, I believe. Outside it was raining cats and dogs, lightning flashing, thunder crashing. We're all over at Mom and Dad's enjoying some great company as one of my younger sisters is visiting with her husband and son from Montana. Her husband is the aforementioned, innocent and unsuspecting Malcolm. So, on with the story; as the rain is pouring outside, I hear out of the corner of my ear (kinda like seeing something out of the corner of your eye), Dad mentions something to Malcolm about de-worming the sheep in the morning. So, I redirect my attention to that conversation and I remark, "That's some good timing to wait till the sheep are all soggy from a heavy rain to de-worm them." Dad laughs. Malcolm wonders. I realize the reality of what is yet to come. It's gotta be done. The poor sheep aren't just soggy from rain, they got worms. I continue, "Are we planning on waiting till mid morning so the sheep can dry off a little bit? Not that it will make any difference."

Well, Saturday arrives, I'm all geared up. It's probably 8 to 9 in the morning. I see Dad and Malcolm herding the sheep into the coral and I head out to help. We get a few of them shooshed into the cattle tub and then into the alley way. The actual process of de-worming the sheep is referred to as "drenching". I've never researched the origin of that term. But, a short tube is inserted in the sheep's mouth and a small amount of liquid medicine is squirted at the back of their tongue so they can't spit it out. Must not taste that good. I haven't tried it so I can't vouch.

So, we have two small syringes with medicine in them. The syringe holds 30cc's. The lambs get 2.5cc's and the adults get 5cc's, unless they appear to be more sick, in which case they get a double dose. Oh yeah, the adults get marked on the back with a wax marker and the lambs all have to get an ear tag.

"AND THEY'RE OFF!!!"

So, Malcolm keeps the first group in the alley way while I proceed with capturing each animal with one hand with fingers in mouth to hold mouth open and other hand holding and inserting syringe to apply medicine. (Yes, my fingers are in the sheep's mouth, not mine). Then after medicine has been administered, I hand Dad syringe and take ear tagger in free hand while still holding sheep with other hand and clipping on the ear tag. Lambs like to jump when they get their ear pierced. So, I have to keep my head clear of their head so I don't get head butted and knocked out or something like that. So, we get through the first little batch of sheeps drenching, ear tagging and waxing.

Intermission, I have to describe the dimensions of the alley way, it's about 2.5 feet wide by 25 feet long and it holds about 15-20 sheep at a time. Yes, they tend to kind of crowd together in there. So, you must imagine, Malcolm is at the back of the alley keeping them from backing out, while I am crawling my way over and through the bunch advancing my way forward as I succeed in administering the treatments. Often getting squished between sheep and sheep and sheep and panels.

Now, back to the story; We get done with the first batch and run the next batch of critters into the alley way. At this point I notice a renegade band of yellow jacket wasps of some variety or another (I seem to be mildly to moderately allergic to ALL varieties of yellow jackets); So I go grab a can of wasp spray and proceed to declare war on the nest. I soak the nest and knock a few escapees out of the air for good measure. Then we are back on track. Malcolm was just loyally standing back there keeping the sheep from backing out while the irritated wasps were making kamikaze dive bomb threats all around his head. To his credit he kept his calm and didn't get stung, but he was very happy when I nailed their outpost.

While I was away getting the wasp spray, Malcolm took over administering the treatments. I came back and held up the alley way while he played doctor. I had my share of fun giving Malcolm a hard time; "Hey, Malcolm, the medicine goes in the mouth, not the nose". He was a good sport and laughed. We got through that gaggle and Malcolm took over the tail end job again while I continued with administering the goods. Or maybe it was just me feeling sorry for Malcolm having gotten into the thick of the sheep. Remember, it had rained a lot the night before. The sheep were very soggy and by this time so were we. I made a few jokes about how Malcolm's wife, my little sister, would have nothing to do with him when he was done with this chore, "You stink! Stay away from me." Those were the joking comments for the next few minutes. That's kind of how it is when you are working sheep. If I can't find a way to laugh my way through the process, they will just irritate me and I'll get angry. But this was fun having someone getting defiled with me! Haha. Malcolm suggested that he might be burning his clothes after this event and Shiela was out at the corals watching the show by then and laughingly assured him that it would wash out.

"POST LOG"

Eventually, we managed to doctor all of the animals and through the process, we were soaked through and through with everything hidden in the soggy wool, we were stepped on, kicked, licked, sneezed on, probably peed on, pooed on bitten, bled on...I guess that just about covers it all. I did take a picture of Malcolm at the tail end keeping a gaggle of sheep in the alley way for blackmail...I mean for posterity's sake, something like that, but unfortunately, I don't have my hardware with me today to download the photo, so that will have to wait till tonight when I get home. We survived and had lots of laughs through it all and the sheep are now much healthier as a result. The rest of us- one more priceless memory to share laughs with friends and family.
Have a great day and laugh lots!
James

Round XX: It's a small world after-all

So, I'm sure you are wondering about the title of this posting. I've since lost count of which round I am up to on the Schwinn "Homegrown". I have been pushing myself to go faster on the same trail and gaining success over technical areas that had previously been conquering me. The rides have been great. I'm enjoying the bike immensely and my jeans are not so tight around the waist lately. But today's story tops them all. This morning during my break I looked on Craigslist.org to see if I could find an unreasonably low cost road bike that I could mount on my trainer this winter in order to keep my exercise regiment going and even do a little bit of road biking when the winter weather permits. So I come across an old, yes vintage even, Miyata road bike with about the right frame size for my height. I email the owner, he still has it. Then at some point we exchange a few words on the phone and we come up with a plan to meet at his house around lunch time. I head down with my vintage Schwinn on the bike rack. I pull up to his house and get out. We introduce ourselves and he promptly and excitedly explains to me that the bike on the back of my car was once his! Haha. He was the one who actually bought it from Ruthie Matthes at her yard sale. Then at some point, the man I bought it from had bought it from this person now standing before me. Wow! Well it turns out that this fine gentleman I had just met knows the art of generosity and three hours later a new friend had been made and I drove off with a road bike for the winter training plans AND a few really cool/fun retro colored mountain bike tires for the Schwinn.

During the course of our conversation, we discovered that we had a few mutual friends as if the bike thing wasn't enough. Turns out he is very near and dear to the hearts of a young married couple of whom I have had the privilege and joy of knowing the past couple of years. Note that I have omitted the names of all involved in order to protect the innocent. Haha. All of you know who you are and know that you are all dear to my heart. I am very happy with my new found friend today and look forward to many more enjoyable conversations with him in the future.

For your viewing enjoyment I've included a picture of my Schwinn with those vintage red tires mounted and ready for the trail! Woohoo! And of course I've included a picture of the awesome vintage Miyata road bike that I had set out to buy in the first place. It sure rides nice. Thanks Dennis!
James

"170mm or 175mm that is the question!"

