As a six year old, I didn’t like sleeping in that creepy house. The guest room was large and dark. Dark except for the eyes peering down from the ceiling. An old tin roof covered the housetop, but it leaked when the rain started. On clear nights the moon would shine through the small holes in the ceiling. To my mind, they looked like little eyes peeking down at me. They waited for me to go to sleep so they could begin dining on their little visitor.

“Nanny,” I called out. We called my grandmother on my dad’s side ‘Nanny’ and my grandfather ‘Grandeddy.’ She came in the room and I told her about the lights that looked like eyes.

“I didn’t know you were a fraidy-cat,” she said.

“I’m not a fraidy-cat. I just don’t like the eyes.” I didn’t know what a fraidy-cat was, but the way she said it, it couldn’t be good.

She left for a moment and came back with a straw broom. “Get out you booger bears,” she said while sweeping them across the floor. I wasn’t sure what good this would do, since the eyes were on the ceiling. I let her know my concern, but she said she still got them.

I knew better. Sure enough, when the light went off again, the eyes were still staring down at me. I tried to sleep with one eye open. Since I wasn’t eaten, that must have worked.

Grandeddy’s house was in the middle of nowhere. He grew up sharecropping and there wasn’t a neighbor in sight. My grandparents weren’t keen on adventure, so I had to make my own fun. This was where I mastered the art of catching lizards. Each time I visited, I came home with a box of scaly friends.

I also learned a less than stellar technique for harassing wasp nests. There was an old tractor barn near the house, and wasp loved to build under the overhang where the tractor used to be parked. The sense of danger beckoned, and we had fun making them stir while trying to stay outside of their attacking range. My sister found an old plank inside the barn and came up with what she thought was a brilliant plan. Hit the nest with the board. Oh, and I forgot to mention – the nest was about the size of a dinner plate, so it was loaded with wasps.

I declined to attack the nest with the board. That seemed a wee bit risky to me. Since I wouldn’t do it, my sister said she would. This was going to be great! I’d sit on the hill at a safe distance and watch the show. I could already see it. Judie whacking the nest, a hundred wasps attacking her noggin, and I would enjoy a cruel laugh at her expense. After all, nothing is more fun than watching a sibling get spanked. Only slightly second to that is watching them get stung. The only thing missing was popcorn and soda.

Judie worked up her nerve. She then took the board and got in a starting position. In a full sprint, she held the board up long ways and lined up with the nest as she ran. To my disappointment, she didn’t stop and hit the nest, but instead allowed the board to strike the nest as she ran under it. She kept running through the tractor parking spot, and kept running through the other side, and into the yard behind the barn. By the time the board hit the nest, she was already disappearing from the view of the angry horde. But the wasps would have their vengeance. If not on the attacker, any nearby victim would do. Unfortunately, I was the only warm blooded creature within their line of sight.

I had to be at least 90 feet from the nest, but they still zoned in on me. I watched one shoot from the nest and before I could think about moving, he hit me just below my right eye. I screamed and bolted for the house. Others swarmed, but thankfully, wasps don’t give much of a chase, so I only took one shot.

I was mad. Very mad. To make matters worse, Nanny said, “You shouldn’t have been messing with a wasp nest.”

I tried to explain that I was an innocent victim. It was Judie that messed with the nest, so she should have been the victim. Nanny wasn’t moved. Pain was pulsating through my cheek and eye, but she kept saying something about learning a lesson when she should have been saying, “Poor, poor, Eddie.” She did offer some ice cream to stop my mouth from wailing, but I was in no mood for sweets. Especially since my sister was standing behind the adults, pointing at me and snickering.

The injustice of it all! It should have been me snickering. Judie, if you read this, I still want a rematch!

Eddie Snipes 2012

Oh, did I mention that my book? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a latte? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

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For several hours we played games in Zach’s living room until my mother came calling. The doorbell rang and Zach’s mom let her in. She walked down the foyer and stepped one foot into the living room. That’s when she saw the monkey.

Mom is not an animal lover. She may like the beasts of the earth, but from a distance. When it comes to direct contact, mom isn’t a woman of the wild. Let me set the stage for this story with a few anecdotes to give an idea of Mom and nature. A good example is when my mother was viciously attacked by her earrings. These ear rings had stones at the end of a small chain. When she turned her head, the stone swung and tapped her on the neck, just below the ear. Mildly concerned that it might be a bug, she swiped it away. It didn’t go away. Instead, the stone regrouped and returned to her neck with greater force. A few quick bounces off her skin created an alarming look on Mom’s face. She swiped again. The offending earring continued swarming around her neck. Convinced she was being assaulted by a beast of the insect world, mom started beating the earring with a panicked look on her face.

It took me and Dad a few minutes to figure out what was happening. She jumped up and continued swatting while we looked to see what was eating at her. I think all three of us realized what was happening at the same time. It was her blue stoned earrings that had launched the assault. Ah, few things are more enjoyable than having a good laugh at someone else’s expense.

My mother also had a great fear of dogs. It stemmed from a childhood incident with a vicious dog. Knowing her fear, I decided to play a joke on her. My sister was just learning to drive and we stopped in a neighborhood to give her a little driving time. When we stopped the car, Mom noticed a German Shepherd sitting on a porch. He seemed mildly interested in us, but clearly wasn’t concerned enough to leave his comfy porch. Dad was going to be in the passenger seat, my sister was going to move to the driver’s seat, and Mom was coming to the back seat with me. I was in the seat behind the driver, so Mom had to walk around the car to the passenger side rear door.

“What if he comes after me,” Mom said.

“He’s not moving,” Dad said. “He won’t even pay attention to you.”

After much coaching, mom opened her door. My sister slipped in as mom stepped out. I couldn’t resist. “Lookout Mom!” I cried out. “He’s coming after you!”

Of course, the dog hadn’t moved, but I knew it would get a response from her. And a response I got! Instead of going around the car to get in, she yanked open my door and leaped in. She landed on top of me. I was sitting on my feet, so her landing on top of me twisted my knee. I cried out in pain and mom shouted for my sister to hit the gas. All she cared about at that point was to get away from the house with the dog.

I lamented my pain, but mom showed absolutely no remorse for causing my agony. In fact, she did the opposite. “It serves you right,” she said.

