John Rogers, a friend of a friend and a busy screenwriter, wields the mighty power of the pen this morning, turning his acerbic wit toward the Newsweek scandal. Quite a piece of writing, regardless of whether you agree with his conclusions.

A few months back, a gaggle of middle schoolers gathering up canned goods for a food drive showed up on our doorstep. “Hang on a second; let me get you something,” I told them. When I returned from rooting around in the pantry, I found them staring quizzically up at the top of the doorframe, where we have inscribed “Esse Quam Videri”.

“What’s that?” one of their leaders asked.

“It says ‘Esse Quam Videri,'” I told them. Blank looks.

“It means ‘To be, rather than to seem,'” I further explained. The blank looks didn’t budge.

“It’s Latin for ‘Don’t be a poseur,'” I elaborated.

Comprehension dawned. “Oh, that’s cool! Thanks!” she said, and marched on down the street with her canned corn in hand.

Today is Emily’s 13th birthday. We celebrated last night with a small-scale party at The Zone, our local skating rink cum arcade. (Our usual procedure for family birthdays has been to invite lots of people and celebrate in the back yard. After having a great time at friends’ skating parties, Emily decided that this year she’d rather do that, even though we had to severely curtail the guest list to keep it affordable.)

Everybody seemed to quite enjoy themselves. Emily was very happy with and grateful for the gifts she was given; the rest of us enjoyed zooming around the skating rink and playing Galaga and The Simpsons.

Happy birthday, kiddo. We’re awfully glad you’re a part of our family.

Since Chris is getting married this summer in Merry Old England, we decided that a stateside bachelor party would be a good thing — both to send him off into matrimony with suitable well-wishing and to afford those friends who won’t be able to make it overseas an opportunity to be a part of the celebration.

We decided to stage a camping trip in North Carolina, at Davidson River Campground, nestled snugly in the Pisgah Forest. The site was lovely, separated from the river only by 50 feet of pine trees, and capacious enough to handle the dozen people descending on it handily. Most everyone rolled in Friday, set up tents, and then went to Hawg Wild BBQ for some dinner. (Here in Texas, BBQ is all about beef, with some sausage, chicken, and turkey sometimes thrown in for variety. In the deep south, BBQ is much more pork-intensive, and uses a tomato-based sauce for western style, and a vinegar-based sauce for eastern style. While I maintain that Texas’ version is the One True BBQ, the pork varieties are a nice change of pace.)

After a late night around the campfire, we took to the trails the next day, going for a hike around some nearby falls. We had lunch in the nearby city of Brevard, and then went back to the campground for a full afternoon of whiffle ball. (The rules of whiffle ball are very similar to those of baseball, with two exceptions: 1. you can get a runner out by hitting him with a thrown ball. 2. the field should be small enough to allow everyone to drive one over the fence at least one.)

We wrapped up the afternoon at Hawg Wild BBQ once again, and settled in around the campfire once more for visiting and quality male bonding (the details of which are probably best left to your imagination).

The trip was a super one, and seemed a very fitting way to send Chris off into married life. The less incriminating photos are available for perusal here.

On Tuesday morning, we had the singular pleasure of going by Hernandez Intermediate School, where Emily attends, to see her play the title role in her choir’s production of “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” (No, she wasn’t the chocolate factory.)

Because the challenges of live audio in a gymnasium are nigh-insurmountable, the performers had prerecorded all of their dialogue and singing, lending the whole affair an entertaining “Reading Rainbow meets Kung Fu Theater” feel. In order to trim the plot down to its 30 minute time slot, much of the dialogue was ruthlessly abbreviated, furthering the dizzying nature of the span.

Emily was, to my paternal eye, the best thing about the show, doing some nice emotive acting, and having one of the most tuneful voices of the singers. It was a joy to see her have her first experience with musical performance, and one I hope will be oft-repeated in the future.

The kids and I made it through our single-parent weekend without too much difficulty, thanks to the help and support of friends.