So, before I get started. I've included a picture of "blow-out ridge" for your viewing enjoyment. For those not familiar with "blow-out ridge", read the older blogs. It's a great story. (Well, I'll include the picture tomorrow. I forgot to bring my camera linking hardware home tonight, sorry, I know everybody really wanted to see it. Until then just enjoy the Schwinn bike pics! :)

Okay, I have to admit a grave error on my part. It's rather funny AND disturbing. For the bike savvy read on, for the not so bike savvy, bare with me and I think I'll explain this in a way that most anybody with or without bike knowledge will understand.

So, let's start with some definitions. The crank set is the two levers that the pedals are connected to. The chain rings are the three front chain sprockets that the chain rides on depending upon with one your shifter is selected for. I've been a little bit frustrated with my smallest front chain ring. It has 28 teeth. For a mountain bike of the vintage age that I tend to ride, that is a lot of teeth for the inner (smallest) chain ring. So, I've been going around to the local bike shops looking for a smaller one. Nobody had one in stock but all of them were sure they could still order one. I looked on ebay, no vintage chain rings. Well, the ones I found on ebay were the middle ring, certainly too many teeth in that one.

Well, deep in the back of my mind I could remember having changed my crank set on one of my previous mountain bikes from years ago. I even remembered seeing the crank set on my back porch at some point in time not too long ago. And so started my search last night. It turned out that there were too many dark spaces on my porch with the dim light so I had to wait till today to look again with daylight.

So, I get home. Look so more with no success. Then I remember that I keep a few spare bike parts out in an old tin grainery and also some in the tool shed. So, I head out and take a look through all my parts boxes and buckets in the grainery and find nothing. As I jump out of the grainery and head for the tool shed I am headed off by Dad. He's needing help disconnecting a farm implement from one tractor and transferring it a different tractor because the first tractor wasn't starting. Seems the starter might have gone bad. So, I help Dad with his chore and then quickly head for the shop (tool shed) as it begins to rain. I'm digging through parts and dust and viola! I found half of the crank set. Oh well, at least it is the half with the chain rings on it. I count the number of teeth on the inner ring and again woohoo! It only has 24 teeth, just the size I was looking for. So, I take it to the back porch and remove the crank arm from the side that has the chain rings on it. I get out the measuring tape and compare the bolt spacing on the two chain ring sets and Dang! They are different bolt patterns. Hmmm. I consider just putting on the replacement crank arm and chain rings in place of the one I took off the bike. The only concern is that crank arms come in different lengths and I had remembered reading the stamped measurement of the crank arm that I took off of my bike to be 175mm. I look at the replacement piece and it is, YES! 175mm. I look at the one I just took off the bike and, NOOOOO! It's 170mm. That's strange, I think, I was sure I had read 175mm at some point in the recent past working on the bike. I look at the opposing crank arm still on the bike and it says 175mm. Ohhhh...I've been riding for nearly three weeks now with two different crank arm lengths. My back and shoulders have been more sore than I have ever experienced when biking before. HHHmmm. Maybe I will not ache so much after this. Well, I decided, by default of the only parts available that I would have to use the replacement crank arm anyway since it matched the opposing crank arm dimension. I'm thinking "I guess I can live with the crank arms not matching in model and appearance for a while. As I am comparing the one that will go on the bike with the mate that is still on the bike, I think, "these two match in appearance better than the one I just took off the bike.

Now, we must go back in time to about 6 weeks ago when I first started putting together a junk bike before buying the Schwinn frame that I have now. Well that junk bike I first started with was missing a crank arm, the one without the chain rings, the one on the right hand side of the bike. So, now that I dig deep into my memory banks, I can recall that the "missing" matching crank arm that I couldn't find today was already on the Schwinn because I swiped those crank arms from the first junk bike several weeks ago. Apparently, when I put the junk bike together I wasn't to privy about checking the crank arm lengths. Haha!

So, I have a matching crank set on my Schwinn now and I didn't even know I didn't have a matching set to begin with. That's funny. Oh yeah. I also have the smaller inner chain ring with only 24 teeth.

Oh, you may be wondering why I wanted a smaller inner chain ring? Because fewer teeth in front means the bike goes slower in it's lowest gear. And I have been powering out on some of the steeper inclines on the mountain bike trails. Now I have a mountain goat gear for the steep stuff! Cool beans.

Addendum to post: I just got back from my morning ride and the extra low gear proved to be most beneficial. I got up some small steep sections that were kicking my tail previously, as to the different crank arm lengths. I did some thinking about the "real" effect of that as I was riding this morning. 175mm - 170mm = 5mm. Now 5mm doesn't seem like a lot by itself, however the actual effect of that is 5mm lower on the bottom end of the crank stroke and 5mm higher than the top end of the crank stroke, which equates to 10mm difference between my right and left leg and 10mm equates to 1cm which equates to 0.4 inches, almost half an inch difference. Certainly substantial. I have no answer as to why I couldn't feel that while I was riding on it for three weeks. Haha.
J

Round 7 - My shoulders are aching

Round 7. I made some improvements and adjustments before outing #7. I added a vintage Rock Shox Mag 21 front suspension fork (shown installed on my bike in the picture above). An ebay snag. Got it for $15. It's barely used. Basically no scratches and no oil or air leaks. It seems to function perfectly. I had a major hurdle to jump over to get it working on my bike though. The auction had been advertised as the fork having a 1.1/8 head stem and it turned out to be a 1.1/4 stem instead. What that means is that it would not fit my bike. Major bummer. But for those that know me, my mind was set to reviewing options. I really wanted the fork to work on my bike so that is the option I pursued. I found a tree on ebay that had the correct stem size but that was going to be another $25.00, and I didn't like that option very much. I went down to one of my fav bike shops here in Durango and asked what junk forks they had laying around. They sent me to one of the back rooms to look around for myself. Wooohooo! I found an old stripped down fork with a long 1.1/8 stem! I took it back up front and the guy told me I could just have it. Cool. Those guys at 2nd Ave. are great.

Now, I'm sure some of you are wondering how I was going to get the 1.1/8 tube to fit with a 1.1/4 stem tree? Well, It worked like this. I sawed off the 1.1/4 stem at the top of the tree. I removed the 1.1/8 stem from the old stripped fork that had been given to me. I sawed off a bit of the lower end of the 1.1/8 stem where the diameter was greater. I left a lip at the bottom. Now. I took the 1.1/8 stem and the mag 21 fork to my press. It just so happens that the 1.1/8 stem fits very snugly into the 1.1/4 stem with the encouragement of a 10 ton press. Although it did not take ten tons to get the two stems to slide together. I was encouraged that as I pressed the stem in further, the resistance grew to a nice tight fit when it bottomed out. That's how I converted the 1.1/4 to 1.1/8. Some will say I was crazy for doing that, but it's tight and I believe, structurally sound.

The next adjustment I made was removing the front and rear brake pads and filing them down a bit to get rid of the hard rubber on the braking surface. Spent a great deal of time readjusting the brakes.