“But you hurt my knee,” I bemoaned.

She still didn’t seem concerned. As I recall, her final comment was something to the effect of, “Next time you’ll think twice about doing something like that.” Mom was right. I did weigh the risks to me before playing that kind of a trick again.

One last example I’ll share is the incident with the spider. Mom was ironing a shirt and a spider decided the neighborhood was getting too hot, so he evacuated. Mom saw the beast hanging from the ironing board. She later recounted that she was afraid to stomp it. “I was afraid that he would jump out of the way and then jump on my leg,” she said.

We have ninja spiders in Georgia.

A great solution came to mind and she took the spray starch and dowsed the critter. Figuring the spider would stiffen up and die, she went back to ironing. A couple of minutes later, she felt something wet slowly crawling up her leg. The starched spider refused to go down without a fight. Those ninja spiders were tough little boogers.

This gives you an idea of how my mom relates to the animals of the earth. Wild or tame, they are all the same.

Now in Zach’s house, she stepped into the living room, saw the spider monkey, and froze in her tracks. The spider monkey was sitting on a lamp, playing with an ABC block. His back was to the foyer. Though mom made no sound, he sensed her. And he smelled her fear.

For hours the monkey had been playing happily and entertaining himself, while ignoring every person in the house. He always ignored people – except for my mother. The moment she froze, he froze. He stopped turning the block and his face took on a weird expression. Slowly he turned his head and looked at mom over his shoulder.

She took a step back.

He dropped off the lamp and onto the table.

She stepped back again.

He dropped to the floor.

She took another step back.

He took a step toward her.

Mom turned and ran full speed toward the front door. The monkey went crazy. He flew after her like something possessed. Fortunately, mom had a good head start. She pulled open the door and slammed it behind her. Just as the door slammed, the monkey hit it. He had leapt at her and hit the door in flight, narrowly avoiding having his head smashed by the closing door.

Afterward she said her only regret was missing the monkey’s head. I could tell by the glow in Mom’s cheeks that they had formed a special bond. One that will be remembered forever.

Eddie Snipes 2012

Oh, did I mention that my book? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a latte? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

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Several attempts later  it was clear that our truck wasn’t going up that hill. My Uncle Henry didn’t live far from where we were, so we walked to his house. When he heard our predicament, he said, “I’ve got just the thing.” Henry grabbed a chain and sheet of plywood, loaded us in his truck and away we went.

Henry assessed the situation. His plan had been to chain our truck to his, but the chain wasn’t long enough, and he knew his truck would get stuck if he tried to drive down the slick clay hill. So he went to ‘plan b’. He pulled the sheet of plywood from his truck and placed it under Dad’s back tires.

“You drive over the plywood while I pull you up with the chain,” he said. Henry didn’t mean he was going to pull us with the truck. He was going to pull us with his body.

I didn’t think that could work. I don’t think Dad thought much of the idea either. But Henry insisted on trying it, and since there weren’t many other options, Dad gave it a try.

Now Henry was a big man. He’s probably the strongest man I’ve ever met. He didn’t work out. All his strength was born of hard labors and genetics. But I was certain that even Henry couldn’t pull a full sized truck up a rain slicked clay hill. But he insisted that he could.

His plan was simple. Dad was to put the plywood under the back tires and drive over it while Henry pulled the chain hooked to the bumper. That would keep the front end from sliding sideways, and he would pull so the truck wouldn’t slide back down. I was about eight at the time and even I could see the flaw in this plan. But Henry was going to give it a try.

Henry’s face turned red as he pulled with all his might and dad accelerated. The truck drove over the plywood and began spinning its wheels.

“Okay, George,” Henry said through his grunts, “now move the plywood back under the tires again.”

Dad moved the wood, climbed back in, and inched the truck forward. Henry strained and the truck slowly moved uphill until the plywood was behind the tires again. Dad got out, moved the wood, and started forward again. Henry grunted, huffed, and pulled. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the truck slowly moved up that steep hill. How Henry found the energy to keep pulling for so long amazes me to this day, but for at least an hour, maybe longer, he kept that chain tight to keep the truck from sliding, and he pulled with extra effort when the truck was trying to climb. He did this until at last, the truck crested the slick hill and found enough traction to drive on its own.

Note to self. Don’t make Henry angry.

Eddie Snipes 2012

Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

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Eddie Snipes: Steve, what’s your interest in this topic?  

J. Steve Miller: I’m a skeptic at heart, in the sense that I never accept anything at face value and always question everything. In high school, whenever people attacked the Christian faith, I bought relevant books and took their objections seriously, as much to answer my own questions as theirs. During my academic career, I acquired the tools of religious research, studying Greek, Hebrew, comparative religions, logic, philosophy, critiques of Christianity, etc. As a result, I concluded that Christianity was supported by abundant evidence and that attacks on the faith could be answered satisfactorily. It’s not based upon blind faith as Dawkins caricatures Christianity.

ES: So what motivated you to write it?

JSM:  My church asked me to present a seminar responding to The New Atheism, which I’d not read up on, due to my work and family responsibilities.  The God Delusion was the most popular and respected book of the movement, so I read it carefully and took voluminous notes. The book just begs for a response for several reasons:

1 – Dawkins’ intent is to convert, not to lay out the facts in an objective manner. He’s an evangelist for atheism. Dawkins fumes and rages against God and religion. He makes fun of Christians. Readers will either love or hate the book, but you can’t remain neutral.

2 – The book exhibits horrid scholarship. People who’ve never studied Christianity in depth probably won’t realize that he’s playing fast and loose with facts. So you go to Amazon and find all these five star reviews. I suppose readers see that he taught at Cambridge and assume that he’s gotten his facts straight. But studied people – both believers and unbelievers – know that he tends to spout nonsense. Professor Michael Ruse stated, “The God Delusion makes me embarrassed to be an atheist….”  

Dawkins typically misrepresents what Christians believe, avoids the strongest arguments for the opposition, doesn’t appear to even be even remotely acquainted with the main works of Christian apologetics and routinely makes up “facts.” As such, it’s not just an attack on Christianity – it’s an attack on truth in general. It screams for a response, not just to defend Christianity, but to clear up the nonsense.