The band played at Quail Creek Country Club on Friday night. After talking with one of the folks in charge, Grant was impressed enough with the place that, as we ate from the plates we’d loaded up at the catfish buffet, he said “If one of the wait staff offers me tea or water with our food, I’m going to join.” The wait staff then proceeded to walk by our table seven times without so much as looking at us as they attended to other diners, thus costing the club a membership. (I’d already decided not to join after the staff didn’t even bother to look amused when I’d asked what a golf-cart-racing membership would cost.)

On Saturday, the kids and I did a little bit of gift shopping after our original plan to go up to Hamilton Pool to swim was foiled by the weather. We also took a walk through the San Marcos Cemetery, which is only a few blocks from our house. We were intrigued to discover headstones for individuals born as early as 1815 and saddened by the plots of children who hadn’t lived long enough to see their first birthdays. We then went off to some friends’ mortgage-burning party, where they celebrated full ownership of their beautiful hill-country home with lots of BBQ and more music. Liam enjoyed playing croquet late into the evening with anybody he could rope in, while Maggie and Emily ran around with friends, eating, drinking, and being merry.

On Sunday, we enjoyed church in the morning and a visit from Austin friends in the afternoon. Later, I played at Cheatham Street, affording an opportunity to celebrate Carl & Carolyn Taylor’s 51st anniversary with them, as well as to stretch out my birthday celebrations just a bit longer. Meara even managed to guilt Dad McMains into getting out on the dance floor with Lana — the first time I can remember seeing Dad do so. After the kids had been in bed for an hour or so, I got a call from Kathy, who was getting back from Mexico sooner than expected. She had a great time, really enjoying her trip and the people she spent it with.

So it was a good weekend all around! Again, a hearty thanks to those of you who helped these past few days. We’re constantly grateful to be surrounded by such good, supportive friends and family.

I encountered a few thoughts on faith this morning I thought worth sharing.

• Gordon Atkinson returns from a month-long writing hiatus with a nice little piece called The Dignity of Children. After a weekend with Kathy away, the balance between caring for the kids and “getting things done” looms large in my mind. This one was a good reminder that my illusions of control are — or at least should be — secondary to the importance of loving and enjoying these little people who have been trusted to me for a too-brief time.
• Hans Anderson has a piece up on Public Radio Exchange called God is Talking To Me, a meditation on why God works as he does cleverly disguised an an amusing and engaging fictional narrative. Well worth a listen.

Kathy left yesterday for a 3 day trip to the interior of Mexico for the wedding of two of our church friends. (Hi Sam & Alba!) This wouldn’t normally be a big deal at all, except that this particular weekend, I have a gig scheduled every night — Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Several of our wonderful friends are helping with kid-wrangling, for which I’m awfully grateful, but it still looks like it might not be a completely low-stress time until my lovely bride returns.

Regardless, I’m glad that Kathy, who hasn’t gotten to travel too widely, is having this chance to see more of Mexico, as well as to have a mini-vacation. Further, I should be able to dissipate whatever stress I rack up this weekend in another week, when I slip off to North Carolina for Chris’s bachelor party.

After the main service this past Sunday, our church made its way down to Pecan Park Retreat, a wonderful campground along a bend in the San Marcos River, for a picnic and baptism service. Mom McMains, Grandy, and Gayle had come up from San Antonio to be a part of the goings-on and to see Emily baptized there in the river.

After we finished wolfing down curry tuna salad sandwiches and tossed frisbees around for a bit, we all headed down to the water’s edge. The air was a bit chilly — the water even more so, as the springs from which the river flows are only a few miles upstream, and the water has little time to warm up before it gets to the campground. Pastor Craig and I waded out into the river with Emily, and after Craig had administered a mini-catechism, we dunked her and pulled her back up to the cheers and applause of the rest of the church, who were wisely waiting on the banks of the river.

Liam was originally slated to get baptized on Sunday as well, but when he started acting reluctant and asking questions like “Do I have to get baptized?” and “If I don’t get baptized, will I still be able to get a driver’s license?” we decided it might be best to hold off a little longer.

Thanks to everyone who supported Emily on this important day!