So, this morning, I took the bike out for its maiden voyage with the "new" front shock. About one minute into the ride there is a small irrigation ditch, muddy bottom, steep slope on both sides. I slowed way down as I always do so as not to get all muddy and wet by making a big splash. As my shock drops into the ditch, it gives way as shocks do, as compared to my rigid fork, and I am not used to this since I have been riding with a rigid fork and I jump off the front of the bike as it flips over and lands in the mud! Haha. The rest of the ride a as a bit more cautious until my body and mind could readjust to having some suspension up front. The rest of my ride went great. I did almost have a bad wreck when I was coming back down on blowout ridge. (I talked about that section of the trail in a previous posting.) As I was descending and putting a great deal of load on the front shock, it bottomed out and dragged on the front tire for just a short instance. Fortunately, not long enough to lock up the front wheel and send me careening down the edge of the ridge. This was a bit of the 1.1/8 stem that I left sticking out at the bottom of the fork tree right above the tire. I will have to trim that down just a bit more so that doesn't happen again.

All in all a great ride. I'm very pleased with my old mag 21 shock. The stiffness dials on top of each shock work very nicely adjusting from soft response to nice and stiff with movement only under harder impacts.

Have a great day!
James

Round Six-Two are Better Than One

What, you ask? Another mountain goat biking post? Yep, I respond. At least just this one more for now.

I want to get just a wee bit philosophical on you for a while. I took note of a very important truth as I was working my way up the mountain this morning. Two are better than one. It's as simple as this, since I don't have someone riding with me, I have to push myself as far as I am willing to go with the self inflicted pain. With another person who is in similar shape and sharing the same goal of improving their game, becoming better, we would very likely push each other on when we feel like giving into the groans of our bodies. That pushing on may not be much farther than we would have gone up the hill on our own, but it IS FARTHER.

So it is in our personal lives, as we strive to be better people, developing character, triumphing over life's struggles. When we are going it alone, we will fall or fail much sooner than if we are going through life with people with similar life goals. Simple lesson, simple reminder.

The other thing I've noticed as I've pained my way up the trail is that we have to discover the same willingness in our personal lives concerning character development or spirituality, sweating, hurting, struggling to overcome, that we do on the bike trail. Again, doing this with others is almost a guarantee toward success than doing it alone. I know this is often times easier said than done, but that's where we get encouragement, from others.

And finally, I promised to not get preachy on this blog, but I hope that this comes across as not preachy, but enlightening to ALL those who have been burned or turned off by church or religious experiences. A good friend of mine recently mentioned that they feel condemned every time they read the new testament. I couldn't find the right words at the time but now I think I have a better idea. I hate arguing religion with people, it rarely gets anywhere and it consumes large quantities of time and often leaves people offended or hurt. So, to put it simply, concerning the feeling of condemnation that some feel when reading the Bible: Take a look at the context 2000 years ago (although this still fits today with many church dwellers) when Jesus was confronting a person, for example equating a thought of hatred for someone the same as murdering them, look at it as a means to get everyone down to the same level, the same playing field. No pit was too deep, and no mountain was too high to separate EVERY person Jesus encountered. In His eyes they were all on the same level. His remarks were not of condemnation, they put everybody on the same page. No one was too good, no one was too bad. They ALL needed a Savior and the cost was the same for everyone of them. We all go through the same gate, there's no pit access for those who committed the worst of crimes and there is no hi-way for those who believed they were perfect and above it all. There IS NO condemnation, only a promise of new life.

There, that's it. I hope I didn't offend anyone, but this was a bit revelatory for me and so I wanted to share it with all of you.

Have a great day! If you are riding a mountain bike like me, have a great time riding and pushing yourself on to higher places.

James

Round Five

For your viewing enjoyment, I've included a picture of my mountain goat as she resides in my office waiting for round six. Note the fine vintage rigid GT fork on front. Hopefully to soon be replaced. :)

So, I took my Schwinn mountain goat out for another ride this morning. Yes, I went earlier than the previous four times. I decided the 90+ deg. F heat probably wasn't the best for me. All it had to offer was brain skillet energy. The temperature was indeed much better this morning than it had been in previous rides.

I replaced the rear brake pads with some other old take-offs I had laying around. They gripped better but made a horrendous screech/vibration noise that even bothered ME to listen to as I applied them heavily on some of the downhill stuff.

I encountered some mountain hiking moms (kinda like socker moms), pushing mountain bike tire enhanced kid strollers. Now that takes some ambition. It's hard enough pushing (ooops, I mean riding) my bike up those hills. They were kind and didn't have that now all too familiar look on their faces of, yep, you guessed, "what the heck?" Sorry, I had to use that phrase again before it gets used up.

I encountered two actual mountain bikers later on my ride that were cordial. I had stopped and was just finishing a phone call with my lovely wife as they pulled up. They were not from around these parts and were asking ME for directions. Haha. I told them all that I knew. Encouraged them on as they were on the last LONG stretch of uphill-hideousness. And YES, as they were pushing off and heading up the trail, one of them took a long look at my bike laying on the side of the trail. And she had to be wondering-".....".

All-in-all it was an outstanding Monday morning ride. I went faster, conquered new obstacles that had previously conquered me and it wasn't so hot this time. That helped my psyche for sure.
Have a great ride!
James

just living life "normally"

Okay, I just had a revelation that everything I post on here isn't required to be about my facial differences. What I want to share with those who struggle with things that make them feel insecure is how I live my life as normally (whatever that is) as I can. Your differences don't have to define who you are. That's key.

That all said. I want to share some funny stories with you concerning my mountain biking hobby. First off. I got the steal of the century on ebay a couple of weeks ago about the same time I got back on my bike this year. I know slow start. But you got to start somewhere. Anyway, back to ebay, my favorite shopping store! I got this vintage (1994) mountain bike frame that had been built by YETI (when they were still here in Durango) for the Schwinn/Evian women's mountain bike race team. It was one of their training bikes. Most of you won't recognize the name, but it was Ruthie Matthe's training bike. Anyway, a local guy was selling it so I picked it up the day after the auction ended. I added all the components back onto it and promptly took it to a trail very nearby where I work in Durango. Telemark trail system.

The first day out wasn't too bad. I had no front derailleur so the chain came off a couple of times. The head set got just a wee bit loose and started clunking after I came down a bit hard on a rocky drop. I don't have a shock on front, yet. It's a rigid fat tubed fork that came off of my first GT. Hey, it's all I had laying around that would fit! :) The rear derailleur was rough shifting between 1st, 2nd, and 3rd. I had to hold down on the shifter to keep it in 1st. My seat height was a bit low. And my rear brakes are really weak. I think the rubber has solidified over the two or three decades. They are pretty old after all.

