My Dad's Purple Star Saphire Ring

My Dad always said these things that at the time made no sense and at times felt obnoxious, mean or sarcastic when correcting me so most of the time I didn't listen. He must of known that recordings of him were being made in the back of my mind and thirty years later he would make perfect sense.

One thing he would always say, "It's OK to get angry! If you get mad you still have a chance to win, but if you start feeling sorry for yourself you've already lost!"

I think he said something like this when he saw me help a guy up who had cheap-shotted me in football. "I think you play a little better when your mad. Playing defense is not about being nice."

 He said something like it when I got a post surgical staph infection in my knee the spring of my Senior year. During the thirty days I was in the hospital I had to come to terms with loosing my dreams of being a professional baseball player (I actually had had a pretty good shot at it) and come to terms with loosing my football scholarship and on day seven, in traction, with tubes running in and out of everywhere come to terms with the very real possibility of loosing my leg. I remember saying something really nasty to him when he'd asked me if I had given up and he said, "Good, get mad at me and get really mad at this thing, I'd rather see you angry than feeling sorry for yourself!" He then brought me some shrimp fried rice.

So I got some bad news at work today. I have been, "displaced" as of January first. Merry Christmas.

I was walking my dogs in the snow and I looked down at my freezing hands and my Dad's ring must have hit the sun just right and the star in the middle winked at  me. I was looking down and strating to feel pretty darn sorry for myself and there he was telling me it was alright to be angry but not to feel sorry myself. "You can still win this one Bitty Buddy. You always play a little better when you're mad."

I have to take my DDD's advice with a grain of salt. What may have worked when I was an 18 year old playing football doesn't always bode well for a 46 year old 6' 3" 229 pound  bald guy who out-weighs his wife and three daughters combined. I've found that if I temper my anger with gratitude I can still win a few battles and not scare everyone off.

I am grateful Pfizer paid for my Masters Degree before kicking me to the curb. OK sarcasm is hard to grow out of but I am grateful and would do it all again in a heartbeat if I could.

Thank you Pfizer. You'll be see me again.

Mary's took seven staples in the head.

Yesterday we took Mary to the ER in Fruita with a head wound. She had been riding on the back this toy car thing with her friend in the kitchen and popped a wheelie. Mary fell back and hit her head on the cabinet corner. I had just got home early and was to have a phone interview in a liitle over an hour. It was hard to see the wound because her hair matted with blood instantly but at one point I saw blood gush out and splater on the floor. I put a towel and pressure on it for a few minutes and the bleeding did stop but I've seen bleeding like that before and know it means stiches. I told Suzy we have to go to the ER so we went and this what we saw when the hair was washed away. Of course Suzy never looked at it.

Suzy was a rock of comfort and had been stiched up recently in the very same room. That would be maybe 15 or so posts ago if you want to see it. It's pretty grusome. Hedge clippers and all!

Seven staple later and Mary didn't even cry. When I told her how tough she was and that she didn't even cry she said, "Yeh I did!" The she proceeded to try and make herslf cry and instead cracked herslef up and giggled.

This is the type of thing hat happen to me a lot while I was growing up. My Dumb Dumb Daddy O would always joke that I had my own private stall in the Cleveland ER with a plaque and everything because I was there on such a regular basis. It got so bad that once when I got hit by a car and my brake handle punched through my knee I had to chase my brother all the way home so he wouldn't tell Dad. I watched through the window as he told him and my Dad checked his watch and then went back to reading the paper. When I finally came in he wrapped my leg in a towel so I wouldn't bleed on the car seats. and we went to my private stall.

I was about to have my interview out in the car in the parking lot of the hospital but the interviewer left me a message to delay the interview for a half hour so I was able to get to my desk at home with a minute to spare. The interview went well but we'll see. What was great was being there for Mary and Suzy and having everthing work out in the end!

Co State Champion All-Around Gymnastics!

Kayla was placed in second place on the the call out to the stand. It was awesome.

Turns out Kayla was tied for 1st !!!!!

She is the All-Around State Co Champion

She may have been denied public recognition and their mistake robbed some of the glory but that fact that Kayla won a State Championship can never be taken away! Her father could not be more proud especially since none of this seems to bother her at all and her smiles can't get any bigger over the whole experience anyways.

Hard to believe a Champion at age 10!

Way to go K-bear.

Love,

DDD

 

 

When I Turned 18

The is a long sorted tail that starts with me having to admit that I drove a Pacer.

