My two older sisters were smart. I wasn’t. My mom and dad did their very best to never compare me to my sisters and they valued me for who I was but the system can be cruel. It was painstakingly clear that I just didn’t have the intellectual chops that my sisters possessed. They both graduated as valedictorians of their high school classes. Me? I was lucky to be in the top ten…of a very small graduating class. Very small. Did I mention it was small?

Then I made the Dean’s List after my first semester at A&M. The Dean’s List of those on academic probation, that is. I came home that Christmas break with a stellar 1.8 GPA. I don’t really remember Mom and Dad’s response but I’m sure it had something to do with the old saying, Shape Up or Ship Out! My mom was fond of saying that. I decided to shape up and from that point on, I took the pursuit of all things academic seriously.

It was during this time that I read Howard Gardner’s book Multiple Intelligences. In the book, Gardner challenged old-school notions that intelligence is a single entity that can be measured using standardized tests. He proposed that there are actually seven types of intelligences - two of which we usually associate intelligence with (linguistics, logical-mathematical), three associated with the arts (musical, bodily-kinesthetic, spatial) and two called personal intelligences (interpersonal and intrapersonal). His hope was that educators would straighten up and take note that many of their students possessed intelligences that were outside the scope of the old-school understanding.

Because I had such a hard time in school and because I know the world values “smart” people I want Sophia and Ira to excel in the traditional academy. And while they may do exactly that, I can already see these other intelligences rising up within them. The education system may not value them but I’ll take my cues from my mom and dad and value my kids for who they are. And really, at this stage of the game, isn’t that all that matters?

On Friday night, Laura and I got out to see the play August: Osage County. While not the point of this post, let me just say that this play earns all the awards it’s gotten - especially the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for drama. Next time you’re in the city, get tickets and see this play. You won’t be disappointed.

The play is about a dysfunctional family - a pill-popping matriarch, a booze-loving patriarch, three daughters that have their own issues, and a couple of other characters that display dysfunctions of all sorts. Laura and I saw this play at the end of a hard week. Ira was sick with an ear infection and we were both anxious about his intensive feeding clinic. Sophia’s been in rare form as of late testing and pushing all the boundaries. Work always weighs heavy. To top it off, Laura and I just weren’t communicating well. We were feeling a bit dysfunctional, to say the least. The play on Friday night felt very real…with the exception of pills and booze, of course.

The weekend didn’t offer any solutions. By the time Sunday morning rolled around, we felt we were at the apex of dysfunction - a son who was sick, a daughter who was mad at the world, and two parents who were having a hard time with simple conversations. Yeah, it made for a not so great Mother’s Day for Laura. Ugh.

By Sunday night, we were snapping out of it. Ira was feeling better, Sophia had made peace with the world and Laura and I started talking again. Even as I write this on Monday morning, we’re not at a 100% as a family but we’re on our way.

Dysfunctions and dysfunctional behaviors come and go and some stick around. Some are easy to deal with while others aren’t. Whatever the case and however severe, dysfunctions must be acknowledged and confronted. Acknowledgment and confrontation may not do away with the dysfunction but at least there is no more pretending. I’ve witnessed too many families acting as if all is well when indeed it is not.

At church on Sunday morning, I was trying to act as if all was well but it was evident it wasn’t. Finally, Laura said as she led us in singing, “Joe and I have had a hard week and maybe you’ll notice that today as we lead worship.” There was no more pretending and the weight of the dysfunctional week seemed lessened. And that led to things getting gradually better for all of us in the Hays household.

Mr. OConnor’s fifth grade classes have followed Ira’s story for the past couple of years. Two years ago they were following in the midst of the wristband frenzy. I blogged about that here. Last year, Mr. OConnor’s fifth grade class did it again. I blogged about that here. We were so impressed with these youngsters that we personally wanted to thank them. Laura blogged about that here.

With all of that history I shouldn’t have been surprised when two large envelopes were delivered to our house from, yep, you guessed it - Mr. OConnor. Inside were birthday cards from Mr. OConnor’s 2008 fifth grade class. Tons of cards. And they were very specific. They didn’t just wish Ira a happy 3rd birthday but they said things like, “Glad your trach is out!” and “Good luck at the feeding clinic!” and “Good luck at pre-school!” Laura and I were blown away…again. Ira and Sophia loved looking at each one of them. They were so creative and it was evident the fifth graders invested a lot of heart and energy into making the cards.