ES – I’ve read The God Delusion and agree with you completely. But you’re talking in generalities. Give us some specifics. Where does Dawkins spout nonsense?

JSM: Dawkins starts with examining Albert Einstein. He wants to give the impression that smart, informed, modern scientists don’t believe in God, so it would be rather embarrassing if Einstein – the very poster child for “smart scientists” – believed in God. In brief, he gives some quotes where Einstein describes his belief in God in rather vague terms and concludes that Einstein is a closet atheist who merely renamed the universe “God.” According to Dawkins, Einstein used God language to keep from offending the uninformed.

My first observation on this argument is that, since Dawkins is no recognized authority on Einstein, I expect him to show me some consensus of true Einstein scholars on this point. After all, a few quotes out of their context can prove almost anything. Holding an earned Ph.D. (in animal behavior), you can bet that Dawkins knows how to do serious research. Why didn’t he do it here?

So let’s consult an Einstein expert. Walter Isaacson’s recent, respected biography of Einstein includes a chapter on Einstein’s religion.  After a massive study of Einstein’s letters, writings, and writings about Einstein, Isaacson concluded that Einstein indeed believed in the existence of God. Here’s his reasoning:

1 – Einstein consistently claimed to believe in God.

2 – Einstein consistently denied being an atheist.

2 – Einstein was not one to bow to public opinion. He said precisely what he thought, even when it got him into trouble.  

4 – Einstein said he hated it when people used him to justify the atheist cause.

ES - Give us one more example.

JSM - Let’s go to Dawkins’ main chapter where he argues for atheism. He leads with an analogy given by Sir Fred Hoyle, the venerable British astronomer and mathematician. Hoyle painstakingly worked through the mathematical probability of the first living cell coming together by chance. He illustrated his result by saying that the odds of a cell coming together by random processes was about the chance of a Boeing 747 coming together because of a hurricane randomly stirring up the parts in a junkyard.  

Dawkins replies that even if the odds of the first cells coming together were one in a billion, that since there are a billion billion planets out there, the odds are actually pretty good that a cell would form on one of them.

The problem with Dawkins’ argument is that he either failed to read Hoyle’s calculations, or simply refused to reveal Hoyle’s odds. Hoyle concluded (I read two of Hoyle’s books on this topic) that the odds of the first cell coming together (actually, just the odds of one small part of the cell coming together) were 1 chance in 10 to the 40,000th power, which is an unimaginably worse chance than Dawkins used (one chance in 10 to the 9th power) in his calculations. Dawkins apparently picked a number out of the air that would work for his argument.  Using Hoyle’s calculations would have totally destroyed his argument.

ES: Did you target scholars?

JSM: No. I wrote it for the general public, but documented my sources and recommended other books to take you deeper.  I’ll force you to think, but I tried to avoid insider philosophical or scientific language, so that most anyone could understand it. I also made it cheap – 99 cents on Kindle – so that lack of funds wouldn’t hinder a financially strapped college student from getting the other side of Dawkins.

 ES: Why should people read your book?

JSM: These issues are important. If a God truly exists who loves us, we’d do well to seek Him. If he doesn’t exist, why waste your time going to church? If you’re a believer, you should be equipped to humbly defend your faith (I Peter 3:15) when honest seekers need answers. My book can provide a brief (about 60 pages) introduction to Christian evidences.

About J. Steve Miller

In addition to writing Richard Dawkins and His God Delusion: A preliminary critique of his truth claims, Miller has written several other books and writes youth ministry resources and character and life skills resources. He lives in the metro Atlanta.  

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I’ve read and highly recommend Steve’s book. In fact, I think everyone should read it! Seem my review on Amazon by clicking here.

One year a water moccasin moved into the area below the dam. Sometimes in the daytime he could be seen swimming in the large hole where we caught the carp. He looked to be at least seven feet long. Knowing he was around put us on high alert, so we scanned the area with a flashlight before settling in to fish. Not having much luck in the big hole, we decided to go fish in the potholes around the area. These holes formed by rocks becoming stuck in a depression, and as the heavy currents poured over the rocks, these became grindstones that moved back and forth with the current to carve out these holes. They were smooth and some were very deep. We couldn’t reach the bottom with a stick.

Fish would often get trapped in these holes and were easy pickings. Some of these holes were no bigger than the size of a dish, but behind the muddy water was a fish ready to be caught. I’d drop my line into the hole and a fish would snag it. I’d keep catching until I got no more bites. After heavy rains, these were good places to catch fish.

We were going along the holes catching fish when I had a strange encounter. I stepped across a watery hole, and while straddling it, something started thrashing wildly. Thinking it might be a big fish, I called for Torrey to hand me the flashlight. It was something big alright, but it wasn’t a fish. It was the giant water moccasin. He was striking at me and had missed at least six times. How, I have no idea. Must be me putting my guardian angel to work again.

Upon our discovery, we knew it was our opportunity to kill the beast of terror. Torrey went after a stick. He then asked for me to shine a light so he could see. Torrey found a satisfactory club and returned. But in the moment the light was off the snake, he disappeared. I had no idea which way he went. We cautiously hunted, but didn’t find him.

The next night we returned with our fishing gear, but this time we knew the snake was nearby, so we were on high alert. Torrey already had a battering club in hand. It was dark, so we shined the flashlight before walking anywhere. As we walked across the rock face, Torrey froze. I stopped and said, “What?”

“I think you better move,” he said.

I looked down and my foot was inches from the snake’s head. The curved rock provided a shadow just deep enough to keep the snake out of my view. But when Torrey crested the rock, his flashlight beam unveiled the shadow. I calmly screamed and did a backflip. Torrey eased over the rock, keeping the snake in the beam. He handed me the flashlight and put down his tackle. “Don’t take the light off him.”

Torrey then eased up to the snake, raised his club, and struck the snake’s head. It started to move, but he struck it again, and again, and again. He kept hammering away for quite some time. “Torrey,” I said, “You can relax. He’s very dead.”

Undeterred, he kept hammering. “I’m making sure that no part of him is alive.”

Note to self. Don’t make Torrey angry.

Eddie Snipes 2012

Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

Feel free to email me by clicking here.