So, second day, I had adjusted the rear derailleur, seat height, added a front derailleur and re-tightened the headset, still a rigid fork on front, and headed to the trail for round two. Things were looking up. In more ways than one. The bike performed much better with the adjustments I had made. I got much farther in and higher up than the previous day. WoooHooo! So, I'm on my way back down and I am about 1/2 mile away from the trail head and suddenly, the front tire starts making a hissing noise. About 5 seconds later its flat. Dang. I was just mossying along real slow when it happened. It was along this nifty little ridge that has about a 30-40 ft very steep drop off in both directions so I've now affectionately dubbed that part of the trail "blow out ridge". Anyway, I get off and start pushing. I look at my back tire about a minute later and find that it is also flat. I guess it felt sorry for the front one. Never had that happen before. Got back to the car loaded up and headed for the bike store to get two tubes and a small hand pump I could carry with me. It turns out that the front tire had gotten just a bit low on air and the tire slipped on the rim and tore the tube stem loose. The back tire? Like I said, it felt sorry for the front one.

Day three, round three. New tubes with a spare and the hand pump on-board for the ride. Not walking down again! I get about 15 minutes into the ride and feel something making my shorts stick to my seat. I mean like chewing gum sticky! I stop. hop off and find out that there is a big gob of tree sap on my seat. As I'm standng there not being happy about this new mess, my left hand brushes against my shorts and gets something sticky on it. More sap! Dang. It was showing up everywhere. Shorts, shirt, handlebars. I grab some dirt like the Gladiator and rub it on all my sticky surfaces. I had a lot of riding left to do.

I encountered a few bikers on the trail that day. About 4 or 5 of them. I have to wonder what goes through their heads if they take a close enough look at me and my setup. I'm wearing some Levi work shorts and a t-shirt, my helmet is a low-end "Bell", I have standard pedals with no toe-clips and the clincher? I am riding a bicycle that has the brand "Schwinn" in big letters on it (you know, you could find bikes with the same name at Walmart and it could be mistaken for one of those if a person didn't look closely) and there is still no shock in front and not obvious to them my rear brakes are still weak. They have got to be wondering "what the heck"? Actually if I were them, my thoughts would be a bit more descriptive than that. I do have some classic toe clips but have not put them on, yet.

Anyway, had a great ride went further in and higher up on the trail. Got to the top of the ridge between Mercy Medical Center and Sonic. I sat and enjoyed a shady spot for a few minutes and was amazed at how quiet it was up there, being so near to downtown. Headed back down the hill. Made it safely over "blow out ridge" without any troubles. Got back to the office and discovered that hand lotion works fairly well for getting the tree sap off of my hands. However, the sap that was on my bike seat had of course transferred to my shorts and I am quite certain it transferred from my shorts to my underwear. So, the rest of the afternoon things just didn't feel quite right. Enough said.

Day four, round four, today, I rode my Goldwing to work because Shiela, my lovely wife wants to go on a motorcycle ride. So, number one I forgot my mountain biking helmet and no, I was not going to wear my motorcycle helmet on the bike trail. :) So, it dawns on me that I have to get to the trail head. It's about two miles from the office to the trail head and I didn't want to waste energy riding my bike all the way from the office. So, I proceed to bungee strap my mountain bike to my Goldwing luggage rack, I've done this once before, so I knew it could be done. My boss and one of the other employees see me doing this and can hardly believe it. "James, Stop! You're gonna kill yourself doing that." "Naw", I say, "I've done this once before, I just can't remember how I did it." Hmmm. Well, I finally got it strapped on. Bike stayed put as I took it easy driving my Goldwing to the trail head. I'm sure a few heads were turning. Mountain bike strapped to back of Goldwing. Anyway, it was dang hot out this morning! I did NOT got further in and higher up. I got about 3/4 the way of what I had done the previous day and decided that was enough for today.

I encountered one other rider this morning on the trail. She had to be thinking the same thing as all the other riders I have encountered when quickly observing me and my attire and my bike, with no helmet and no front shock, weak brakes, "what the heck?!"

I kinda figure I am injecting some good medicinal health into those other bikers lives in the form of laughter as they reach a resting point or the trail head and ask each other about the guy on the Schwinn with no shock or toe clips, weak brakes. "Did you see that?!" Who knows, maybe there are bigger nuts out there on the trail than me and I just haven't seen them yet. Maybe they wait and come out when the heat of the day has arrived in full boar to boil their brains! Hmmm. Maybe not.

Well, I get back to the office and just as I am walking in, my boss meets me in the hallway and promptly informs me that they are calling me a hippie over on the other side of the office. Who else would be hauling a mountain bike on the back of their motorcycle? So they say. Well my office mate's hobby is bull-riding, so we've been entertaining each other now with name calling. He calls me "hippie", I call him "bull-rider" and "sh!@#t-kicker" but that doesn't seem to have the same effect.

So, anyway, that's a look into my life this past week concerning my mountain biking hobby with the purpose of getting me back into shape. Be yourself, be who you are, you have a lot to say about that, more than everybody else does.
James

a sort of interlude

So, tonight I want to talk about encouragement; both giving and receiving it. It's funny how we can get excited about something in life, a victory, an acquired item, a new discovery, success, etc...It's ours, all our own and yet in our excitement we share our joy with anybody and everybody. A few really understand the significance of what we are celebrating, some fake (good form), some may be indifferent and then some may question the purpose of being excited at all. There is a good book that many of you are familiar with and in it are some words to challenge us all, "rejoice with those who are rejoicing and mourn with those who are mourning."

Now I have to say that in most cases, it's much easier to rejoice with those who are rejoicing, well, not always. Sometimes the person who is rejoicing is doing so concerning something that you yourself may not have achieved yet in life. That can be a drag. While they are full of joy, you are full of defeat. That's a drag for sure. Cynicism filling your heart and mind. Faking your smile.

Then there are cases where you are around someone celebrating and you are mourning over a loss. I hadn't really considered that case until this year after listening to a sermon on the subject. It's funny, I've always though of that verse of "rejoicing with the rejoicers and mourning with the mourners", as though participating from a neutral point of view. You know, neither rejoicing nor mourning, just being. But, what a challenge to rejoice with the rejoicers when you are in the middle of mourning. Tough.

Then there's the mourning with the mourners when you are in the spirit of rejoicing. Now that's a bit of a kill-joy situation.

I believe it is vital to hold on tightly to every piece of joy and encouragement we get out of life. Guard it, protect it, don't let the circumstances of the moment rob us of that joy, because some things are only single events of a lifetime, and to let another person or circumstance short-change your moment, is pure robbery. It's an art, grace, generosity, kindness, love, patience, peace...expressed by the one on the giving end. You know, rejoicing when you don't "feel like it", mourning when you don't "feel like it". It takes sacrifice and love and kindness on our parts to fill those roles as they come and yet not lose the moment in our own circumstances if we are giving while yet being in a place as the receiver as well.

