My wife matured in Charleston, SC. She introduced me to Southern cooking subtly and gradually: first collards and grits, and then I discovered biscuits and biscuits plus gravy by myself on our visits south. But recently she astounded me with a surprise–crab pudding. That’s what they call it, but it looks like a souffle.

It has the richest golden brown surface when finished baking, and the softest, unobtrusive crab taste. I thought, is this what heaven is all about? Am I starting Heaven here on earth? I mean, have I discovered all about existence yet?

I’m glad I’m still around, because the amazing aspects of being have not stopped yet. I’m staying on the good side of the Lord of all these surprises.

It’s a gift for sure, but what thought motivated it? Was it love? Was it humor? Does God have a sense of humor?

I think he does. Sometimes I get something which, rather than exasperate me, makes me laugh. I didn’t ask for it, but it’s a plus, something that’s nice to have. All my friends are God-given. Where else could you get such a collection of people? And the way they think!

If the universe of humankind has such wild and incomprehensible thoughts, I’ve got to allow departures from the normal among my friends. Otherwise, how would what was created continue to astound me?

The Book of Sirach, (recognized by Catholics) was written about 100 B.C. and recommends to sons and daughters that respect for their parents brings with it a long life, children, and happiness. I wish I had read from it to Paul, but we parents are a fallible lot.

Paul had other assets, such as the drive to get a post-graduate degree on his own. But sometimes a father has some help in the form of advice, which helps when experience is lacking. We need all the help we can get to succeed, and I wish that I wouldn’t consider the feelings of a parent too important.

Freddy, on the other hand, somehow made that leap to empathy, and generous, kind thoughts abound in him. I ask, “Where did that come from?” I am so glad I live in Western Civilization which so abounds in wise, kind sayings that we don’t need to re-educate the Islamic youth like the Chinese–Muslims have the source right here. But what Islamic parent will recognize it?

When I retired from teaching I prayed that I could write a novel. I did write a book on raising children, and finally I started a novel. I wrote most of a YA (Young Adult) novel while visiting my oldest son, a research chemist, in Princeton, NJ.

That accomplished, I started an adult novel. Then — adversity — I was hospitalized and told I needed a quadruple bypass. I prayed again, because I wanted to finish The Last Torpedo.

Now a quadruple bypass is no tonsillectomy; it involves taking the heart out of the chest. Providentially, Dr. Colangelo at St. Francis Hospital performed his usual art with great skill and I came through it, and finished the novel. I didn’t have to dig a Sumatran Tiger Pit to catch that prize. The book went on to become one of my best sellers.

When my youngest son was about six years old, the mouse that lived in the basement started coming up to the kitchen to raid our cracker and cereal supplies. Freddy watched as I set two traps in the kitchen. “Will that trap kill him?” he asked.

“You bet. It’ll snap his neck.”

“Can’t we get a trap that’ll catch him alive and then we can let him go in the fields?”

“They make that kind of trap, but it’s for squirrels and raccoons.” I looked at him. He was only six and kind, generous thoughts were already cropping up in his mind. I didn’t want to stifle that.

“I think I can make a trap that’ll capture him,” said Freddy.

“Good. Let’s go!” I helped him construct an Elmer Fudd box trap, but to make sure, I constructed a large Sumatran Tiger pit using a plastic garbage can and a crosswalk made of tissue paper leading to the bait. From past experience I knew what attracted mice.

I slept uneasily. In the morning we checked the traps in the kitchen. Success! Freddy’s trap had been sprung, and the box moved! We took care of things and the mouse was released in the woods.