Mr. OConnor and Students, thank you all so much for checking in on Ira and caring for him. Thank you for the cards. They made his third birthday really special.

Who knew the indie music scene in Denton, Texas was noteworthy? Apparently one of my basketball teammates here in the city knew that. On assignment for the Travel Section of the New York Times, Lionel flew to Denton to check out the music scene. You can read his article here.

Denton? Really?

I live in Brooklyn. I love the diversity I encounter day in and day out. I wish the pace of life was slower and more relaxed.

Where do you live? What do you love about where you live and what do you wish was different about where you live?

This Sunday Christian churches worldwide will celebrate Pentecost which commemorates the descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles. It is said in Acts 2 that the Spirit came like a violent wind and like fire.

I remember well the time when a candle’s flame turned into a fire at my house. It was Christmas and my mom opened our house for the community Tour of Homes. People were milling around our house when suddenly a candle’s hot wax dripped onto some material that was obviously not flame-resistant. The small, contained flame on the end of the candle grew quickly into a small fire that had the potential of getting wildly out of control. The good residents of Tahoka, however, jumped into action. The fire was contained but the general feeling in the house was that we were moments away from total chaos.

And I also remember the winds of West Texas. There were times the wind got so bad that it stirred up the sand from cotton fields which created a dust storm. Ever tried to drive through a dust storm? You can’t. And it’s not uncommon to find mesquite and elm trees bent to the east because of the strong winds that blow in from the west. Meteorologists add Wind Advisory to their regular list of weather storms they look out for.

Many of us who believe in God have done well in domesticating the divine. We think of God and God’s Spirit as a gentle breeze and a subtle flame. The breeze feels cool and refreshing while the small flickering flame emits light but not too much.

And so I’m wondering as Pentecost draws near, Is it possible for us to recapture a sense of the Spirit manifesting itself in such a way that we feel it as a violent wind and fire? Or was that a particular need for those first believers, those Apostles who were left with the challenge to make sense of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ? In other words, Are the metaphors of Spirit as Violent Wind and Spirit as Fire needed today or are they outdated?

Here are a couple of dreams that I can’t seem to shake:

1. I can’t shake the tutoring center dream. A couple of Sundays ago, I talked of this dream during a sermon. I think several others at CCFB are catching on. Very soon, I’ll take a little video and show all of you the storefronts along Hoyt St. that could potentially house the center. The dream goes far beyond just a tutoring center but this is where it will start.
2. I would love to cook Laura and the kids a meal that is fresh and delicious. Problem is, I can’t cook. Really, I can’t. I’ve tried and the times I’ve tried have turned into disasters. Now it’s all up in my head. But I’ve got a dream that someday, I’ll overcome my fear of the kitchen.
3. I dream of coaching my kids’ Little League team or Little Dribbler team. I’m not sure this will come to pass and I won’t sweat it if it doesn’t but I dream about it.
4. I dream of attending a Duke Univ basketball game. I can’t imagine there being any better sporting atmosphere.
5. I dream, along with Laura, of fostering and adopting. Again, I’m not sure if it will come to pass but Laura’s done some work on me and I now dream of being a foster parent and we’ve always wanted to adopt.
6. I dream of a land full of donuts and milk. Mmmmm, donuts.

Did you see the article about the guy whose finger grew back after it was cut off? He sprinkled a little magic powder on the finger and sure enough, it grew back. Crazy. Check it here.

Laura and Sophia had another cool fieldtrip the other day. Laura wrote about it on her blog. Check it here.

No TV show is funnier than this one. Check it.

More disapprove of our current president than any other in our history? No! Really? Check it here.

Did I mention this was the Summer of the Hayses? We’re going to spend the 4th with my college buddies at a very nice lakehouse livin’ large. Check out the scene here.

There will be a day when I will go to kiss my daughter and she will turn in such a way so that I kiss her cheek and not her lips. Then, there will be a day when I go to kiss her and she will turn away completely so that I can’t kiss her at all.

There will be a day when I go to give my daughter a hug and she’ll respond limply instead of the full on bear hugs that we were accustomed to giving each other.

There will be a day when I will invite her to a wrestling match and she will respond with a look of horror in her eyes. She will collect herself just in time to say, Dad, please. I’m so over that.

When those days come, I will mourn the loss of what once was. For now, I revel in my daughter’s desire to kiss me, to hug me unabashedly and to wrestle until our hearts are content.