Joe Kitts

I attended the memorial service for Joe Kitts  last weekend.

In the late 1980s soon after my first wife and I had started going to Truro Episcopal Church in the midst of a disintegrating marriage, we asked for a conference with Joe Kitts.  My wife was British and, in arranging the meeting with Joe, I thought perhaps his British accent might carry more credibility with my wife than an American's.

Joe's words came with the right accent--and penetrating truth.  The meeting started with good humor.  (I was wearing a Barber that I'd bought in Britain, and Joe said, "Take your skin off and hang it there.")  But within moments, Joe had assessed our troubles and spoke candidly to us.  Joe told my wife in no uncertain terms that she may view our marriage as restraining her freedom, but that she had committed herself to me in an Holy agreement.

The marriage continued its decline, and I sought meetings with Joe alone after my wife had gotten her own apartment.  Joe continued to see me periodically at my request until the spring of 1992 when I finally surrendered to divorce.  On the day of the court proceeding, I attended early morning chapel at Truro, and Joe invited me down to his office afterwards.  I don't remember anything about what he said, but I do remember that I was crying for the first time in his presence.  He encouraged me as a father might to a son facing one of life's defeats.

My life was shattered by a profound sense of failure from the divorce, but my family and friends at Truro offered me hope and healing.  As a token to help me restore my life, my mother gave me a beautiful mantel clock that her grandmother had owned.  It was at least one hundred years old, and as beautiful as it was, it did not keep time well.

Somehow Joe learned of my clock, and I learned that he repaired old clocks as a hobby.  He agreed to repair it for me.  I assumed the clock would remain with him for a while, but within a few days, he told me when I saw him at church, "I've got your clock for you."  He gave it to me along with a new key to keep it wound.

Joe's repair of this clock provided a fitting metaphor for the way he helped to restore me following one of the most painful events of my life.  His strong hands, although not always delicate, worked with wisdom of the master.  Time will heal.  Tomorrow will be better.  And today delivers a chime on the quarter hour.

Kate turned her arm up and pointed to her elbow.  "Daddy look, you can see my elbow."  She straightened her arm and said in amazement, "Now you can't see my elbow."

William cut a chunk of mozzarella cheese for each of us, and Kate brought a piece to me.

She said, "Daddy, here's your monsterella cheese."

William  played a soccer tournament last weekend.  He was on a team with two longtime friends, Heath and Thomas.

He is playing so well, and it's a joy to watch William run with abandon down the pitch, pass to a teammate, and score a goal.

Kate watched patiently with our new dog Bree.  She asked me, "Do caterpillars have bones?"

My family today is saying goodbye to my uncle Ned.

I saw him last just after labor day when I told him about my surgery, and he agreed with me that the surgery would be just "another bump in the road" for me. He was pleased that I had arranged for the operation at Johns Hopkins, where my family had been treated successfully for years. After my own father died when I was eight, Uncle Ned was the most important man to me along with my grandfather. He took my brother and me fishing just weeks after my father's death. He worked with his power tools to carve a black racer from balsa wood for a cub scout project. He arranged for my brother to drive his go-kart in the orchard packing house, and he made an appointment with an expert rifleman to teach my brother how to shoot his rifle. I have more to write about Uncle Ned, and I hope to make some time to do so. I loved him, and I will miss him.

Kate, a little lady bug

My sweet little girl is 14 months old now. She delights in small things--crumbs, ants, spider webs--and we delight in her.

William on the Soccer Team

At five-years old, William loves soccer and playing with his soccer team of five-year-olds. Yesterday, Deborah asked her friend Sharon, the mother of a soccer teammate named Thomas, to take William to the soccer match while Deborah quickly ran an errand. (I was out of town.)

William warned his mother that she should let the soccer coach know that he would be riding with Tommy's mother. He said, "If you don't tell him I'm riding with Tommy's mother, he might think I drove myself here."