growing up

The new 31 Days of December Peace eBook is available for only $4.99. Download at stantonlanier.com or the Amazon Kindle Store.

Frank Stanton Bondurant was his name. My mom called him “Daddy,” but to his grandsons he was known as “Daddy B.” He was born in 1905 and died in 2002, just shy of his 97th birthday. As I reflect on his influence in my life, I am amazed at how many lasting impressions he made. He was quite a storyteller.

Daddy B was an only child. His parents both died before their 42nd birthday, so he didn’t think he would live past that age. They both played piano, but he was a gifted violinist. He played high school football when there were no face masks, just a thin leather helmet. He broke both eyebrow bones and both collar bones. He loved to play games and tell jokes. If you said, “Please pass the cereal,” he would throw you the box! He introduced me to fig preserves and Mama B’s blackberry cobbler. He threw baseball with me for hours when I was a Little League pitcher, teaching me how to grip the threads to throw a curve ball, drop ball, fast ball and slider. He played his violin with me when I was playing piano in middle and high school. When I learned to drive he always reminded me that if an animal ever ran in front of me that I should “go through it,” and not swerve to miss it. He had wrecked his car one time avoiding a dog. His advice probably saved my family’s life when I hit a deer in June 2002 driving sixty miles per hour. I went through it. Incredibly, we were on the way to Daddy B.’s funeral when this happened.

“Lord, make us thankful for these and all our blessings. Pardon our sins for Christ’s sake. Amen.” This was Daddy B’s prayer before every meal whenever we saw him. These are only a few of my memories of this beloved man of character, passion and faith. I loved Daddy B. I will always remember the blessing he was in my life.

Who is your Daddy B? Can you be a “Daddy B” for someone?

It was at least 98 degrees on my first day of sixth grade as a new Florida panhandle resident. The 100% humidity added bonus heat and sweat.

Within the first hour of arriving at my new school something was amiss. I realized that I was the only student in the 6th, 7th and 8th grades who was wearing short pants! “You can’t wear shorts!” was yelled at me from finger-pointing students. Even teachers looked at me funny and shook their heads.

The icing on the cake was being sent to the principal’s office. We had to call and ask my mom to bring me some long pants. She wasn’t home to answer the phone. I think she had gone to the Piggly Wiggly for groceries. It was a long day filled with embarrassment, ridicule, patience and endurance. Eventually I was able to “dig deep” and forgive my parents for overlooking the fine print in the school handbook. It took a little longer for me to restore my self-esteem in public.

This memory is symbolic of tender middle school years. One time I sneezed so hard that I couldn’t catch all of the “sneeze” in my hands. I came back from the rest room to a snickering room because “sneeze remains” were on my desk. Getting knocked unconscious on the soccer field earned another trip to the principal’s office. But the moment of all moments was the spelling bee.

You see, pleasing people – being thought well of by my parents, teachers and peers – had subtly become one of life’s goals since that first day of 6th grade. I had become a good student too, so the pressure was on for me to win the big 8th grade spelling bee. Silence filled the room full of teachers and students after my first word was called out – “Execute.” I shakily spelled E – X – I – C – U – T – E. “I’m sorry. That is incorrect,” was the gut wrenching response from my favorite English teacher. It was another “short pants” fiasco. Maybe pleasing people wasn’t life’s goal.

What was one of your “short pant” moments? How did this shape your character? Do you seek to please others too much, or are you not worried about what others think?

31 Days of December Peace: Day 4 ~ Lord, Make Us Thankful

Short Pants