Dear Mr. Educational Opportunity

First and foremost–thanks!!

I have been concerned about rising education costs and when Wendy Davis said

Every Texan deserves the educational opportunities I had.

I thought, amen sistah!

Well all I had to do was look up her bio and I figured out she was talking about you.

I am not sure about Ms. Davis, but man, you are the real deal–you took out loans, cashed in retirement money, did a lot of schlepping, and some old-fashioned parenting. All so she could go to Harvard!

She is right, every Texan could use a you.

And I am glad she has put you out there as a resource. Only…only…

Well, I have a few questions about the education you got for her.

For instance vocabulary.

Today Ms. Davis said “innuendo” when she talked about some of the discrepancies in her bio. I am pretty sure she meant to say “truth,” as in the sentence–“her opponents are having a field day with the truth.”

Math…

She seems to have some confusion with “years” versus “months.”

And library science.

She keeps talking about her “story” and how useful it has been to her, but the way she tells it it is impossible to tell whether she thinks this story should be categorized as “fiction,” or “non-fiction,” or this fun third category–innuendo.

Any way you look at it the educational opportunities you provided her have paid off. Those nice boy reporters who keep interviewing her are real kind and patient. Slow-talking, almost as thought they were focusing on her pair of flashy pink…sneakers…

Rather than the truth. Truth as simple as the sentence, “Jeff Davis paid for my education and raised my kids.”

How many of us Texas gals could be that lucky?

PS–and beyond the expensive pair of sneakers? Well, the correct use of innuendo in this case would draw attention to your name and what it really means for Wendy and her southern fried confederate story.

Snowboarding

My father was a dude. Not always the most athletic, but highly competitive. Helicopter pilot cool.

I miss him and think about him often, wondering what he would do in tough situations and congratulating myself if I know he would approve of something.

My forays into extreme sports would please him. So much so that I speculate he is rooting for me in heaven–asking God to help me find time to wake- or snowboard, asking God to help me confront my fears.

Today the little girl in front of me on the practice slope was crying because she was scared.

I told her I was scared too.

She asked, “why?”

And looked puzzled–are old ladies even allowed to be scared?

I told her because I was learning how to snowboard and I was afraid. I told her her father was there and she had nothing to fear, he would guard her.

Then I shrugged and made a face–my father is not here.

Almost immediately I thought–that is incorrect.

My Father was with me. He always is.

Thank you, God, for being such a good daddy.

Always.

An Extravagant Addiction

During the winter I commit.
The lake is so calm.
Fewer riders, and much less exposed skin.

I argue with myself, become my own coach–

go, you need the practice.

Which is precisely true. I do need the practice.. Not just getting off the dock. Not just gaining traction on a finless board. Not just holding on tight to the rope or just plain going in circles.

I know to be better I have to practice. I have no natural talent and age is not on my side.

But God is. He knows that I have always held on to the story of a storm, a Man, a ghostly Man, walking on water.

And that other guy who got out of the boat.

I know the physics of wakeboarding a little.

Just like the physics of faith–a little like a seed, a tiny, little mustard seed.