Does this make sense or am I just rambling? I just know I've heard a lot of people talk about reasons for giving up on each other and the things they spoke of are circumstances that I have gone through as well and yet I stuck it out. Life is hard, but it can be full of greatness. Just don't miss out on the greatness of life. I'm not sure this was very helpful to anyone. Have a great day!
James

A time to give- a time to receive

This story may take a while...In college I tried to work toward a more selfless attitude. I would find myself in a lot of relationships where I gave a lot of myself and received much less in return. I was always helping friends fix their cars in the college dorm parking lot. This included, a transmission swap, clutch replacement, numerous brake jobs, carburetor rebuilds, motorcycle engine repairs, paint jobs, engine swaps, etc, etc, etc...counseling troubled persons, hauling people around. Serving others. I can clearly remember a chapter in my life when I really felt like "Shel" Silverstein's "the giving tree" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Giving_Tree). I felt like I had been reduced to the stump. I was worn out. I hadn't gathered together enough "givers" in my own life to balance out the giving. It can be a draining and depressing experience.

Jump ahead to about 4 years ago. Married, two children; then they were 7 and 5. I was in the middle of writing my first book. My kids would occasionally ask me about my face and if I would ever have another surgery. My response would be to the effect of no, probably not, because I would not want to compromise providing for them just to spend that kind of money on myself to improve my appearance. They asked me a couple more times off and on over the course of about a month. I thought it was a bit curious but didn't think much more beyond that. They had been spending time with my Mom while Shiela and I were at various meetings or out on a dinner date and I knew that they would ask her questions about when I was a child.

Well, one afternoon, I stopped by Mom and Dad's to pick up Brit and Jarod and my Mom handed me a print out of some emails and mentioned that she had been researching plastic surgeons and had started dialoging with a surgeon out in New York. She said the correspondence had reached a point that I needed to be involved. This was all interesting to me. She and I had talked about this stuff in the past and I had always concluded that I was going to have to get a really well paying job and get rich to get anymore work done on my face because the insurance companies would not touch me.

Anyway, Brit, Jarod, and I hopped in the car and went home. When we were all in the house and settled, I sat down at the couch and started reading through the email correspondence. The first two or three were some basic introduction and explanation of my birth conditions. It was in the third or fourth email from the doctor, where he asked what kind of medical insurance I had. (NOTE: at that time I had been a self employed full time cattle rancher with my Dad. So, no medical insurance and low income). It was in reading Mom's reply that I struggled to maintain composure. She replied to the doctor's inquiry that she had been saving money for several years and had saved up $X0,000 for me to have another surgery. At the time, my mom was an administrative secretary at the local school district. She has never worked a high paying job. I struggled to keep my composure, my kids were playing in the same room and I didn't want to be a mess in front of them. I called Shiela, who was still at work and another close friend of mine. We were all moved.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity. Dialoging with a surgeon and seeing miracles right and left as I reconnected with one of the surgeons who had done work on me in the past. He actually readjusted his schedule around mine, canceled other surgeries and fit me in around Thanksgiving break. I was teaching robotics part time at the local Jr. High and High School, so I was stuck to a schedule and he accommodated me.

It was about a four hour surgery and a lot of bulk was removed and some sculpting was performed. It turned out pretty decent. This was my wife's first exposure to this kind of major surgery. I remember it was pretty emotional for her as well. It was just her and I that went to the hospital. Well, some of her family came in from Nebraska but they didn't get there till after I was already in the operating room. There was a period of time where they whisked me off to do some preparatory work and left Shiela out in the waiting area all by her self. Poor girl. She didn't know that she would get to see me again before they put me under and she was just a bit scared and anxious. Then after about 15 minutes they had me gowned and had inserted the IV and they let her come into my little examining room. All was well again.

Soon it was time to go under and they wheeled me into the operating room. The anesthesiologist started to administer the "kockout" meds and I was out. Four hours later I woke up. There was Shiela and a nurse talking to me. Waking me up. I was a bit nauseous and disoriented and I remember thinking and saying, "this is why I haven't had surgery for such a long time." The feeling of coming out of surgery and the feeling of my face having gone under a fair amount of trauma; it doesn't feel good. This is the first surgery that I can remember that I was quite nauseous. I actually let go a couple of times before my stomach settled down. My loving wife was incredibly supportive during this entire process. Her family had arrived sometime shortly after I went into surgery so she got some encouragement and emotional support that was much welcomed. My recovery was amazingly rapid.

Back to the present. I might, some day, have some liposuction done to remove some bulk that has again built up. But barring any great breakthroughs in bone grafting technologies, I don't foresee going through any more major surgeries. Someday it would be cool if they just completely started over with a titanium jawbone on the right side that truly represented the left side. Then get rid of all the old work what has been packed into my jaw area. MRI's and xrays are interesting, there are some pieces of wire that have been permanently left in my jawbone. Very interesting to see all the work from the viewpoint of an MRI-CT scan.
Happy 4th of July everybody and thanks for reading!
James

Hope in the midst of hopelessness

“Do not put your faith in hope, for it has abandoned this place.”
-Eomund, The Return of the King

So a good friend of mine was talking recently about hope in hopelessness and that triggered something inside of me. I guess because I feel like there was a long season of hopelessness that I faced in my life. Many around me, some who knew me and some just in passing openly expressed their pity for me and their judgment that there was no hope great enough in the world for my physical birth defects. Time and again this sense of hopelessness that others expressed concern for me centered around what they believed to be a fact. They believed I would never find a woman in this world who could accept me and love me for who I was because of how I looked. I struggled on and off with this hopeless thinking. I cried myself to sleep countless nights over how I looked and how unfair it was and how I never would find someone of the fairer sex who would accept me. I pleaded night after night that I be healed of this defect and have a “normal” face and ear like most of the rest of the population. My mom and my older sister always were supportive and encouraging to me. They often called me handsome. At the time I half believed them and half thought they did it out of obligation since we were family. Now that I’m older and wiser, I know that they truly meant what they had said.

A good friend of my wife and I was talking with my wife one day. He is still single and in his 40’s and struggles with hoping for the right woman to come along who will love him and accept him for who he is. He has an injury to his arm, an indentation and scar tissue from a burn injury, I think. It’s about the size of a half of a baseball. Anyway, he was stating how he didn’t think there were any women out their who could accept him because of this imperfection. My wife responded in a positive fashion stating that there was a woman out there. She continued by stating something to the effect of “Look at me, I married James.” He replied with a remark stating that if I had had the defects that mar my face before she and I were married that she certainly could not have been willing to marry me. You see, he thought the imperfections on my face and ear were the result of some sort of accident or burn injury that had occurred after she and I were married. She quickly defended her previous statement of encouragement to him as she explained that I have been this way since birth and she had accepted me just as I am from the very beginning of our courtship.