The story gets better from there because my Dad could throw a party. When I turned 18 my Dad considered me a man. Legal adult at least. He said, "now you really can go to jail, always remember that, and I won't come and get you." I said what if I was innocent? He said he'd come then. Then explained if I was to get drunk enough to get arrested I would deserve to sleep it off in the slammer.

When I turned 18 my girlfriend, Tina and my parents and friends threw me a surprise birthday party. I was totally surprised. Completely.

My Dad set up the bar!

Everyone crammed into my bedroom and I had come home before going downtown because I needed a tie to be able to get into Ben's Dad's private club ? (and I didn't even ketch on).

I don't want to get in the way with too many words. I think the following pictures speak for themselves.

Hard to believe I don't remember much of my 18th birthday. I do remember waking up freezing cold in the back yard upper garden beds. Killer party. Thanks Dumbdumbdaddyo.

Thanksgiving and the Second Amendment!

We got four days at home together!

That's me practicing my second amendment right. This is my new Ruger 10/22 with extended clip. My dad was a Marine and taught me how to shoot his 22. I've been teaching Kayla like he taught me. Her gun is a custom .22 with large bore barrel, carved thumb hold and scope. She's very accurate. She can hit a can top from a hundred yards!

We had a great Thanksgiving weekend home as a family! We hiked, ate a bunch of turkey and spent quality time together.

This is called, "across the street from Dinosaur Hill." It's my favorite place to walk the dogs off lead.

At the end of one the trails is a rock with a depression I called a bird bath but the girls said it was a nest. My dumbdumbdaddyo-birds.

Suzy and Chloe ran the Grand Junction Turkey Trot 5K!

They did awesome and started a new family tradition.

This picture of Suzy and Chloe says it all. Sometimes staying home is the best way to go!

Best Thanksgiving Ever.

1952 Sugar Bowl Champions Game Ball

University of Maryland

1952

Sugar Bowl Champions

In the 1952 Sugar Bowl my dad was a Senior playing for the Maryland Terrapins. They were undefeated and ranked 3rd in the nation and got to play #1 ranked Tennessee. The Terps won 28 to 13. It was my dad's last game. Wikipedia called my Dad an anchor of the defense but he did play both ways and long snapped. This was confirmed because he signed the ball twice with the offense and defensive teams.



I have the football sitting here next to the laptop as I am posting about it and Mary my 4 year old pointed out that the ball on my desk was also on my laptop and she asked if she could hold it. I told he it was her grandfather's football and showed her were he'd signed it. I traced his familiar signature with my finger Jefferson D. Keith. Her face lit up and she said his name Keith tooo! I said yea he was my father and that's why we are named Keith! That autograph of his never changed during his entire adult life.

I just drove my mom from Denver to Phoenix in her car. My brother had driven her from MO to Denver and I was to finish the last leg of her move with my sister. We got to stop in Fruita for a day and visit with the family. We went out to dinner at our favorite restaurant Enzo's and had a great Veteran's Day assembly at the girls school.

When we got to Phoenix my sister Carol asked if I wanted dad's football from the Sugar Bowl and of course I said yes! In the Phoenix airport I took those pictures and carried it loose on the plain. Several people asked about it and one guy said I need to put that in a museum or something! During the drive we talked about a lot but after a couple of hours my listening skills are fried and my mom continues to talk for fifteen straight hours. I'm still trying to short out all she shared but for know I will settle with not having been driven crazy the whole time. One thing I remember was her saying,  "Jeff, your father, tried very hard with you boys because his dad was a real SOB. His dad was mean, really mean, and a drinker. So when it came to being a father he just did what he always wanted his father to do and never did, like show affection and set a good example.

Seeing the McWilliams reunited in Phoenix was a good thing. I plan to go back to AZ with my girls after Christmas for a little family reunion with J and T and E and the McWilliams posse.

1964

I was using my brother's guest room and saw a scrap book of my dad's association career and in the back was a large envelope of all the letters of congratulations for being appointed Chairman of the Board at ASAE (American Society of Association Executives. Also in the envelope was this 1964 Passport! I had never seen this picture. Two years before I was born this is what my father looked like. My dad at 37 ten years younger than I am now. My wife is 37. She said he looks a lot older than she does. I think he looks a lot older than I do. I guess it is hard to see youself as old as you really are.