Don’t forget to look at the menu to the right and connect with me on Google+, sign up for email updates, or follow my blog. ——————>

Support a writer!

I Called Him Dancer is about a boy growing up in a broken home. His fragile world is shattered when his mother leaves him with a relative and walks out of his life. After seeing a man dancing with grace and acrobatics, he decides to imitate the man and discovers a natural talent for dance. His life’s passion becomes dance and eventually the young man achieves his dream of Broadway. A drug addiction and his inner demons destroy his life and he eventually becomes homeless. His previous dance partner refuses to let go and reaches out to him, but he rejects her. Bitter at God and the world, the dancer embraces a solitary life on the streets. Though he lashes out at God, the Lord has other plans for the fallen dancer.

You can purchase ‘Dancer’, the song that inspired this book by visiting the MP3 store. Search for Tralena Walker or Dancer.

*** See what readers are saying ***

This was a very moving story, a story of the redemption of God. It was extremely well written. I have recommended it to all my friends. I was very teary at times reading it.  – J. Teague

"I Called Him Dancer" is a page turner that will be hard for you to leave! Eddie has captured the heart and soul of his characters, and has given insight into many controversial topics, such as homelessness, drug addiction, and the power of God in our lives!

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Eddie has a unique gift of being able to weave his characters into each other’s lives, without the reader getting lost, or being able to see what the end result will reveal!

This book ended up not only being a great love story, but one of hope and encouragement to help each reader face their own circumstances and know they can win too!

Thanks Eddie for sharing Dancer with us, and I agree this should be a movie! I can even imagine who could play your characters too! Hope you are working on that now!

Look forward Eddie to future works of your art; and I can see how this could be a series too! – S. Falcone

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This book is a page turner from cover to cover, Eddie makes you feel like you actually know the characters in his book. – B. Tillman, OR.
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Almost too good to put into words. …you’ll find yourself saying, "Just one more chapter". K. McNabney, IL
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This book is a must read. Through this book the reader will learn about true love and the power it holds.  T. Franklin, TX
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I loved this book from cover to cover, the author makes you feel like you actually 
know the characters in his book. T. Webster

About the Author

G. Edward Snipes is a freelance writer, president of the Christian Authors Guild, and founder of Exchanged Life Ministries. He has had four award winning short stories, and regularly has articles published on several online ministries. Visit his ministry site at exchangedlife.com or his personal blog at eddiesnipes.com.

Download a copy for free at Amazon.com by clicking here. Offer ends tonight at midnight.

The Top Page

My son is amazing.  He really is.  Even through all of the dyslexia stuff, he had a way of being able to express what was going on with him.  Like that first night I knew it was dyslexia…

As I lay there, putting him to sleep, I asked, “So reading is kind of hard, huh?”

He said, “Yeah.”

I said, “So can the other kids read better than you?”

“Yeah, they brag a lot.”

“Brag?”

“They say, ‘I can read this. I can read that.’”

“And you can’t?”

“No.”

Long pause.

“So when you read, do you guess a lot?” I asked.

He looked at me with a very puzzled expression.  “Mom, that’s all reading is is is a lot of guessing.”

*~*

He’s just like that.  He grasps things on a deeper level, and he can explain his experience so I can understand too.  Like yesterday… Now that we have the underlying causes of the dyslexia handled (his vision problems), we are working diligently to catch up with where he should be in terms of grade level work.

One of the things that almost immediately snapped to attention was spelling.  He has gone from struggling and struggling to being able to do 90% of the spelling list on Monday–even if he’s never studied some of the words for spelling. (Yes, it is a miracle!)

Well, we were studying the four hard words for the week:  since (confused with sense), been (that extra e was throwing him), through (those last four letters must be memorized for how they look not how they sound), and Christmas (silent h, and swallowed t).  I have come to understand that we spell certain words by how they sound and others almost wholly by how they look. If it’s a sound word, he can do it.  If it’s a look word, it’s going to take some work.

So we started with since and through.  I’d had him write them four times each the night before.  So we were going to see how well he remembered them.

I said, “Since,” and he started to write it incorrectly.  Then he stopped.

“Wait,” he said and stared off into space as if trying to read something really far away.

“What are you doing?” I asked to see if he could articulate how he was locating how that word looked in his brain.

To which he said, “Just a second.  I’m sorting through all the papers because it’s not on the top page.”

I kind of laughed.  “The top page?”

“Yeah, you know, on the top page in my brain.  Oh. There it is.  S. I. N. C. E.”

Then we did through.  Same thing.  He had to “search through the papers in his brain” to find it.  When he located it, he knew how to spell it.

As I drove him to school this morning, we were etching Christmas down on his brain.  We did since, which he spelled automatically, and through which he also spelled automatically.

I said, “So why can you spell those now?”

He smiled, “Because they’re on the top page. I don’t have to go looking for them.”

I told him that my top page is really long, but under that I have file cabinets in my brain that I can go hunt for stuff that’s not on the top page.  He smiled.  “You must have a lot of stuff in there!”

Then I asked him if he could tell me what had been on his top page before he’d done vision therapy.  He thought for a long time, and then got that same puzzle expression.  “Mom, the top page was just blank before.”

Well, no wonder we were having so much trouble!

I think we will get to the point that he has vaults of cabinets with pages stuffed in his brain.  The cool thing is, even in third grade he is learning to access those pages so he can use them.  How wonderful is that? 

Yes, dyslexia has been a challenge in our family, but it has also taught me so much about how others’ experience shapes what they can and can’t do and how simply asking questions to understand their experience can make what you didn’t understand before. 

I’m so proud of my son for the hard work he’s put in against seemingly insurmountable obstacles. With a determined mom, a hard working child, the key of vision therapy, and teachers who really care, those obstacles are one-by-one becoming mere learning experiences that have helped us help others.

In short, they have become blessings rather than stumbling blocks!  How cool is that?

-

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Regardless of weather, there was always a good spot to fish. There was an old stone dam at what we called ‘the top of the river’. Water pouring over the dam had cut a deep hole in the rock over the years. Actually, there were thousands of holes. One was about half the size of a football field. We called this one the carp hole. Carp weren’t good for eating, but they were fun to catch.