What an amazing woman! My lovely wife who took on a man with only half a handsome face. She was willing to stop and take a long enough look and see beyond the visible. This is the same woman who had faith that our children would come out fine and not carry the physical deformities that riddled my face while I feared for the worse. Even though my doctors reassured me that my kids would also come out fine. There was always that nagging fear in the back of my mind. My kids did come out just fine. Neither of them was “graced” with my physical trait. I say that with mixed emotions. I would NEVER wish my condition upon anyone else, and yet I cherish nearly every moment of the life that I have lived as a result of it. The only moments I don’t cherish are the ones where I made bad choices. The rest has made me into the person who I am today. I have accomplished much in my life and plan to continue down that road. I have touched countless lives, some of which I have not even had the pleasure of meeting. Do I still desire to have a “normal” face? Yep. But as I mentioned in one of my previous blogs, 99% of the time, I forget that I look any different than the people around me. I just don’t think about it that much anymore. (A little secret for those of you who are like me…people see you as you SEE yourself, they accept you as you ACCEPT yourself). Live as normal a life as you can. Fight the insecurity that is prevalent with this condition as you are growing up. It is incredibly hard and I suffered that insecurity for years. But at some point, my identity no longer hinged upon my physical deformities, it was based upon who I was. I feel so blessed to have the two beautiful children that I do. I feel so blessed that they both love me. They adore their Daddy. They see past the skin. They know my heart.

The title of this blog, that’s my challenge to everyone who reads this, don’t give up hope. When it feels like there is no hope, it may just be right around the corner, or it may be in the next chapter. Or maybe it’s just been misdirected. If you feel like you have no hope, contact me and I will stand with you in the midst of the storm until it passes. Sometimes things don’t always work out the way we wanted them to, but in my own life, I am a fighter, and I’m willing to fight long and hard for what’s worth saving.
Have a great day!
James

“To hear or not to hear”…that is the question…

Well in my case. I have normal hearing out of my left ear. It is my right ear that after extensive auditory testing while I was a youth it was determined that all my right ear nerves exist. I was just lacking an ear drum, ear canal and maybe another piece or two in the inner ear construction. So, about 4 years ago I started investigating hearing supplement options. I’ve learned to adapt to hearing out of one ear only. My main objective in obtaining hearing out of my right ear would be to gain stereo and in affect be able to better ascertain which direction sounds are coming from. As it is, I find it difficult at times, usually when outside to determine where a sound is coming from. The two main options I considered were the BAHA system and the natural solution of using skin grafting to fabricate an ear drum and the fabrication of an ear canal.

First the natural grafting solution. I’ll make this answer quick. There is the possibility of chronic infections and fluid drainage complications associated with this method, so, I lost interest pretty fast. I didn’t want to make my life more complicated. So, the cost/benefit didn’t appeal to me.

Second, the BAHA system. This method involves drilling a hole in my skull on the right side slightly above and behind where the right ear resides. A titanium button is screwed into the hole and for a few months the body adapts and adheres to the button. A special hearing aid snaps onto this button and the vibrations are transmitted through the skull bone to the existing and functioning hearing nerves on that side of my skull. As a result, I could actually hear from that side. I read several testimonies good and bad concerning the results of this method. There is about a 6 month period of time where the body/brain learn to mask out “white noise” like a constant “static noise” that is typical with this method. But your brain learns to ignore the noise after a period of time and it is not noticed anymore. At least that’s how I understand it. Some patients complained of acquiring head aches after the button installation or associated with the hearing aide noise? One patient mentioned that he couldn’t wear a baseball cap very easily because of the location of the hearing aid high on the side of the head. He also mentioned that wind caused a significant amount of noise that rendered hearing on that side ineffective. Those two last points, the baseball cap and the wind noise were the nails in the coffin for me concerning further pursing this option. I live on a cattle ranch and am outside a lot of the time. I wear a cap to keep the sun off of my head and it can often be breezy in southwest Colorado depending upon the season or time of day. My main pursuit of hearing out of my right ear was for the benefits outdoors and that is where this device seemed to have problems. The persons who often were very satisfied with the results of the BAHA device were those who only had partial hearing in their good ear, or they had hearing deficiencies in both ears, so anything was a tremendous improvement from their past state. And that is awesome and good.

I don’t mean to disqualify either of these methods. I am just sharing how I reasoned through the entire process as it applied to me and my circumstances and preferences.

SO, as it is. I still hear in mono and probably will for the remainder of my time on this good earth. It would be fun to hear stereo, however, being deaf in one ear does have its benefits. I can roll over on my good ear when I climb into bed and the world of noise becomes nearly silent to me. When I go out to a job site where there is substantial noise pollution, I can use my left hand to cover my left ear and still have a free hand to work with. My wife would suggest that there are other benefits to being deaf in one ear, but I can’t admit to that here.

I’ve considered ear prosthesis attachments as well and have not completely abandoned that option yet. I don’t know if I like the idea of gluing on or snapping on an ear every day. They make both. The snap on ear would be kind of like dentures, with fastening studs inserted into your skull. The cons for me, including the BAHA system is the studs or snap that are fastened to my skull are an added piece of daily maintenance. They have to be cleaned everyday with special attention. The snap is best cleaned with a tooth brush. I just couldn’t get past cleaning a button on the side of my head with a tooth brush. Again, great technology, great method, I am finding that I am content with my present hearing impairment. If I didn’t have good hearing in my left ear I would have definitely gone with one of the above solutions. Hands down.

So, I don’t want to discourage any readers from investigating or pursuing corrective hearing solutions. Check out your options thoroughly and go with your heart. Sometimes on this blog its just me sharing how I did/do things and how I came to this place in life.

Just one more surgery please

Okay, so this time I will talk about all of the surgeries I had in as much detail as I can recount. My first surgery was in 1970, when I was 5 years old. Actually, I think there were two or three, I'm not completely sure, but I am sure that there were at least two, since they did work on my jaw and my ear. First, a portion of rib was removed from my right rib cage and pieces of the bone were fashioned and grafted to my right jaw to reshape it somewhat to match my left jaw. After these types of grafting surgeries, the jaw is wired shut to permit the bone to heal. I must have blocked that part of my memory out because I don't recall what it was like being a 5 year old little boy going through that kind of trauma. The next surgery involved a plastic mold in the shape of an ear and some skin graft from my hip. The mold and skin graft were fastened to my right side of my scalp where there was no ear. (When I was born I basically had no ear on the right side). At the time, with the medical technology available, the doctors attempted to determine what my right ear would look like when I was full-grown, how big it would be and where it would eventually be positioned on my head. All of those factors change as a person matures from child to adult. The doctors also pulled the skin from the surrounding scalp to cover the plastic ear mold. Some from the facial area and some from the hair growth area. I've watched some home videos of me after the surgeries...a great big bandage on the side of my face and I was amazingly happy and smiling. Wow! Great family surrounding me.