The first thought that went through my mind when I saw this was that in the Sixties my dad was a member of Men in Black. For what I know of him during that time it may be true. A couple of times he had mentioned he had worked for the CIA but gave it up for Law School. Between 1964 and 1967 he traveled extensicely in Europe, Berlin, France, London, Nederland, Drewitz. Who knows that man could keep a secret.

The Ferries Perfect Season

Undefeated. It means something. Even when you are not keeping score. The girls have always kept score. Chloe alway keeps score. This year they went undefeated. One game was close 3 - 2 a real nail biter, but I had to miss second half for mary's game.

Ferries Fall 2012! Undefeated!

Perfect Seasons don't come every year.

This is Dead Horse Point in Moab where the Ferries had their victory camp out! Suzy stayed with Kayla and her parents for the Home Meet! Kayla Qualified for States!

Let them fall open where they will.

Kayla wouldn't let me buy her book the other day. She said she would much rather have a debit card for her Kindle Fire so she could download her book instead. I think the romance of a book will be lost on this generation. At least she likes to read. This Kindle thing is amazing only I fear she is so attached to it that when it goes down, like every good computer will eventually, she will also meltdown.

This clip of wood box wisdom reminds me of how I read the Bible. I just open it and see what it wants me to know today. I wonder if I do this because my dad showed me. I do remember him buying paper backs at the beach in the summer. At the racks he would open one up stare at it for a few seconds and then put it back he would do this several times and eventually pick one. Once I asked what he was doing and he said he randomly opens a book and reads two pages and he then knows if it a story worth reading or a waste of time. When he would pick one he would read it voraciously. He usually would read it in one sitting or at least in one weekend.

As an experiment I am going to go to my Bible and see what It has for me today and I will share it with you.

I opened in Psalms...I love the , O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer...The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple...Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever...The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid...God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth should change...Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me...O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; His steadfast love endures for ever...Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved......

Then I flip to the New Testament...Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied...Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God...Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God...Blessed are you (Matthew)...

Great experiment! I should do this more often. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ amen.

hit them with your face

My friend at work was off to see his son's JV football game and off handedly said I should adopt a son or mentor one in football. Then I got an email with some great highlight shots of him in the game. This was my email response.

Awesome pictures. Jack looks great and doesn’t look at all like a Freshman to me. I’ve always said TE is the best position to play. Your pictures have inspired a post on dumbdumbdaddyo.blogspot.com which is a blog about my dad who taught me a lot about football. Chris, when you said I should adopt a son or mentor one in football I totally get what you meant. I’ve been thinking deep about what I would pass on to my son from my dad about football and what keeps coming to me is one of his great dumddumbdaddyoisms, “Hit him with your face!” This advice on several occasions kept me safe and allowed me to walk away with a concussion instead of a broken neck. Never spear, never lead with helmet, never put your head down, keep your chin up, keep your head UP, HIT HIM WITH YOUR FACE, he said these things over and over again. Hitting someone with your face may seem counter intuitive, but in football it does something magical. You see your way all the way through the hit, you greatly reduce your tendency to flinch just before contact, you start hitting with the sweet spots of the shoulder pads, you recover a lot more fumbles, catch a lot more passes, you fumble less, you beat everyone who puts their head down, you can see when a stiff arm will be useful, and most magically you will find a reflex that at the last instant throws your forearm up in front of your face and delivers the most devastating tool in the art of knocking people down, “The Forearm Shiver.” My dad also taught me how to harness the three greatest forces in the universe on the grid. Momentum, leverage and love and you would have to dig pretty deep into dumbdumbdaddyo to read my post on that. Attached is a team picture and my dad  #44 is in the front row. He was a Senior in 1951 and The Maryland Terrapins went 10 – 0 and then beat #1 ranked Tennessee in the Sugar Bowl.

My daughters are kicking butt in their sports and I couldn’t be more proud of each of them.

Chris I hope you are feeling better, hurts don’t it? Don’t come back too soon ;-)

Chris has recently broken his collar bone on his second ride with his new Trek road bike. This first draft of just hit them with your face or never put your head down was written right after looking at those pictures of Jack. I would posts them but have hit some technical difficulties. (Ah, figured it out). A great shot of him pancake blocking a defender and a bunch of him ketching passes as a TE! Those pictures really brought it back...