Pappy took me carp fishing one evening. He baited a large hook with corn kernels and we cast it to the bottom where the behemoths dwelled. It wasn’t long before one took my line. After a fierce battle, I pulled out a ten pound carp. I was beside myself with delight.

For brim fishing, we would go down to the shoals. We’d cast into the current and let the bobber float down until it reached the calmer waters. It rarely made it when the fish were biting. Then there were the eddy waters. The locals called them the first eddy water, second eddy water, and third eddy water. These were the bodies of water where the current gently swirled in a calm but deep portion of the river. These were great for bass and catfish. Way down river, at the end of my exploration territory, were the rock houses. It was an area where the river was almost like a canyon. High up were rock formations that were like mini caverns. People often camped up there, hence the name, rock houses. The rock houses is where my cousin was snake bitten.

Then there was the race. When the days were hot, the fish would quit biting everywhere but the race. There was an old mill beside the dam. Back in the old days, water would run through the mill to run machinery. I don’t know much about what was inside because it was mostly abandoned in those days. Later on it became an indoor flea market, but now it is loft apartments. On the backside of the mill, the water harvested through the dam rushed under the mill and out into the river. It was like a reverse fork in the river. After passing through the man-made ravine, it would later join the yellow river again.

What made the race so nice is that the water was always swift. Since it never sat long enough to get heated by the sun, the fish never grew sluggish in the race. There was a concrete wall coming off the mill. From there it was about a ten foot drop to the water.

On a hot August afternoon, I hit all my favorite fishing spots but nothing was biting. The race wasn’t my first choice for fishing. In fact, it was my last choice. The water was fast so it was a constant cast and reel place. I’d cast my line in, and within thirty seconds, it had drifted down stream and was being pushed against the shore. That’s where the snags were. Few things were more annoying than losing a hook to an underwater root.

With no active fish, the only option was the race. I took my spot on the wall and started casting and reeling. Thirty minutes later, not one bite. Soon after, a man emerged from the woods carrying a fishing rod, his tackle, and a coffee can. He sat on the wall beside me and opened the can. A stench emerged. I wrinkled my nose and asked, “What is that?”

“Them’s maggots,” the man said. He lifted his coffee can to show me. He then explained how he raises maggots in potato juice – err, I mean ‘po-tater juice’. “They’s some of the best bait you can git.” He smiled a half-toothed grin and lifted the can again. “Wanta try some?”

“No, but thanks.” I rolled my eyes and went back to casting. What kind of a sicko would raise maggots in rotten potato juice? And what idiot would stick his hand in that stuff to get them out?

The man did just that. He reached in and grabbed a wiggling maggot and put it on his hook. With his baited hook, he sent the line flying with a zing. It hit the water and the bobber sank. It disappeared so quickly I thought it was a busted float. But when his rod bent downward, I looked up in surprise. I’ve been here for over half an hour and nothing. The line barely hit the water and he’d caught a fish. He put the fish on a stringer, re-maggoted the hook, and cast again. He couldn’t have been catching fish faster unless they leaped out of the water to catch the hook. At times I was almost sure they were doing just that. He literally caught six fish in about six minutes. His slow reeling was his only limitation.

He unhooked the next fish and smirked at me. The man picked up his can, raised his eyebrows at me, and pushed the can toward me again. The maggots looked a little prettier this time. And what the heck. I can always wash my hands, right?

I might have become ‘one of those idiots’, but I came back with a good mess of fish that day.

Eddie Snipes 2012

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Last week I ended with sharing my battle with yellow jackets at my childhood friend Torrey’s house. I must confess that the battle on Torrey hill was my only one-sided victory with yellow jackets. That is if you don’t count the times they had the one-sided triumphs. Though I’ve had dozens of encounters with yellow volcanoes, I have only two more worth mentioning.

The first one involves my time as a construction worker. It was shortly after I graduated high school and I had a job working for a concrete wall company. Our job was to take six foot by three foot forms, pin them together, and set them to hold tons of concrete in order to form a solid wall. A lot of these construction sites were houses on wooded property.

To carry the forms from the truck to the build site, it was easier to balance them over your head and carry with arms extended upward. It was also great exercise.

One thing I’ve learned is that when you are in motion, it’s the person behind the one who disturbs the nest that receives the wrath of the yellow cloud. And I was the second one in motion. The first guy grabbed a form and tromped through a grassy area. As I approached the grass, I saw the cloud pouring out of the demonic hole. They were swirling in a circle, trying to decide who to take vengeance upon.

I froze. The cloud was merely ten feet in front of me, but didn’t seem to notice my presence. Of course, I can’t stand there with a sixty pound aluminum form over my head and wait for them to simmer down, so I decided to ease back. I moved my left foot back very slowly. It wasn’t slow enough. The demonic horde detected the motion and every yellow jacket stopped at the same time. In unison, they all turned toward me. It looked like something from a cartoon. But I knew from experience, these cartoon characters had a strong punch.

I heard demonic screams coming from the mass of yellow and they all charged toward me. I decided that they needed the aluminum form more than I did, so I tossed it to them. I think it might have been too heavy for them, because about half the horde disappeared. The rest were undeterred, so I used my secret karate moves as I ran backward. I could feel the thumps of bees as I swatted them down while sprinting in reverse.

Somehow I managed to get out of their attacking zone with only one sting on the elbow. All in all, I thought that was a good victory. At least I took out a good number of them.

Someone asked me what I was doing. I guess the swarm of bees didn’t provide a strong enough clue, so I had to spell it out. One of the guys said, “Ah, I ain’t scared of a few bees.” He then walked over and grabbed the form I had tossed, walked by the nest and to the build site. He swatted a few times, but didn’t seem to mind.

He was a bigger man than I. I grabbed another form and made a wide arch away from the nest. I still don’t know how that guy could stand getting stung each time he walked by the nest. He was known for his drinking. Maybe being snockered all the time has it’s privileges.

Rock climbing up Yellow Hill

My greatest yellow jacket adventure came when I went rock climbing with two friends, Cade and Steve. Actually, we didn’t quite make it to the climbing part. It was my first time rock climbing, and after we left, my wife and daughters prayed for God’s intervention on my behalf. I think they were thinking the Lord would keep me from falling off the mountain, but He had a little something extra in mind.