Jump ahead to Jr. High in 1979. It was time for another bone grafting surgery to adjust the jaw bone again and try to align it better. This time a portion of rib from my left rib cage was extracted along with some hip bone. Both pieces of bone were connected to my right jaw bone as it was again re-sculpted. The side effects of this surgery were painful. The bone that they removed from my hip caused regular deep pin-like shooting pain in my leg on that side. That would flair up unannounced off and on for a day on a one or two week cycle for upwards of 6 months following the surgery. I think there was a teacher or two who thought I was faking it, but I sure knew I wasn't. This surgery occurred during the winter and I remember wearing a snow cap a lot, even in class because I was feeling very self conscious at the time as a teenage boy, wondering if there was a girl in the world who would notice me in a positive way.

Jump ahead to Spring break 1984, my senior year in High School. Apparently, the surgery that was performed on my jaw in 1979 was a failure. The bone that was grafted had dissolved. So, another surgery was scheduled. This time bone, muscle and skin were removed from my right shoulder blade all as a package. The bone was used to extend and shape my right jaw and the muscle and skin were used for shaping an sculpting that side of my face. There are a lot of details to this surgery so, it may seem like I am jumping around a bit, but stick with me. The surgery performed to fabricate an ear way back when I was 5 years old was the cause of the failed surgery in 1979 when I was in Jr. High. Apparently, the skin that had been pulled from my face and scalp to fashion the ear left the skin on that side of my face tight so when the bone grafting was performed in 1979, the facial skin was too tight on the bone grafting and caused it to dissolve. That was my understanding. As a result, the surgery in 1984 included the skin graft from my shoulder to ease the stretching effect on my facial skin when the jaw bone was extended. The muscle from my shoulder was added to my cheek area to provide material that the doctors could sculpt to shape the right side of my face and somewhat match it to the left side. This surgery was a one-shot deal and lasted just over 12 hours. Extra muscle was added to my cheek since they planned to go in later in another surgery and strip off some of the excess in the sculpting process. So, after the swelling went down, there was a larger sized lump on the right side of my face where before it had been slightly indented. Also, the skin that was transplanted from my shoulder to my cheek tanned a different shade than my natural facial skin and it had a two toned effect. I reacted in a self concious fashion to this new change. It bothered me. Everything that was different as a result of all of my surgeries that was not "perfect" as we always seem to see in Hollywood, had a negative effect on me. I used to let my hair grow long enough to cover my ears so I could hide my right ear. Just to note, it didn't turn out looking like my left ear.

Jump ahead to 1986/87, It was in college that one of my dorm mates asked me why I didn't have the "final" surgery where the doctors would remove some of the excess muscle they had placed on my cheek and sculpt my face. So, I took his encouragement and had another surgery. As a result of this surgery, in removing some of the bulk, and the bone being stablized, the two tone skin from my shoulder was completely removed and only my native facial skin remained. This was a surprise bonus waking up from that surgery. As I mentioned before, the two tone effect really bothered me. It was somewhere in this time frame that I started getting shorter hair cuts. I wasn't as self concious about hiding my defects. One day I walked into the barber shop asked for a crew cut and walked out with a Marine style crew cut, no hair on the sides or back and about 1/2 inch on top. I loved it. One of my house mates was concerned. He had never seen the detail of surgical scarring and defect as it was now exposed. He was concerned about how I would not be able to cope with being so exposed, but, something had happend inside, I had finally come to grips with my identity, and it wasn't dictated by my appearance, that was not what made me who I am. It was a spiritual stepping stone moment for me.

Jump ahead to 2005. The muscle tissue that had been inserted on my cheek all those years ago had turned fatty. It turns out that different parts of our bodies put on fatty tissue at different rates and proportions. So, the tissue transplanted from my shoulder developed fatty tissue at a faster rate than my native face tissue. So, the transplant was becoming a larger lump. Some people would mistake it for a tumor or cancer thinking that it was from chewing tobbaco use. People would come up with all kinds of theories as to why I looked the way that I do. Burn injuries, cancer, car accident, etc... Anyway, I had another surgery where the doctor removed excess buildup of fatty tissue. That brought it back down again and for a couple of years it actually look somewhat decent.

Now, 2009, fatty tissue has built up some more and the size of the lump has increased. The surgeon did mention back in 2005 that he thought a certain part of the transplant tissue was going to be a "bain" as I recall him putting it. So, I'm not sure if I will pursue another surgery in the form of liposuction to reduce that size. Maybe.

What I forgot to mention; there are countless scars on my body as a result of all of the described surgeries. One on my hip from the bone graft, one on my hip from skin graft, one on each side of my chest from partial rib bone grafts, multiple stitching scars on my face. A large stitch scar that goes from the center of my back all the way to my right arm pit where the bone/muscle and skin was removed from my shoulder area. That stitch stretched a lot since I lifted weights in High School and skin had been removed from that area. The remaining skin had to make up for the growth and there was a lot of scaring as a result. I think those are all of my surgical scars.

Gotta go for now. Have a great day!
James

sticks and stones may break my bones...but words will never hurt me

I remember, as a child, I faced a lot of name calling from other children who didn't understand my situation and didn't seem to really give a rip. I remember I used to try to lean on that age old phrase; "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." And I am quite certain that I even believed what I was saying. Ha! I ponder the words of that phrase and I would conjecture that that phrase is a pile of lies. Let's face it, words DO hurt us. Sometimes simple words what were spoken with good intent were taken wrong because they were heard out of context, had the wrong tone of voice, were read in an email with no voice tied to them, etc...the list goes on. The bottom line is, words whether spoken or unspoken, written or missed, make a world of a difference in people's lives every day. Some spoken too often, others not enough. Some forgotten all too soon and others piercing deep into our souls and remaining for a lifetime.

So, not to make this blog too long this time around, where am I going with this? It's pretty simple, words and actions are critical in rearing children who share the facial differences that I have. Kids may or may not be publicly ridiculed for their appearance. The general public WILL do double takes as they pass a person like myself walking down the street. Most will do it after I have passed and my back is to them. I wasn't aware of this until my wife recently told me she catches people doing double takes on a regular basis, not everyone, but its common. Just as a side not, I do double takes when I seem someone "unusual", nearly all of us is guilty of it from time to time. And it's not necessarily a wrong thing, its curiosity. Ninety-nine percent of the time I just shrug it off. Really, I don't invest very much time thinking about how I am different from the majority of the world. I live my life as normally as I can and I have come to a place in life where 99% of the time, I forget I am even different. To those like me, I charge you with this: Live your lives as normally as you can, let me rephrase that, live your lives as exceptionally well as you can. Be a major contributor to society. Don't hide behind the curtain.

Words DO hurt and can cause much more severe damage than sticks and stones ever will. Acknowledge that, and realize that in that respect, you are no different than anyone else in the world. Sometimes life really does "suck". Parents, don't cover it up with catchy little phrases, just continually let your kids know that you love them. "Love NEVER fails". I always knew that my parents loved me, ALL of me. If you are an adult and this stuff is eating you up and dictating your life for you, rather than you living your life, then get a REAL friend who can help you learn how to "grab the bull by the horns" and start living life to its fullest. Yes, I do have a spiritual component in my life that is pivotal to my identity and contentment but that will come later. I promise my readers that I won't turn this blog into a site full of preachy warm-fuzzy izms. I'm sure there are already plenty of those to google.
Have a great day!

