My Beautiful Grandchildren

David, Avi and Isa 

My Grandson David Benavidez

Handsome little man!

My Grandson David....LIVE

I think he's saying "I love you, Grandpa!"

My Daughter Camie and Her Mom Margeret and Little David

This is my beloved SON in whom I am well pleased.

My little Grandson, David

My Grandson, David Rassmussin Jr.

My Grandson and Great Grandson

Logan and Camdon, My
Grandson and Great Grandson

George Andrew and Evelyn Blackburn's Great Grandson, David

My 

Grandson David

The Family

The Family

Patrick John Blackburn

An Angel Straight From Heaven

Left to right:
My beautiful daughter,
Mary,
Charlie,
Samantha

My Granddaughter Charlie Quade

Channukah with Jeanne and the Little Ones, 1995

It was the third night of Chanukah, so it was Dylan's turn to light the candles.
As I held his hand he used a candle to light the menorah while we recited the Shema.
Their mother was a quarter Jewish, and we casually observed Jewish Holy days.
An Israeli friend from work had given us the Menorah, and the boys seemed to enjoy the activities.
"Why do we celebrate Chanukah, Mikey?"
"It's when the Jews got the Temple back.
And they only had enough oil for one night, but the Menorah burned for eight days."
"Very good, Michael." I say and rub the back of his neck.
We spun the dreidel for a while and played some Israeli rock, including Dylan's favorite tune, a rock version of "la cha dodi".

Later Mikey and and I are playing tennis on the play station.
I'm McEnroe, he's Jimmy Connors.
He deftly maneuvers his man back and forth at the baseline as I prepare to serve.
I hit a smash.
It zooms past Connors, and Mikey calls out, "You cheated, Dad!"
"What?" I say, taken aback.
"Mom, Dad's cheating." Mikey yells.
Jeanne laughs, "Stop cheating, Dad."
"OK." I chuckle.
A few points later, as usual, Mikey wins the match.
I just can't beat him on the Play Station.
"Congratulations, Son, good match."
"I kicked your butt, Dad."
"In a game Son. In real life I could easily kick your butt."
Jeanne walked by with an armful of clothing, heading towards the washing machine.
"Don't threaten a small child, Dad." Jeanne says and playfully punches me in the arm.
We go into the kitchen, I make some spaghetti and the night winds down.
I look out towards the glassed in porch, and I see it's snowing, flakes dusting the grass outside.
A chill passes through me.
Like someone walking over my grave.
A feeling of foreboding.
I walked outside and lit a cigarette, the cold night air felt good, invigorating.
What is bothering you? I asked myself.
You have a wife, beautiful children, a job you love, with a future.
Something was about to happen, I answered myself.
What? I asked.
I don't know. I don't know. I replied.

A great serve

I walk onto the deep blue and white lined tennis court.

I was working for a Rastafarian stucco crew.

Danny and I had been discussing female players, and I, half-jokingly, said,

“I could beat any woman player.

I could beat Stephanie Graf.”

Danny, the Jewish Rasta, said, “I know a woman you couldn’t beat.”

I slammed a 5lb trowel of cement on the freshly lathed wall.

“Bring her on.” I responded quietly.

Tuesday morning in the already blazing heat of July,. in the grass of an upscale backyard in Rio Rancho  I’m pushing a wheelbarrow filled with wet lime up the muddy side of a hill towards the structure.

Dan looks over at me, “My friend Patty will play you. We’re off tomorrow, so I told her you’d meet her at the Rio Rancho courts.”

“I’ll be there, my brother.”

“She’s good.” Says Dan, evenly.

I looked at Dan, and flexed my right forearm and bicep and tensed my chest.

I thought I was in pretty fair shape.

“I will beat her, Dan.”

So here it was, the match.

Dan had told Patty, the day before that, “This guy at work says he can beat any woman player.”

Patty was one of the state’s top woman players, although I didn’t know it until the next day.

I served first.

I tossed the fuzzy green sphere, coiled my body , and served one of the best serves I had ever hit.

The shot cracked like the sound of a .22 at close range.

I smile, perfect serve.

With some surprise I see it’s coming back.

That’s okay, plenty of time.

I slide  to the left, and plant my feet,

I scrape the racket on the ground as I bring it forward

And with the effortlessness of a Zen martial arts move I power through the ball, which flattens and accelerates towards my opponents backhand.

She whacks it back, and I’m sprinting again.

We rallied back and forth .

On the 20th

shot of the point she sailed a backhand past me.

I realized I was in big trouble.

And tired.

I stalled.

I tapped my shoes to loosen the dirt.

I grabbed my towel and wiped off.

I walked back to the service line and whacked a sizzling kick serve out wide.

She hit it back, hard.

The battle resumes..

I feel good, loose.

On the eighth shot I slap a return into the net.

I lose the next two points, its game point.

I towel down, pour ice water on my face and neck, take some deep breathes, and walk back to the court,

I don’t look at Patty.

I don’t want to see the growing look of confidence on her face.

I hit another hard slice serve, she powers the ball back, far to my backhand..

I grimace as I perform contortions 40 year olds don’t normally do, slide and,  grazing the underside of the ball, just mange a low chip shot which lands  good ,

From the back of the court she yells, “Oh no!”

and comes running for the ball, her racket already extended,

She doesn’t have a chance, she gets her racket on it but it dies in the net on her side.

I won a point.

She has a weakness.

I could win this one yet.

  

Camdon: He has his Great-grandfather's eyes

George Andrew and Evelyn Blackburn's Great-Great Grandson

My adorable Great grandson

My Great Grandson, Camdon

My first born son

Chris Lefler

Nee

Michael Blackburn Jr.

Savannah Herzog

Evelyn And George Blackburn's Great,great Granddaughter