Category: That Blog Thing

Ryan Renfroe is not only my youngest son, he is my main concert going buddy. He is a young adult man who rocks autism awesomely! This is the story of his surprise birthday present to see one of his heroes, Sir Paul McCartney during his concert stop in Little Rock, Arkansas on April 30, 2016.

I don’t claim to be the coolest dude in the world. Far from it.

I am proudly not trendy.  But I am also 47 years old as I write this, so I am not really supposed to be all that cool or trendy.

Now, I don’t really give a care about how you wear your hair.  I mean, honestly I have no grounds at all to stand on to tell some kid how to wear their hair. I had a permed mullet at one time so I got no rocks to throw.  I mean, just look at this blow-dryed, butt-part, brown football helmet goodness:

But the great thing about a dorky hair style is that it is far from permanent. So if you want a pink, sideways mohawk with shaved eyebrows, go for it.  You look goofy, but go for it. You can change that easily.

But when I see some kid (A kid to me is anyone under 30) wearing gauges in their ears or other parts of their bodies, I have to ask: What the heck are you thinking?

Are you trying to gain membership in some remote tribe that practices this form of mutilation?

I was dining out with some friends from work at Vino’s Pizza not long ago when we saw one of the folks there with some huge, gauged ear lobes. He worked there. Which, if you ever have been to Vino’s is not that shocking.  I think having tattoos, piercings or some sort of bodily alterations is some sort of precursor to employment there.

But, if you ever want to get a job once you decide to grow-up, I would rethink getting some of the more extreme forms of alterations out there.

This goes for extreme piercings, neck and facial tattoos and getting your tongue split. (Yes, that is a thing).

And because I am the curious sort, I had to look up how to get your ears back to normal once you stretched them out far enough to trip over them.  To the shock of no-one, you have to get corrective surgery.

To you young people who like to tattoo their necks, ram pieces of metal in the strange parts of their bodies, or put a hole big enough in their ear lobe to have trained poodles jump through: If you think I am an old man who “just doesn’t get it”, check back with me in 10-years and see if you still think I am wrong.

I found a recipe that is pretty close to the Cracker Barrel pancakes.

2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda (NOT BAKING POWDER!)
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 eggs
2 cups buttermilk
oil or butter (for cooking)

Sift together in a mixing bowl the flour, baking soda, salt and sugar.  In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and buttermilk.  Pour the wet stuff on the dry stuff.

This part is important. Mix 10 or 12 times with a large whisk.  It will be lumpy.  Don’t worry about that.  Just go do something for 10 minutes or so for your batter to rest and your flour particles to soak up the liquid. Something like heat up your griddle.

Heat your griddle to where a drop of water will dance around when dropped on it, or about 350° F.

Before cooking, lube up your griddle with butter or cooking spray. Do this before each batch. (I recommend butter because…you know…BUTTER!)

Spoon out your batter to a disk about the size of a saucer.  Wait for bubbles to form and the edges to get a little dry then flip and cook about another minute and half or two minutes.

Enjoy.

Oh, and you don’t have buttermilk handy, just do this:

Add one tablespoon of vinegar per cup of regular or 2% milk and let sit for 5 minutes. Done.

A message from non-smokers.

Hey smokers: Your habit stinks.  It makes you smell.  It is foolish that you still do it in this day and age. The majority of us are now non-smokers in this country.

I say this with all the fervor of a man who used to be a nicotine addict like you.  My brand of tobacco habit was the “Just a pinch between the cheek and gum” variety. And while my smokeless tobacco habit was disgusting, at least I did not give anyone cancer from second hand dip.  My spit cup never caused someone with asthma to have an attack.

As a group, I have found hardcore smokers to be among the most selfish people because of their addiction. I have seen family members light up around small children during holiday gatherings.

I have watched people go to great lengths to get that smoke in at work places that have instituted no smoking policies. Want to see where the property line is at a work place with no smoking rules?  Just see where the smokers gather, they will be the first to know.

Quit.  Do whatever it takes, but quit.  You will save money and feel better. Plus, do you really want to be an addict?

I quit dipping.  You can quit smoking.

I haven’t posted in a while.  To be totally honest I haven’t felt inspired or motivated to write a post since dad passed in November.  Too many things going on that have to be handled and  it seems there is not enough time to do it all.

I do want to take time to talk about my new job with the Arkansas Conference of the United Methodist Church.

Back last October, I was contacted by Mark Epperson with the ARUMC about a position they had that I may be interested in. We had a good conversation.  I was open and upfront and told Mark I was a Christian, but not a Methodist and asked if this would  be a problem. He assured me it would not.  Excellent, because it was not a problem for me.

My hiring did not happen quickly.  In the midst of this process, my dad had his final struggle.  But finally, I did get the offer to come to work for the ARUMC. My first day was January 22, 2013.  It has been a fantastic experience for me professionally and personally.  I have made several friends in the two months I have been there.  They have made allowances for the steep learning curve this lifelong Baptist boy has had to face and have been there every step of the way to help and support me.