The three of us drove to Sand Rock, AL to a place popular with rock climbers. With adventure on our minds, we left the car and headed down a trail leading to the rocky cliffs. Cade led the way and Steve brought up the rear.

I heard and odd commotion behind me, and Steve was laying on his back making strange gestures. After a minute of flailing, he climbed to his feet and started running in my direction. Though I didn’t know why, I assumed it was for good reason, so I decided to match his pace. That’s when I looked back and saw the familiar yellow cloud. My arch nemesis. And the demons were mad. Very mad.

One decided to take out our leader and stung Cade on the back of the head. Since he wore a close shave, it was a direct hit. It must have hurt, but it was the only sting Cade received.

Steve wasn’t so lucky. We counted fourteen stings.

We stopped to regroup about fifty yards from the site of the attack, but a few daring bees continued to pursue us. I watched one attacking everything in sight. It attacked a pebble, then a small twig, and another pebble, and then my shoe. I let him commit and then stomped. Would you believe that little bugger dodged and attacked my other shoe? I stomped with the other foot, but he dodged again. I then tap-danced like Fred Astaire, but I couldn’t connect with the little beast.

Then I lost sight of him. I looked around, but couldn’t find him. I knew he was in a battle frenzy and still in the area, so I decided it was time to vacate. Soon after my departure, I heard Steve scream again. He found the bee. That was number fifteen.

He came running my way and we began leaping from boulder to boulder on the edge of Mount Doom. One false step and it would have been over. I looked over the cliff where we were leaping and started laughing at the thought of two grown men risking their lives to get away from a flying bug that was only half an inch long.

Eventually the demons returned to their hades hole and we regrouped to count our injuries. Or should I say ‘their injuries’. Sting count: me – 0, Cade – 1, Steve – 15. Steve had earned an overwhelming victory.

Believe it or not, they still wanted to climb. But since Steve was now complaining about a ringing in his ears, I didn’t think that was a good idea. I could just imagine him going into an allergic coma about halfway up the cliff.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later he started getting sick. I knew we had to get him out of there, but that meant facing the evil hordes. What was worse is the fact that we didn’t actually know where their hades hole was located. I had a general idea based on where Steve began his writhing.

We cautiously moved forward, looking for a hole on the trail. Only it wasn’t on the trail. It was in the side of a hill beside the trail. As I walked along, Steve said, “I see a bunch of them behind you.”

That wasn’t good. Steve fled back the way we came, and I ran in circles trying to figure out where they were coming from. I trotted a little ways from the trail and looked back. A yellow bullet shot from the hole and hit me on the head. But it missed stinging me. Then it dropped between my glasses and my eye. I heard an awful buzzing frenzy and the critter fought like a cat trapped in a paper sack.

I swatted him away – along with my glasses. Glasses I had just spent $400 on the week before. As the glasses tumbled through the air, I took a step to retrieve them, thought about the angry horde in the direction my glasses flew, and decided it might be better to sneak back in later to get my vision enhancers. I left my spectacles to fight the insane bee alone while I retreated back to where Steve had gone.

I now knew where the demons lived, and there was no good way to get back on the trail leading home. Time for plan B.

Cade joined us and I led the way around the hive by climbing on the rocks on the side of the mountain, just out of sight of the horde. Looking back I realize that a guy missing his glasses probably wasn’t the best one to lead the escape party. But since they didn’t volunteer, I led.

Rocks dropped off the side of the mountain and it was hard to find a good way back. But then I saw the perfect spot. There were two large boulders that made a V shape, creating a perfect slide into a soft-looking patch of black dirt. It was a steep slide, but the soft dirt looked like it would cushion me enough to make a safe landing.

Cade looked over my shoulder and said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I wisely replied, “If Hong-Kong Fooey can do it, so can I.” In case you don’t know who that is, Hong-Kong Fooey was a cartoon character that bungled almost everything. Prophetic words indeed.

I sat in the V and started my slide. My backside hit some leaves and friction disappeared. I shot down the steep incline and something else disappeared. The soft dirt. I wasn’t wearing glasses and what looked like dirt to my limited vision was actually blackness. It was a crater that disappeared into the rocky side of the mountain. I would later come back to see that it was about a twenty-foot drop into jagged rocks in a cavernous side of the mountain.

I’m now speeding down the mountain so fast my lips are flapping in the wind, and the hole came into focus. Fortunately, it wasn’t until the last second that it came into view. This prevented me from panicking. As my feet went into the hole, I threw my arms out. It happened so fast, I don’t know what I grabbed. I suspect it was angel’s hands. I briefly saw darkness as my body disappeared into the hole, followed by my head. Then I shot back up like a cork, kicked off the V-shaped rock, and landed safely on the other side.

For some reason no one else was willing to follow my lead any longer.

When I returned to look for my glasses the next day, I visited the Hong-Kong Fooey slide with my dad. He said, “How did you reach the sides to keep from falling in?”

I looked and wondered at that myself. It looked far too wide to reach both sides at once. We leaned over an looked into the shadows and I realized how close I came to hearing the angels sing. Fortunately, the angels were dispatched to prevent me from making the Darwin awards, rather than taking me to my eternal home.

I never did find my $400 glasses, but all things considered, that was a good trade-off. I also retired from rock climbing. Or should I say, from almost rock climbing.

Eddie Snipes 2012

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I’ve shared this before, but now it’s an Easter tradition. Enjoy the joy of childhood memories!

It was Easter morning. My mother flicked on the light in my room and shook me awake. I tried to bully the sleep from my eyes with my fists, but when I saw the dark purple sky outside,I pulled the covers over my head and rolled over. My snoozing was snatched away when my mother returned, pulled off the covers, and forced me into action.

I was seven years old, and my sister was eight. We dragged ourselves to the car, grumbling about being tired. Easter sunrise service was not as exciting as catching a few more winks of sleep. How could we sing praises to the Lord with a merry heart, when we didn’t even have the energy to sit up? My mother relented, tossed a couple of blankets into the car, and we were off to church.

A piano, pulpit, and the choir gathered behind the church on a precipice that overlooked a pasture. As the service progressed, the sun rose over rolling hills, providing worshipers with a picturesque view behind the preacher.

