Previously Known As Chopperpapa.com

My Aunt Lucille was the most sophisticated woman in our family. She was my grandmother’s youngest sister and her entire life seemed one big cosmopolitan adventure. The many years she spent in Atlanta coupled while remaining unencumbered by children only added to an already formidable metropolitan mystique. Her husband Uncle Kenny was known best for his Caribbean complexion, not because of his lineage but due to the countless hours spent each summer sunbathing in his back yard swaddled by the sounds of The Carpenters and Bee Gees emanating from his Sunbeam AM/FM radio. A visit to their home always felt like a vacation. Green PVC corrugated panels covered the roof of their suburban back patio from which the emerald hue gave off a tropical flavor that to a ten-year-old must surely have been what Miami or Bermuda was like.   Several years after my uncle’s death, of skin cancer coincidentally, Aunt Cile began spending time with another man. Rumor had it that she would have married Warren at

In this, the most debilitating economic crisis since the Great Depression, there is one occupation that remains as robust and profitable as ever – the Hero.  At no time since Pagan Rome and Julius Caesar is there more profound worship of the mere human. There is no place we can turn, no sport, industry, or amusement where one if not several within their ranks has not been escalated to the status of the holy divine.  They have been turned into modern day prophets and we are their congregation listening as they minister from the sacred scripture of their accomplishments. Yet the price paid to receive such reverence and adulation is cheap by historical standards, it costs no tears or blood and can be bargained for with little more than beating analyst’s estimates, winning a Super Bowl, or starring in a video. **  It’s been said, and I have to believe, that you can tell everything you need to know about someone in how the answer this question,  “What sort of people do you admire most?”   I

If you’re a single or divorced dad I feel your pain. I’ve been one for seven years and have experienced every emotion you are or will go through. I know what it’s like to have a piece of your soul ripped away every Sunday evening, I’ve had the desire to take out a professional hit on my ex-wife, and I understand feeling like you are getting the raw end of the deal.   Being a single father means we may never have a traditional relationship with our children, we may not always be there to tuck them in or be able to band-aide every scrape but that doesn’t mean we can’t be any less than an extraordinary influence in their lives. Regardless of what media or culture says fathers are important and your kids need you whether you’re with their mother or not.  When I got divorced I didn’t get a manual or have a go-to person for help; my family was hours away, which meant I was on my own. As such, I’ve made almost every conceivable mistake a dad can from introducing the girlfriend early to horren

“Let her be the one you have chosen for your servant Isaac.” Genesis 24:14  The Queen and I first met at a bar. It’s not something we advertise. Similar stories usually end with hook ups and poorly. Ours, blessedly, led to meeting again the next day at church, and eventually marriage. We downplay the ‘bar’ thing, instead of saying it was a ‘restaurant,' they technically did serve food. Why we do this, I’m not entirely sure. It may have something to do with the images ‘bar’ convey, or maybe it’s too similar to my former marriage, she and I also met at a bar, one that didn’t have food. And if you’ve visited this website before, you know how that ends. So there’s a fear not to jinx it. But perhaps, and I think this get us closer to the point, our story reflects a complete lack of intentionality. I mean honestly, how uninspiring and unoriginal?  Besides, it models nothing positive for our kids except to demonstrate that a good way of going about the most important earthly relationship

The recent announcement by Marianne Gingrich of her former husband and 2012 presidential hopeful Newt Gringrich’s appeal to open up their 18 year marriage so he could pursue a sexual relationship with his congressional aide and now wife has unleashed a firestorm of criticism and once again brought the whole necessity of marriage back into question. It was Mrs. Gingrich’s refusal to be tolerant, understanding, and more sensitive to her ex husband’s sexual needs that undoubtedly lubricated their eventual divorce.  Whether this in fact did happen or is just a well-timed ploy to ruin a presidential race is inconsequential to me. I could mention that all of Washington is in the toilet so what’s another turd, but I don’t care and this isn’t that type of blog. Regardless of one’s partisan interest the ABC interview did let loose a flurry of writing activity as bloggers all over, looking to exploit the hottest keywords, chimed in with their own two cents. Outside of the political pundits’ agen

Anthropologists calculate the institution of marriage, or something you and I would recognize as such, to date back almost 5000 years. The earliest known marriage certificate, in this case a marriage contract, involving one woman and one man occurred in 2350 BC in Mesopotamia, or modern day Iraq. Over the ensuring centuries marriage evolved, influenced by culture and religion - especially Christianity -  to eventually become what you and I know it as today. Marriage was officially added as one of the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church in the 12th century forever placing it among the most sacred of undertakings. There’s no denying that matrimony between a man and woman is a cornerstone human civilization.  Yet with five millennia of historic precedent to support the idea of life long marriage between two people why is the noise about its necessity and future louder now than ever before? Is there any remaining rationale for marriage or are we just kidding ourselves? Has marriage fin