The difference between Dads and Daddys

So, I hope I forewarned my followers that this blog would be eclectic! Sorry if you prefer the straight forward approach. I will write as I feel or as I think of things. I'm trying to follow a chronological methodology, but no promises. I warned about that in my first blog. So, this time I'm going to talk about a matter that is very near and dear to my heart.

My biological father had a drinking problem- which led to marital and parental problems as typically happens. I've been told that things went to hell in a hand basket when I was less than a year old. Being an Engineer, I think about a lot of things. All the options and possibilities- unless the answer is obviously right in front of me- then I don't have to deliberate. Sorry, I'm digressing. I know that my biological father already had a drinking problem before I was born, however, I have spent much time considering the "trauma" he went through, fathering an imperfect child. This observation is mixed with very genuine understanding as well as a bit of sarcasm. I also consider the grief that my mom bore through this process as well, but her story will be in a later blog.

So, back to my biological father. Some short time after I was born my mom and he were separated and at some point after that they were divorced. That was my last exposure to him until I was in college. But we're not ready to go there yet. First things first. My title "the difference between Dads and Daddys" is at the heart of this blog. When I was about 3 or 4 years old. My Daddy (my adoptive father) entered the picture. He began dating my mom and when I was 4 or 5 they were married. I have little bits and pieces of memories of those days, but they are quite sketchy. From the start I remember he treated me kindly. As I grew up into adulthood, I recognized the honorable thing that he did when he married my mom, taking on two kids- my older sister and myself. That takes a lot of love. He didn't just marry mom, he took us two kids to his side and loved on us and, in my opinion, raised us as his own. Even though at times, my sister and I were rebellious and even cruel in our remarks and hehavior concerning him not being our "real" Dad. I deeply regret those remarks. At some point after the marriage, we moved out to San Diego, California- Dad had enlisted to the Navy and spent the next three years serving in the Vietnam War. California was fun. I have a few more memories still lodged deep in my brain from that part of life since I was just a wee bit older. That is where I spent some time in the Balboa Naval Hospital for reconstructive surgery- bennefitting from my Dad's Navy service. After three years in California, we moved back to South Dakota (my native state). That was around 1971. We spent the next 5 or 6 years there and in 1976 or 1977 we moved to my grandad's cattle ranch in southwest Colorado. Dad had been given the opportunity to partner up with grandad in the ranching operation. That's when the hard work began. Being a youngster, I wasn't too fond of regular hard work and yet there was plenty of that.

I digress a bit again. Bear with me as I get a handle on this blogging. Back to the title- what is the difference between Dads and Daddys? It took me a long time to figure that out. It wasn't until some time in my adult years that I figured that out. As I mentioned earlier, I met my biological father for the first time, technically speaking (I had no memory of him when I was a newborn), while I was in college. I went back to my home town for a wedding and my older sister told me I could find our "Dad" at the local bar that he owned and operated. It must have been a Friday or Saturday night because the place was packed. I had to ask a person who my dad was because I didn't know what he looked like. They went and got him, I talked to him for about 1 or 2 minutes- the bar was busy and he had to attend to the customers. We exchanged some brief words. I told him I loved him and forgave him.

That was it. I tried communicating after returning home and received no replies. I respected the possibility that he had another family after mine and didn't want to complicate or jeopardize that, so I left it alone. It has been years now and in a recent conversation with my sister, the basic conclusion she presented to me was that our biological father was as the world has come to define them, a dead-beat dad.

So, I will try to conclude this session. My adoptive father is the greatest Daddy in the whole world. He has never abandoned me. He has tolerated my hurtful comments as he raised me up. He always introduces me as His son. He invested a tremendous amount of his life into mine to help me succeed in life. At times he was hard and at times he was gentle- he was not perfect, just like no one is perfect, but he earned the title "Daddy". Today, as I sit here writing this blog, a 44 year old man, I don't call him Daddy in his presence, I haven't gotten that brave yet. I envy those who have that kind of intimacy with their parents. I am working on that one. I know he loves me and is proud of me, and I believe he knows I feel the same about him. He may as well have been my biological father- his lifetime investment in my life has earned him all the privelages to be my Daddy. I know he may never read this blog-but, happy Father's Day, Daddy, thanks for making me a very real part of your life.
James

Hemifacial Microsomia i.e. facial differences

So, where do I start. I could start all the way back "in the beginning", but not yet. I'll get there some day. Ever watch the movie "Benjamin Button". Not the same condition as mine, he just got back to the beginning in the end and I guarantee you that I will get there with this blog at the appropriate time.

My blog title "facial differences", so I've learned today, is the politically correct and much simpler term now associated with "Atresia-Mircotia Hemifacial Microsomia". That's me. When I was born, I had no right ear and my right jaw bone was underdeveloped. Apparently, this congenital (meaning it happened in the womb, not genetic, not inheritable), birth defect occurs in anywhere from 1 in 6,000 to 1 in 10,000 depending upon which websites you visit. One website actually indicated that the chances of my offspring inheriting this condition to be 1 in 33. Yikes! My doctors always told me that it doesn't happen since my condition is congenital, not genetic, however, 1 in 33 has more of a chance of a facial difference than 1 in 6,000. Thank God, both of my children came out perfectly normal.

I was born in 1965 (see? we're already back at the beginning) at a time just prior to the pioneering days of "plastic surgery". I make that statement with the understanding that many reconstructive surgical techniques were "invented" and practiced in the fields of the Vietnam war. My first "corrections" occured at the Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego. Those corrections involved skin grafting and a plastic insert to build an ear and bone grafting from a partial rib to lengthen and reshape my right jaw bone. I was about 5 years old when those surgeries occured. This was my first exposure to a hospital- military hospital- a ward full of children with a variey of infirmities. That was also back in the days when they knocked us out with a form of engine starting fluid, you know, ether. I remember being terrified and I seem to remember that my folks didn't get to stay there after visiting hours, maybe they did and I just don't remember it correctly- sometimes remembering back to my 5 year old days when I'm now 44 is a bit scewed. I remember being a very sensitive child growing up. Crying a lot about a lot of things. Of course that may have just been my born-in personality. I did manage to grow up with the average bunch of kids- did the average kinds of things kids did. One thing that was NEVER in question was my parent's love and acceptance of me regardless of my condition. I do know that it was a burden to them both financially and emotionally. They never expressed that to me, but I could tell.

And since this is a blog and it is getting late and I have to tuck my kids in for the night, I'll end this session. Please feel free to visit from time to time. I will try to dialog with myself and hopefully I can offer some sanity, encouragement and hope to parents of kids like I was or those of you out there that share my condition.
Until then-
Have a great day!
James