A few may wonder why I left Lafferty Equipment.  Let me say first that I have nothing but good things to say about the folks at Lafferty Equipment.  They were there to hire me after my lay-off from THV.  My bosses there were nothing but stellar to me when dad passed and were very understanding about the time I had to take off.  But, after much prayer and consideration taking the job with ARUMC just felt like the right thing to do.

So, that is how and why a Baptist boy ended up working for the Methodist Church.  In the short time since starting the job, I have come to love the job and the people I have been blessed with meeting through my new position.

November, 27 2012

I eulogized my father today.

Two weeks ago, when it looked like he might pull out of his recent health spiral, we were talking about final arrangements should things go sideways with his health.  He said he wanted two hymns and he would like a Bob Wills song. He wanted to be cremated. No open casket.  He also said he would be very proud if I spoke.

I said I would. Still thinking that this would still be some time off in the future.

It wasn’t.

Dad passed on just after midnight on Saturday, November 24.

Today we had his memorial service.

I spoke. Here were my notes.

Hello.

First, let me thank all of you on behalf of my entire family for coming here today.

I’d like to talk about my dad.

Alfred Wesley Renfroe was born in the hills of Southeast Oklahoma on December 21, 1933. It was during the depression, but dad would said no one really had anything much to begin with so it was kind of hard to notice they were actually in a depression.

He was the only child of George and Ara Renfroe. When telling stories of his childhood he would tell you they lived so far back in the hills that they used panthers for milk cows and hoot owls for laying hens.

When he was a teenager, my grandparents and dad moved from their home in the hills to the little square house and the section of land along Highway 70 and beside the railroad tracks. It was located just outside of the little town of Ft. Towsen, Oklahoma. That’s the place I always knew as grandma and grandpa Renfroe’s house. Now, if you don’t know where Ft. Towsen is, it is between Hugo and Idabel. Let’s just say that dad had a rural upbringing.

He graduated as an A student at the age of 16 from Ft. Towsen High School. He worked his way through college and later veterinary school by working summers at various jobs to pay for his tuition, books and room & board. He was a hay hauler, truck driver and worked for a while on an assembly line at the Coleman plant in Wichita Kansas making camp stoves. He also served his country in the U.S. Army Reserve.

Dad first lived in Arkansas in 1958. On the advice of his department head, he took off a year from vet school to intern at a veterinary clinic located on Broadway Street in Little Rock. He said that experience put him years ahead of his fellow graduates when he returned to his studies.

He graduated as a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine in 1959 from Oklahoma A&M. These days they call it Oklahoma State.

For a while dad practiced veterinary medicine in the Dardanelle and Russellville area. After marrying my mom they lived for a while in Charleston, Arkansas, where worked as a Government inspector in poultry plants. Then in 1968 he moved mom, my sisters and me to Conway and bought the Conway Animal Clinic to start his own practice.

I suspect a great many of you here today know him from his time at the Conway Animal Clinic.

Dad loved being a practicing veterinarian. While he like working with small animals, he never lost his love of working on large animals. And if the number of calls he went out on were any indication, he was pretty good at treating cattle and horses. And he loved it despite the long days, extreme heat and cold, the unpredictable hours and danger that come with a large animal practice.

Some of my earliest memories were going out on calls with him. By the time I was five years old, dad and I had traveled most of the back roads of Faulkner County in a maroon 1968 GMC Pickup. We even used the old Toad Suck Ferry when we would go into Perry County on a call.

A series of injuries to dad’s back caused him to have to sell his practice in 1976.

He found ways to keep busy.

Having dad at home a lot meant he was available to to help me & my sisters at almost anytime. And he was always very generous with his time.

I got involved in boy scouting about that time. Dad got involved too. A few of you knew him as a Scoutmaster for Boy Scout troop 392. He would go with us on camping trips, although our camping styles differed a bit. He had a camper shell over the bed of his truck and a nice mattress to sleep on. We were in tents on the ground trying to sleep on roots and rocks. He was no dummy.

Some of you knew him as a staunch supporter of hunting and Second Amendment rights. He taught hundreds if not thousands to be safe hunters as a volunteer Hunter Education Instructor for the Arkansas Game & Fish Commission. Later on, he taught many how to safely own and carry a firearm as a concealed carry instructor. He worked on and fixed a lot of guns for some of you. Dad was a fixture at some of the gunshows in the area, and most folks knew where Doc would have his table set up year after year.

Dad loved deer hunting…a lot. When I say he loved to deer hunt I mean he loooooved to deer hunt. I believe November was his favorite month of all. Around September, he would get that gleam in his eye and start talking about the upcoming season. He’d go down to deer camp and scout around to pick out where he would have his stand. We usually ended up with a freezer full of venison each year.

When I was a teenager we had this in common: We really could not stand each others music, and to be honest he was not crazy about my hair either. Dad really liked Texas Swing music, especially Bob Wills & The Texas Playboys. I was more of a Van Halen guy.