My dad taught me to never put my head down. He knew I was listening challenged and his way was to say things to me in several different ways over and over again hopping I’d listen to him at least a few. Keep your chin up. Don’t look down. Keep your head up. And my personal favorite, “Hit him with your face!”

Back in the day it was called spearing. Now they call it leading with your helmet. If you’ve read much of this blog you’d know the year my dad had his perfect season and played on the best college football team in the nation was 1952. They played with hard helmets and no face masks and his advice to me was to hit him with your face. Hit 'em with your face or you will break your neck. I suffered many concussions in my career and believe on many occasions I could have broken my neck if, at the moment before impact, I’d didn’t hear him in my head say, “HIT EM WITH YOUR FACE!”

This always helped me finish the hit and a coach once complimented me on a tackle in films when he said you can’t coach a person to hit like that. To run through someone, hit with your head up, and destroy them. I said it was my dad who taught me how to hit with my face.

Locker room celebration after the 1952 Sugar Bowl victory over #1 Ranked Tennessee to complete a perfect undefeated season. My dad, Jeff Keith, is under coach Tatum's left hand. Perfection looks like a lotta fun!

Art Modell wrote my dad a letter.

"Is there anything we can do?"

I think my dad kept this letter because it was such a great example of good customer service. My dad traded his Brown's season tickets for Maryland Terrapin season tickets when we moved from Cleveland to Maryland. When I heard Art Modell died today it made me think of my dad and this letter.

Larry and Luberta

When I was kid my DDD made me a sharp-shooter. I was a dead-pan shot with the bb gun so it was up to me to kill the flying squirrels that would infest our attic in Ocean Pines every year. I would stand on a latter with my upper half in the attic in the dark during the day and when their heads would poke up silhouetted in the light in the steeple of the rafters I would take them out. That was in the seventies. Recently, I was tempted to tap my assassin of small animal skills once again, fortunately fate would intervene.

Larry and Luberta were love birds. Pigeons actually, they were cruising our street looking for a love nest early this spring. They choose our attic or garage more specifically. I had left the access panel open in the ceiling of our garage and they set up house there just above our back door driving my children and dogs crazy. My kids were afraid, Tyler was livid, my wife put out a contract on them and Emma (our Golden Doodle) didn’t seem to have an opinion.

After a week of cooing and purring and pooping and Tyler (our Golden) barking his head off I had to take action. I put up the latter and as Suzy and the girls were pulling out on the driveway in the car I climbed up after the birds. I remember thinking, “What am I going to do when I get up there, grab them with my bare hands?” I also remember thinking that while I am holding on to the latter and reach eye level with the little beggars they could peck my eyes out. When I got face to face with the big one he did a little dance in a circle and puffed up his chest huge and I had the feeling he was about to attack so I reached out and grabbed him with my bare hands.

Zero panic. He got real calm and started to purr and then he started to bite me. His bites were ineffectual and the sense I got was that he was afraid of nothing. I took a step or two down the latter and threw him towards the open garage door. He flew out and then right back in and was coming after me. I climbed up and grabbed the littler one and threw her toward the door and she flew away, but Larry, he’s a fighter. He didn’t seem to like the idea of me closing the attic hatch, but I completed my mission and retreated into the house. Tyler was barking like a mad man.

For the next several weeks Larry and Luberta lived on the upper shelves of our garage and Larry kept getting more and more aggressive. Once he was coming right at me and I batted him with a removable doggie door. I wacked him pretty good and he crashed to the ground. He shook it off, danced his little jig, puffed up his chest, and came right back at me. I was stunned by his courage. He flew right at my face, but instead of hitting him again I thought I would let him take his best shot, he deserved it. Instead he landed right on my head and did his dance cooing and purring. He then he jumped down on my shoulder and purred right in my ear and literally gave me the chills. Larry and Luberta continued to live with us into the summer. They would perch on our window sills and watch us through the windows. They became a part of our little family and in the end only Tyler never fell to their charm.

One day Larry came up missing. Luberta looked so lonely without him. About a week went by and he shows up with two mangled feet. They were bloody and he could stand on one of them, but the other was definitely missing a few toes (if that’s what you call them). He couldn’t hold on to the window sills anymore so he hung out on the ground outside our front door. The girls fed him and petted him and gave him love. He healed up in a week or so. Then Luberta left him and he became really sad. He turned all his affections on me and my girls. We all love Larry.

He’s been missing a week or so. We checked and pigeons don’t migrate so we’re getting pretty worried about him. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s a fighter.