Randon

I first met him 23 years ago after I watched his bluish head pop out of his mom after the doctor made an incision from one side of her stomach to the other. When I hear people tell how cute baby’s are, I am assuming they have never seen a fresh newborn. I will concede they are precious, but cute, no. I can’t remember a lot of the details after that until his first bowel movement. It was my misfortune that he was in the room with my wife at the time and not in the nursery. I have yet to understand how so much gooey nasty stuff can come from something so small and innocent. His diaper was not only full, but it was overflowing. For some sinister reason, the hospital only provided dry wipes which were not going to do the job of cleaning this little feller up. I kept telling my wife to hit the call button, gagg!, hit the call button, gagg! It’s getting everywhere, gagg! By the time the nurse got in there things were pretty much out of control because when I undone that diaper, there was no containing it’s contents any longer and like a giant lava flow started spilling over. “I thought, who’s been feeding my baby tar”? They did not charge us for the little bed thing he was in so I am assuming it was salvagable and the gooey nasty stuff that flowed everywhere was not caustic. We finally got to bring him home and the first several weeks were just a daze. MG was bed ridden and getting up changing diapers, feeding and trying to console a collicky baby all through the night while working long hours can zap even a young mans strength, but it was all well worth the effort and I can’t ever remember wondering if it was or not, because I new that my sons were a blessing.

The purplish head with the fat all over it turned into one of the cutest curley blond haired little boys anyone ever set eyes on. There were numerous times in his baby and toddler years that we got compliments from strangers on having such a pretty little girl. His brother would have to tell people “that’s my brother not my sister”. It was just too hard to cut that blond hair with the little curly ringlets all through it.

A couple years later I came home and MG met me at the door and explained that while trying to walk, he had fell and hit his mouth on the coffee table almost making his teeth push through his bottom lip. I realize the coffee table had no say in the matter and it wasn’t it’s fault, but it made me feel better to chunk it out the front door into the yard, no more coffee tables for a few years. That accident wasn’t going to happen again.

Potty training. MG has to get pretty much all the credit for this accomplishment although there were a few trying times, one was when I heard a thump and then heard MG exclaim, Randon! I went into the living room to see what was going on and she showed me a little brown ball he had retrieved from his undies and chunked at her, bouncing it off the couch. You’ll figure it out.

There was this conversation I had with him when he as a toddler. Me: What are you eating? Randon: Nanna Pudding. Me: Where did you get it? Randon: Outta me nose. Yep.

Also as a toddler he was not afraid of people and would ask anyone and everyone he came into contact with or while riding in the basket at the grocery store “what’s ur name”? I did find out one evening while hearing him talking to himself out by the shed that he wasn’t fraid of nuttin’ (he had heard his Nanny talking about him) although I did discover he was afraid of a big slap on the side of the shed from a dad he didn’t know was around.

Then came what was probably my most scariest moment up until that day and still remains pretty much at the top of the list. Me and my friend and pastor at the time Stan Miller had just pulled up to the house when MG came running out yelling that something was wrong with Randon. We ran into the house and my son, his eye’s rolled back into his head and turning blue was having a seizure. I can’t remember all the details, if we gave him cpr or not, but I do remember grabbing him up and me and MG rushing him to the hospital and with him in my arms and me praying and asking God not to take him. I remember begging God for a sign that he would be okay and out of the blue an Oklahoma State Trooper was beside us. I pointed to Randon and he got in front of us with lights and sirens and led us to the ER at Ardmore Memorial Hospital. They found that his seizure was caused by fever. He could not tolerate anything over 99 degrees without going into a seizure. It was a blessing when he finally out grew them. No more scary moments, no more frantic cold spong baths, cool baths, stripping of clothes or giving meds to try keep the fever away. No more being on edge, always having to be alert at the slightest rise in his temperature.

Staying home with him when he was sick while in kindergarden I was in my recliner and he was in his mom’s. I had put us a movie in to watch and in the first few moments of the movie a guy had shot an elk on the run with a muzzle loader. Out of the blue, Randon said “he shot the damn thing”. I knew I surely misunderstood him and asked “what did you say”. He looked at me all innocent and said again “he shot the damn thing”. I knew he hadn’t heard the damn word from anyone around our house or from our TV. It seems he had heard it at school. I explained that we didn’t use the word damn because it was considered impolite and that to some it was a vulgar word, he never used it again…..at least not within earshot of me.

As most children, he did not like getting into trouble or at least he didn’t like getting caught. On one such occasion at about four years old, I had gotten onto to him and turned around and was facing a mirror with him behind me. I could see in the mirror he was giving me what for, sticking his tongue out at me. I watched him for a moment and then turned around and caught him. Me: Boy, what are doing sticking that tongue out? Randon: Letting it dry. What are you going to do with a four year old that thinks that quick? Nothing, just let him know he’s not fooling anyone and go tell everyone how quick thinking your son is.

There were other interesting conservations as he was growing up, one of them being when we were coming back from my brother’s house one Christmas eve when he was around five. He was born with a small bladder and I assume it took a few years for it’s growth to catch up with his fluid intake. While we were going home, from out of the blue he chimed in from the back seat declaring that “I guess my balls got bigger”. Thinking I missunderstood, I asked him what he had said. He repeated “I guess my balls got bigger”. I asked him to explain and he replied, well I don’t wet the bed anymore. A five year olds logic!

Or the time around the same age when I had took him hunting with me. I managed to get a few yards ahead of him when he wasn’t paying attention and ducked behind a cedar tree and started grunting. I watched him stop, look around and then put his bb gun to his shoulder and start easing forward. When he got close, I stepped from behind the tree and said “boy what are you doing”, he replied, I fot you was a hog! He was ready for action.