A few years ago, the Texas Playboys were playing in the area and I took dad to see them. We both had a great time. But, I never got him to go to a Van Halen concert with me.

When I was a kid, I would hear that music and roll my eyes. And, now when I hear Bob Wills I smile. Because it reminds me of dad.

He liked to laugh and to make others laugh. Even in the midst of his many health issues the last few years, he managed to keep a sense of humor. I asked him a while back how a visit to the doctor went. He replied, “Well. I am not pregnant.”

Dad liked to tell a story. Sometimes the same ones over and over and year after year. I never minded. He had a way of telling a story that made you want to listen, even when you had heard the same one a couple of hundred times before. One time, Debbie and I traveled with him to Oklahoma. He started telling a story when we left Conway and one story led to another for the entire five hour trip. It made the trip seem shorter.

He loved his animals. We had many dogs, but his favorite dog ever was Sody. We never could tell what breeds made up Sody. People would ask dad “What kind of dog is that?” Dad would respond, “Male canine”. He and dad were inseparable buddies. Dad loved that dog and that dog loved dad.

Dad made sure during my youth that I was in Sunday school and church almost every Sunday morning. Whether I wanted to go or not. He never made a huge show of it, but I am convinced through my many conversations with Dad that he knew Jesus as Savior. Because, like all of us he was not a perfect person and he knew he needed a Savior.

And I am convinced as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, that right now there is a reunion of family and friends happening in a place not of this world, but in the very presence of God.

He loved his friends and his family. He adored my sisters and loved his grandkids. And he especially loved his wife. My mom Lucy.

To many of you he was known as Dr. Renfroe, Doc Renfroe…or just Doc. To some he was Al, Uncle Al, Grandpa or Poppa.

To me, he was and is Dad.

Thank You for being here and God Bless you all.

Going to miss you dad.  More than I can put into words.

http://youtu.be/gyHWWan6PT4

• I can’t wait for this election season to be over. Everyone on Facebook and Twitter seem to think I care what their political opinions are. I am a grown man in my middle-years, you ain’t changing my mind.
• I never want a James Bond type missile launcher in my vehicle more than when someone pulls into an intersection during heavy traffic and is blocking it when the light changes. Are you listening Detroit?
• If you let any celebrity’s political stance determine your own, do us all a favor and sit this one out.

My middle school through high school years were fairly typical, I guess. There was a clearly defined social structure that developed about the time we were hitting 6th grade.

School was a minefield. One miscue, a bad hair day, an embarrassing incident or any little perceived imperfection could, and often would, get you labeled and relegated to whatever social strata the accusers would assign you.

Some kids were jerks. This is nothing new.  Some were jerks to cover for their own insecurities or to impress another jerk that was higher up the food chain or just giving into pure mob mentality. Some were jerks because they were just jerks.

What has surprised me most is how we carry these scars into our adult lives. Comments we could easily brush off today as adults can leave lasting impressions on our psyche when made by our peers during our formative years.

A classmate of mine recently posted how an offhand comment that was made for a cheap laugh when she was in 10th grade has haunted her everyday for over 30-years.  She told how everyday since that day, it has affected how she sees herself.

And all because some guy thought he was being cool at someone else’s expense.

Another classmate confided a few years ago that she was so painfully shy, that she would eat lunch with one of her teachers everyday instead of facing the jungle of the hallways.  I had always saw her as one of the more popular kids and was surprised at her admission.

I guess I was fortunate that I never was a target for a lot of attacks. But a lot of kids were. And are.

What’s scary is that today it may even be worse that it was when I was in school.  The rise of social media has seen a type of bullying come out that is more vicious than ever. People feel pretty tough behind a keyboard.

Recently, 15-year-old Amanda Todd from Vancouver, B.C. was driven to suicide by a cyberbully.  I can’t even imagine what it was like for this young lady. I can’t fathom what she thought was so bad that she had to end her young life.

And what hits me hardest is what she had on a hand made sign that she used in a YouTube video she made shortly before her death describing what she was going through. The sign reads, “I have nobody. I need somebody.”

Words mean things. And mean words mean a lot more to a kid.

Parents, explain that what they say or do can hurt others. Practice this in front of your children. When they are the jerk, don’t just let it slide. And when they are victims of the jerks, make sure they know they have someone.

You too can be a MacGyver.

You may not be able to build a cold-fusion device using chewed gum and a paperclip, but these 99 photos actually show some cool and helpful tips, tricks and solutions using everyday items.

For example:

Check Out The Entire List (link)

I am going to have to try some of these.

Ok, what is the most embarrassed you’ve been by your child in public?

Deb and my oldest were in Wal Mart when he was about 4. Had to point out that the lady next to them had a mustache.

Loudly. Repeatedly.

“MOMMA, that woman has a mustache! Look momma!! Ladies are not supposed to have a mustache momma! Why does she have a mustache momma? Momma!”

So, what is your story parents?