My mother placed us in the front and back seats as she draped blankets over our lifeless bodies, then joined the choir for the annual sunrise service. There must have been something magical in the way the piano played, for once the music hit our ears, our weary bodies were resurrected with new life.

I’m sure my sister started it. She might tell you otherwise, but don’t believe her. I was watching the service and soaking in the music, when she attacked me. I had no choice but to defend myself. We were locked in mortal combat when my sister tumbled backwards and sat on the horn. It was loud and long. We looked to see if anyone noticed. The windows were now fogged up, so we assumed that if we couldn’t see out, they couldn’t see in.

I dove to the back seat, and my sister followed. We then dove to the front seat. My sister fell against the horn again. Another long blare. I fought to regain control of the battle, and grabbed the only thing within my grasp. It wasn’t the horn. It was the steering wheel. However, as I pulled myself up, my elbow hit the horn and it blasted the congregation again. But that was my sister’s fault, because she was pushing down on me.

We continued to leap back and forth like two squirrels fighting for territory. At last count, we had made twenty-five leaps across the seats, and only four horn blares. Three for her, but only one for me. All things considered, that was a pretty good percentage. Have you ever tried hand-to-hand combat in a cramped car without hitting the horn?

My mother and father weren’t happy. After arriving home, my sister and I weren’t happy. For some reason, my mother wasn’t impressed with the fact that only one horn honk was the result of physical contact with my body. She describes the scene as a car, rocking violently with an occasional blasting of the horn. Like my sister and I, she was also grateful that the windows were fogged up so no one could identify the children inside. Unfortunately, everyone watched my parents climb into the car after church.

I discovered that the car horn was a distraction to the outdoor sunrise service.

I also learned that parents do not enjoy being humiliated in front of the church. When the Easter Bunny came to deliver our baskets, my dad shot him and my mother buried his corpse in the back yard – along with the treats he’d brought for good boys and girls.

Few churches conduct sunrise services these days, but if they do, and you are disposed to go, do not leave weary children in the car. If you do, be sure to disconnect the battery or disable the horn.

Eddie Snipes 2012

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It’s surprising how many encounters I’ve had with those tiny beasts. I still remember my first encounter with the tiny hordes from hell. As a young boy I discovered that there were openings in the ground that went right down to the netherworld. The holes were deceptively small, but tiny yellow demons poured out by the thousands.

We had a great neighborhood where I grew up. The kids roamed en mass. And what could be better for a group of sojourners than to have woods and fields of cow pastures surrounding us? Where large neighborhoods now reside was once forest and pasture land that could not be explored in a single day. Or a single childhood for that matter.

On a warm summer day, a group of eight to ten of us launched out for a pasture adventure. My sister and her friends joined up with me and my friends and we headed off on our journey. Knowing it would be a long day, we stocked up on water and Ritz crackers. I don’t remember much about that day except the catastrophic events that drove us to abandon the voyage and rush back home.

A grassy knoll caught our attention. It was the perfect place to stop and rest while crunching on a few crackers. I bit a Ritz and felt a pain in my leg. That seemed kind of odd, so I bit again. Sure enough, another pain hit my leg in a slightly different spot. Then I felt another pain – this time without eating a cracker. I looked down and saw several bright yellow and black bees on my pants. Then a yellow cloud engulfed us all.

Being the heroic young man I was, I took off running. I could tell by the directions the screams were traveling that my decision looked good to the rest of the gang. Not only did I flee the hordes of yellow demons, but I also kept running until I got home. In my flight, one nailed me on my left earlobe and I knew medical intervention would be necessary. The entire expedition crew poured into our house and first aid began.

Just as I began to feel safe, the worst pain of my young life struck me in the groin. And then again. Most people don’t know this, but I invented break dancing. This is where it began.

Apparently, a yellow demon was inside of my pants leg, but stinging in the wrong direction. After ten minutes of stinging without getting a satisfactory response, he decided to turn around and sting the other way. This produced the response he was looking for. I heard a buzz that sounded a lot like snickering, and then he hit me again.

Modesty lost all meaning and I stripped down in front of boys, girls, and pets. That spawn of the devil was still snickering, but a quick stomp and I showed him who was boss. And then I howled for morphine. Unfortunately, it had already been used on the other patients and I had to settle for chewed up cigarette tobacco. Rumor was that this glop of brown ooze would draw out venom from bee stings. I seriously doubt this claim. It was applied to my skin dozens of times in my childhood, but it never seemed to relieve the pain.

Winning a Battle at Torrey’s

After the unprovoked attack in the grassy knoll, I decided I didn’t much like yellow jackets. I disliked them even more than mosquitoes. Since I’m allergic to mosquitoes, that’s saying a lot.

A few years later, while visiting my grandparents for the summer, me and my friend Torrey found a gateway to the netherworld in his yard. We discovered their presence before they could launch a good attack. The two of us made a hasty retreat and came up with an attack plan. It was brilliant. It involved Dixie Cups.

My grandmother had a pack of clear plastic cups and we thought it would make a perfect dome to cover the hell-hole. The plan was to wait until we saw no activity around the hole, run over, place the cup over the hole, and put a rock on the cup.

Torrey said it was a great plan and that I should try first so he could learn how to do it. Since I survived the battle of 1972, where I was ambushed, I could certainly survive when I was doing the ambushing. I watched for the perfect opportunity and moved in like the Delta Force. My first attempt was a perfect hit. I placed the rock on the hole and stood there in victory!

It was satisfying to watch the horde buzzing in the cup, helpless to attack. I could see them, and they could see me. But now I was snickering in a way that sounded a lot like buzzing. Then I realized what I heard actually was buzzing. A yellow cloud was forming. I wasn’t sure how, but it was forming. I ran like a schizophrenic break dancer practicing karate.

Our yellow jacket response team (me and Torrey) regrouped just out of sight of the yellow cloud. When things began to die down, we went into scout mode. We discovered that there wasn’t just one hole for the demons to enter into our world. There were five holes. One had been covered, four still needed to be capped. I handed Torrey a Dixie cup. He now knew what to do. And what not to do – i.e. Don’t stand there and admire the work. Not until the full mission was complete.

