Michael's memory of fishing with his dad in the pond on Papaw's pastureland

One childhood memory which rushes to mind is my first time fishing with my Dad. I was roughly five years old. The start of a great memory was on a Friday afternoon when my Dad came home with a small, child's fishing pole.
My Mother and sisters were leaving for Rock Eagle for the weekend. During the evening, my Dad instructed me on casting the three-foot long line and tackle using a plastic yellow weight instead of a hook. I must have waved that small stick for hours.
The next morning we arose bright and early to set off for the "lake" which was actually a small pond in my grandfather's cow pasture.
My diminutive heart throbbed with ecstasy. I sprung down from my Dad's seemingly towering truck, wand in hand. Dad worked a cricket onto the barb with his puissant hands and we started casting. I would pull my thin arm back past my head, pause momentarily, press the black button on top of my pole with my petite thumb, and thrust my arm forward. The line, float, fish-hook and cricket would sail through the air and hit the water with a sploosh as the reel spun. After waiting impatiently for about 30 seconds, I would reel in my line and cast off again. After several minutes, I felt a slight tug against my tiny hands. The end of my pole began to nod up and down and the small orange and white ball on the surface of the water began to bounce. Then my pole bent steadily and the ball went under. My dad rushed over to assist me in my struggle. I slowly rotated the miniature crank on the reel, putting all my weight into it. My Dad grabbed the net and scooped up my 6-inch trophy out of the water. I did it! I caught a fish! WOW! I breathed heavily with excitement as I watched my catch dropped into the wire, under-water basket. Once again, I began to fish, but this time with even more enthusiasm.
After several more hours and one more fish, we departed from our marine battleground. We rode home with the thrill of victory in our hearts.

Friends are friends forever

We used to sing a song called, "Friends are friends forever" if the Lord is Lord of them.
I am blessed to have such a friend. Rhonda and I first met as Seniors in High School.
She was in Dekalb county, I in Gwinnett, North Gwinnett to be exact. We worked together as cashiers at a discount department store called, Treasure Island, on Buford Hwy at 285. I would go to school 1/2 day my senior year and then had this job after school. During Christmas that year I worked 6-10p.m. most nights. Rhonda and I became classmates in Sunday School at Hebron about 12 years ago. While at one of our socials, we were discussing where we had worked in the past. Unbeknown st to either of us, we realized we had worked together our senior year. We have resumed our friendship and continue to teach together. As I reminisce I am convinced that God's hands are visible all through the tapestry that is our lives. Rhonda is like family to me, someone I can share with, cry with, laugh with, be myself with and above all pray with. I know I can count on her and I believe she knows she can count on me.
The song lyrics are true. "Friends are friends forever, if the Lord is the Lord of them.
Thanks Rhonda for blessing me with your friendship.
Just keeping track

Keeping track of childhood and high school friends

For the last few months a fire has been lit under me, for a class reunion. Oh my, I cannot believe how many years it has been since my senior year at good ole North Gwinnett.

Some of us have kept in touch frequently during those years, celebrating birthdays, our own and our children, together. Some of us have had the pleasure of having our children in the same school we went to, but lost touch since our kids got out of school. Then there are some of us who have reconnected through the luxury of facebook.

Even though I was not a class officer, I am taking this thing and running with it. I am a stay-at-home, childcare provider, so I have lots of time on my hands, and thankfully, with all appreciation to my whiz of a son, I have my own computer. So former classmates, beware! I am out to try to find you.

Two of my fellow classmates and I met yesterday and started. With yearbooks in hand, we talked about everyone of the 96 people who graduated with us. There were less than 15 that one of us did not know something about their whereabouts or someway to get in touch with them. Sadly enough, I have found out that at least 5 of our friends are deceased, no longer with us. Some of them have lost one or both of their parents, a spouse, and children. Some of them live out of state, and some stayed in Gwinnett or surrounding area. Some have children in the Military and are on foreign soil, fighting for the freedoms we enjoy. Some of North's sons and daughters (possibly) have given the ultimate sacrifice for country. I don't know of any of my classmates, but if I find out they did, I want to honor them.

While meeting with Sandra and Arlene, we had the best time. I was complimented with one of the sweetest statements, "I seem like a lady who is comfortable in my own skin." Wow. I spent 12 years of my life with several of my classmates having gone from 1st grade - graduation with them. Being a small, rural community back in the 60's, we were simple and poor, by many standards, but I am finding we were rich and wise. For we value what is important, and found that what really matters is faith, family and friends. I consider myself very rich, because I have all three.

I am having such a good time with this and looking so forward to when we can get together again. I love you class of '71, just "keeping track all over again."