I know a thing or two about marriage. My first was finished before I was 35 and we were married almost seven years, even by today’s standard that’s fast out of the gate.  I’ve now been divorced as long as that entire marriage lasted and in that time I’ve had plenty to ponder about why it went sideways. Of course an affair will put the quash on pretty much any marriage but as they say hindsight is always 20/20 and I’ve come to recognize some warning signs I should have paid attention to long before I said “I do”.  Many of those flags started waving early on, long before the engagement ever took place. Flags so bright they apparently blinded me from reality and the eventual impact they’d soon have like our differences on faith, money, children, and the future in general. Several of those chasms were so wide it’s a wonder we lasted as long as we did.  But being a young buck in my mid 20’s I thought I knew everything and approached our dating relationship like I was playing the stock marke

If there is one relationship flaw virtually ever man gets tagged with it’s how he doesn’t talk. And by talk I don’t mean a discussion of golf handicaps, the stock market, or Sports Illustrated swimsuit models. I’m referring to revelations of his inner workings, what’s going on within that masculine mind of his, what he’s really thinking.  I’m not quite sure if every human male is inflicted with this malady or just the stars of sitcoms and feature length relationship dramas but evidence abounds that men keep their emotional cards close to the chest.  And in almost two decades, which involved several committed relationships including marriage, I must admit I’m as guilty of this unseemly personality trait as the next Joe.  But in that time I’ve come to understand, through my own experiences and talking with and listening to other men, what I believe are the handful of reasons why so many of us men almost seem allergic to opening up with the women in our lives.  I don’t have a PhD in Psych

The phenomenon of Fifty Shakes of Grey baffles me. Critics claim the writing is insipid likened more to the musings of a teenage schoolgirl than an author whose pen has garnered international fame. Yet the books’ success is undeniable and has sent publishers of a genre historically reserved for middle-aged single women with too many cats scrambling to repackage former ‘romance’ classics, and hopeful EL James’s furiously pounding the keyboard - no pun intended.    Why I give an iota about the novels I can’t say for sure, maybe it’s their meteoric success or why a storyline that seems to epitomize what women throughout history have fought hard to overcome. What I can state emphatically is that I haven’t read the books - entirely. How the first two installments landed in my possession at all is definitive proof a higher power, and while most men would have left them on the dining room table I was intent on deciphering what makes them irresistible to so many. Desiring to learn what it is a

There are events which occur in life where the necessary contemplation around their true meaning is enough leave our consciences in a state of upheaval. The accounts of heroism and bravery amid the tragedy of 9/11 come immediately to my mind. The numerous actions of rescue personnel and random citizens who sacrificed their own lives to save those of complete strangers force me to ask if I have even a fraction of that courage and self sacrifice.  Then too I try and envision the victims trapped in those burning buildings as they came to grips with the hopelessness of their circumstances and the reality they faced – remain trapped or jump.  With both means producing the same certain end, how did they rationalize one over the other? What went through their minds after settling on an answer? Were they horrified as the inevitable approached or did they face the end with resolve and calmness?  As I think on these things I’m left with no alternative but to ask myself ‘What would I have done?’

With all the bitterness and resentment that surrounds divorce such as alimony, co-parenting, every other weekend, and the train wreck it makes of lives in general, the notion of parental visitation is head and shoulders the most dehumanizing of all.  The mere fact that, as their father, I only get to ‘visit’ with my children is enough to make me strap TNT to my chest and walk into the nearest family court room. It’s the one piece of my divorce that I have yet to come to complete grips with.  When the Jap and I divorced in ’05 our children were 10 and 18 months old. I moved, and still live, seven miles from the home she and the Trainer live in today. Unaware of their impending living situation and ultimate marriage, I agreed to provide enough financial resources for her to stay home full time until my son was two years old. She felt, and I agreed, that at their young age stability was vitally important and the going back and forth with sleeping here one day and there the next was a tad

I had a golden childhood in several respects. But one in particular was having both sets of grand parents until I was thirty. I know of very few others who can claim speed dial to that kind of wisdom for so long.  My grandfathers were vastly different men in both personality and accomplishments. My paternal grandfather served in WWII on the USS Alvin C Cockrell, worked in a plant making speedboats, and lived a very reserved existence. My other grandfather was his polar opposite, which might explain why they weren’t very close. With a meager elementary education, fifth grade at best, he was arguably the wealthiest man on Yellow Creek Road, sought after far and wide for his hunting expertise, and quick to tell any number of hunting or horse stories. By comparison, think Jerry Clower.  ** Like most grandkids, I never truly appreciated their presence or perspective until they were gone. Nonetheless, I did possess just enough humility to accumulate a few nuggets of wisdom from them before I

There’s been only two times in my life where I felt like a rock star. Those times when everybody loves you, has all eyes on you and hangs on your every word.  The first was in the 6th grade when I won the Charlotte Elementary School Stomper Pull-Off (click the link if you need a reminder) after my mother surprised me with a silver, snub-nosed Peterbilt Stomper 4X4 that yanked its entire weight in nails, screws, and washers on a make-shift sled. On that day, obviously not being able to see me in the next row over in Mrs. Heath’s class any other time, Tammy Moneypenny finally talked to me.   The other was my wedding day.  ** The culmination of nine-months preparation replete with two open bars, DJ, 5-course meal, and a hundred or so of our closest friends and family was the stage for the event. The last addition to these nuptials was a lone photographer whose duty it was to get the bride and groom in as many photos as possible without earning the label paparazzi.  Little could our photog