Torrey took a deep breath, grabbed a rock, and rushed behind enemy lines. He was back before the yellow cloud had a chance to figure out which direction to swarm. The two of us took turns until all five demon geysers were capped. Once complete, we toured the prison compound and laughed at the yellow jackets buzzing furiously behind the cups. They were angry. We were happy.

Though we had the hordes pinned in their own territory, we knew the mission wasn’t complete. The cups couldn’t stay in place forever. The demons had to be sent back into the abyss. Then an idea struck us. Gasoline. Demons love to set people on fire, but they can’t tolerate the flames themselves.

We poured gas down each hole, and then set it on fire. The fire was unnecessary since the fumes of the gas created an almost instant death. But what was a battle ground without smoking ruins?

When the battle was through, we still had gas and matches. Everyone knows that a ten year old’s best friend is gas and matches. And then we saw his little brother’s Tonka trucks. Torrey’s house was beside my grandparents and had a steep hill at the end of the front yard. A splash of gas and a strike of the match, and we had a nice flaming car crash to enjoy. Each of his brother’s cars hit the interstate of doom, one at a time.

Unfortunately, one of the trucks turned out to be hard plastic. It wasn’t until we saw black smoke coming over the hill that we realized what had happened. A peek over the hill revealed a puddle of melted, burning plastic. There were a few hints of yellow and red, but it soon faded into black. It was a birthday present and I envisioned the joyful tune of happy birthday fading into the somber echoing of taps.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad day of work. Five demon holes plugged and burning, one smoldering puddle of plastic, a few trucks with burned paint, and I only got my hand singed once.

Eddie Snipes 2012

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Did I mention that my book is only 99 cents? You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. If you act now, I’ll include four other emotions for the same low price. It’s holding on to a 5 star rating. Find out why. Where else can you get that much entertainment for less than a buck? Buy I Called Him Dancer here.

Simple Faith: How every person can experience intimacy with God – the ebook version is a free download. Click Here.

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Our house had a vacant lot next to it that was great for playing football, softball, and flying kites. Few things were more relaxing than laying in the grass on a lazy Sunday afternoon in the fall, and flying a kite with my friends. Sometimes it wasn’t a lazy afternoon, though. War often broke out when a rival faction showed up – my sister and her friends.

She would come and brag about how pretty her sissy butterfly kite was and how ugly my eagle kite looked. We bantered this hostile gang-talk until it escalated into kites trying to ram each other. The battle was on. Time for a kite-fight.

Her frilly little butterfly had the audacity to attack my screaming eagle. I pulled my kite string hard, knowing the strong wind would cause it to nose dive. And it did so toward hers. Whack. Her friends screamed in horror at the nerve of a lowly warmonger attacking nobility. Her kite struck back. Her friends screamed with delight. My friends yelled, “Kill the butterfly.”

Not only were we locked in mortal kite-combat, but my sister and I found ourselves in the middle of a cultural war. The stakes had been raised. Losing not only meant hearing the other taunt their victory, but it also meant shame for the entire gender culture each of us represented. We stood side-by-side, yanking strings and trying to deliver a lethal blow to the other one’s kite.

Then our strings tangled. Her butterfly strained to escape, but it was useless. My eagle flapped fruitlessly in the opposite direction. She yanked her string hard, and the butterfly twitched angrily in the sky. I yanked my string and something wonderful happened. My kite soared upward with majestic victory. Her kite drifted back and forth as helpless as a leaf in the autumn breeze. Her string had been cut and the battle was over.

My friends cheered in victory. Her friends screeched in horror. My sister turned to me and said, “That doesn’t count!”

I smirked and pointed to my eagle soaring high above. Then I pointed at her butterfly in the last throws of life. That’s what she gets for using the free kite string that came with the purchase. I bought the good string. The kind that was hard to cut without scissors. It was K-mart verses the Great Outdoors. No match.

Another, less rivaled, competition was to see which kite could fly the highest. Friends would bring their rolls of string over, and I’d stack mine in the lot beside me. If it was too windy, this wouldn’t work because high winds always caused the kite to nosedive. With a short string, you could just walk forward a couple of steps and the kite would recover. But a long string was much harder to control. A consistent casual breeze was the best climate for flying high. And I mean really high.

Each string roll was around 1500 feet. We’d fly the kite and work out the string until it got to the cardboard tube. Then we’d tie the next roll to the first tube and start working out that string. The previous roll tubing would begin going skyward, which always looked odd. But by the time the next roll was extended, the previous tube was out of view. Then we’d tie off the next roll to the previous cardboard tube.

Once I got five complete rolls out and started on my sixth. The kite was a tiny dot in the sky – almost invisible. But the string was very hard to hold at this height. It was like playing tug of war with the wind. Occasionally, one of us would lose our grip and run for our fleeing roll of string. Sometimes we caught it; sometimes it disappeared from sight. Forever. That kite wasn’t coming down near our neighborhood. I lost many kites that way, but it never stopped me.

Our goal was to hit an airplane. Even after years of attempting a mid-air collision, it never happened. Strings broke, kites nosedived a mile away, but no jet-to-kite impacts. On rare occasions the kite would make it safely back to our lot and land beside a pile of 5,000 feet of string. The cost was a week’s allowance money, but it was a small price to pay for reaching for the sky. And reaching for a Delta airliner.

Eddie Snipes 2012

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Some of the chapters include:

* Leave cares behind

* Be yourself

* Set a goal to learn something new about your daughter

* Build anticipation

* Picnic in the park

* Animal pancakes

* Bowling

* Swimming Share blessings with food pantry or homeless shelter – volunteer

* Indoor campout

* Movie night

These are just a few topics, but there are 78 more! With great tips, such as to put your smart phone away, dads are reminded the importance of making daughters the focus of their attention. Building family time is an intentional activity. Adulthood for your daughter is only a blink away, so this book shares the importance of creating those memories before daughters are grown.

88 Great Daddy-Daughter Dates also provides tips on integrating faith messages and Bible teaching into the experience.

This book is well worth the purchase. Activities include at home dates, low or no cost ideas for taking daughters out, and even extreme dates where vacation ideas are explored. Pick up some great ideas for just about any style of daughter date.

Available March 2012 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

Click here to buy 88 Great Daddy-Daughter Dates