When he was little we tried to teach him and his brother chores and the responsibility of picking up after themselves (it didn’t work, sorry Amanda Meyer). One of the chores involved getting their dirty laundry ready to wash. It seems his laundry basket had a crack on one side and it happened to be the side he had against himself while he only had on his undies. Somehow the laundry basket managed to latch on to his private and wouldn’t let go. He was not a happy camper, I could tell he wasn’t happy by all the screaming and crying. It didn’t help matters when he came home from kindergarten the next day and I had the laundry basket on his bed. I had drawn and cut out a big monster mouth with giant teeth and mean eyes and put it on the basket. We named the basket the weiner monster, we thought it was funnier than he did.

He has always had a tender heart, from the time he cried at his birthday party because he was so over joyed at a bicycle that looked like a motor scooter. He was one to be nice to other children that were made fun of. The tenderness shown kittens and puppies, cats and dogs.

He has always loved the outdoors, and was going with me hunting and fishing when he could barely walk and he would do a lot of back or shoulder riding. I can remember his first squirrel, rabbit, dove, coyote, goose and turkey, but the two most memorable were probably his first ducks and deer. Me and a friend had taken him duck hunting and I had loaded some .410 shells with steel shot. He killed a couple and me and Tony had limited out. The ducks were still falling into the decoys, but those two was all he wanted. I believe he was five years old. He got his first deer at age nine. He seen some at around 900 yards and said there’s hundreds of them (7 or 8 actually I believe). He wanted to shoot, using my scoped 30.30. I said wait. 400 yards, can I shoot? Lets wait. 200 yards, can I shoot? Lets wait. 100 yards, can I shoot? I said go ahead and he dropped his first deer, a six point at 101 yards. I thought he was going to jump out of our 18 ft. ladder stand. I have never seen anyone as excited about their first deer harvest. There have been many successful and memorable deer hunts with him since, such as “the monster deer”, a nice 8 point. The huge buck, 8 pt. with ground shrinkage. His first muzzle loader and last years very nice bow kill, but that first deer will probably remain my favorite.

Everything hasn’t always went his way while in a deer stand. There was the time when I allowed him to sit alone in a ladder stand while I sat with his brother a little ways away in a blind, but still able to keep him in sight. We watched him start to fidget, get up and down and do a lot more fidgiting. When the hunt was over I asked him what he had been doing. He was wearing insulated coveralls with the legs stuffed down in rubber boots and it seems his zipper had gotten stuck and he was needing to pee. I didn’t need to ask what happened as I could hear the squish, squish, squish in his rubber boot every step he took. He wanted to hurry and get home because his foot was getting cold. Then there was the time we got several stings from wasps that were hiding in a cedar tree while we were scouting and fixing deer stands (see Wasp Fightin’). That ended our fun for the day, we went home, doctored up and nursed our wounds.

He played ball sports, all of which me and his mom enjoyed watching him play and we loved being involved with helping the team, whether it be making koolaid for t-ball practice or making a few dozen sandwiches for football game night. In t-ball he would most generally hit home runs because he could whack the ball pretty good. It’s a good thing because he wasn’t known for speed. He played basket ball in his grade school years and never got a foul called on him even with me offering a ten dollar reward if he would get just one. I believe his eighth grade year they had one of the best 7th & 8th grade teams Mannsville had ever had. Football came his junior year in high school and it was the highlight of our night when #73 got to get on the field. He wasn’t the roughest, fastest or most atheletic, but his stats at 6’4 and hovering close to 200lbs. probably gave other teams a reason to pause when looking over the roster.

We thought he was going to be short and take after his maternal grandpa and have short legs, “boy was we ever wrong”!

There was graduation, a couple years of college, many classes and schooling in various fire training, graduating from EMS school and most recently Paramedic school. He has accomplished quite a bit education wise and I look forward to more accomplishments because I believe he can accomplish whatever his heart desires.

Every year, every chapter has brought new joy, new adventure, new challenges. I loved the sweet innocent years when Dad was his hero and he would “whisker” me or sleep on my chest, but I have also enjoyed all the other years and would not trade the experiences of one for another.

As a young man I always dreamed of having sons to hunt, fish, trap and just explore the outdoors and share adventures with and when fatherhood came along and I was realizing my dreams, I had grandure dreams of being my sons best friend, not realizing that being a father would take presidence. The responsibility of being a father, of comforting, teaching and reprimanding would come first. This Saturday, Oct 4th 2014 he will have his best friend for life and I am proud of the girl he has chosen to be his wife and I am proud of him for his choice. As with any changes in their childrens lives, parents worry, fret, and want what is best for them. We want them to learn from our mistakes because we have been there and done that. In reality, they may glean a little from our advice and mistakes, but they will have to learn on their own as we did and our parents before us and their parents before them. He is starting a new chapter in his life, a chapter where God will still be in control…… along with the wife:) I hope it is a long, healthy, prosperous, joyful and fruitful life together.

Our children, no matter how much we tell them, give them, do for them, show affection or other wise try to show them our love, they will never fully understand it’s depth and the pull on a parents heart until they have children of their own.

Thank you son for being a good kid and growing up into a fine and respectable young man.

Randon, there is no one else that knows you like your dad does, mom says it is because we are so much alike…….bless Amanda’s heart:) I actually see traits of both of us and your grandparents too, but truly believe you are your own man destined to make a mark in this world.

MOM and I LOVE YOU RANDON!