Parenting

The following was something that I found on a Zip Drive that I transferred to my computer. I think it is as applicable today as when it was written on 10 September 2000.
   
    I believe that it is the parent's responsibility to provide a nurturing environment for children.  Because of the various levels at which this is, and must be accomplished, there is not a set standard that every parent is expected to achieve.  It must be commensurate with that which the person knows and is capable of doing.  There are also different levels of interaction between parent and child.  Because of the difference in personality between the parent and the child the same action on the part of the parent might produce different responses with each child.  The child might expect the same thing done to him as was done to his siblings and usually will be happy if he receives something different if it is to his advantage, and he perceives it as a sign of favoritism on the part of the parent.  However, if the parent treats the child differently in a way that the parent thinks is best for, and best meets the child's needs, and the child does not appreciate that response from the parent, then the child thinks that he or she is not being treated with fairness.

    In the main, I believe that most parents try to be just and fair with their children,  There are some who have pets, or prefer one child over another, but this is generally not found among the parents that I know, even though some of their children may accuse them of that.

    I am struck by one example of a Latter-Day-Saint school teacher that occurred in my residency training.  The father and mother in some unexplainable way singled out one child out of their large family to be the "whipping boy".  At an early age they made a jail cell out of a play pen and put him in a corner for all the children to despise.  They used to throw him food scraps from the table to feed him.  He was beaten and abused until his arms were broken so many times that they were deformed.  I do not know what happened to this boy, but I suppose that he will never recover from the maltreatment in this life.  I am sure that some children perceive their treatment by their parents to be as horrible as this, but I doubt that there are many cases as blatantly biased.

    It takes extremely wise parents to fulfill the needs of each child as an individual, without appearing to favor that individual in the eyes of the other siblings.  If one had to ask the question, "How are my actions perceived by all my children?", he or she would be certainly bound by inaction.  The fact that sibling rivalry exists is not a reason to postpone what one perceives as the best thing to do for one of his children.

    It is the parents role to teach as the Savior did.  As long as we don't go back on our promise to provide to the first workers in the field, we are free to reward the last workers the same as the first, even though the labor has been different.  We as humans are so concerned that no one gets more than what we think is merited.  It seems as though we cannot look into the celestial sphere and rejoice that all are there.  The parable of the prodigal son provides so much insight into human behavior in this regard.  We all want what is due us.  Most of us are envious when other people's needs are met, even though we still have plenty, but must continue to toil.

    I have also noted in the rearing process that although the child wishes and fights for a certain independence from the parents, he is only willing to have that independence he is willing to have, when it is to his advantage.  When the child is reluctant to take upon himself the consequences of the decision, then asks the parents for permission.  If some problem comes up then it is easy to say "Well, you said it was alright!"  A wise parent will follow the counsel of Joseph Smith.  Teach them correct principles and let them govern themselves.
 

Guns and me

Or the true story of how I shot the hole in the piano

When I was growing up In Denver, I was too young to join the Boy Scouts.  They had an organization for boys in Denver that was called the Highlander Boys. They wore uniforms and met once a week and drilled and marched and learned about the military.  As part of the training they had use of the rifle range in the basement of the building that we met in.  I learned to shoot a 22-gauge rifle and we would shoot at paper targets.  I learned to hit the target fairly well. The NRA had a program that would give medals for certain proficiency.  I received the pro-marksman, marksman, marksman first class, and sharpshooter medals.  I used to wear these medals on my Boy Scout merit badge sash.

 

Because I wanted to join the ward scout troop, I quit the Highlanders.  I was still interested in shooting, so I asked for a 22-gauge rifle for Christmas.  We got the gun the Christmas before we moved to Lander.

When we got to Lander we went rabbit hunting with Norbert Ribble, an employee at the weather bureau.  We would go out to Lyons Valley and hunt cottontail rabbits.  We did not have a car and so we had to depend on Norbert for transportation.

My father bought a 30-06 hunting rifle when we were in Denver and bought a new stock for it, which he finished himself. He hunted antelope in Wyoming.  After he moved to Lander he would hunt deer, antelope, and elk.

Each year I would buy a fishing license.  In those days one could buy a combined license that would allow fishing, hunting for deer or elk and bear.  I got an elk license one year, but I never killed an elk.  We went hunting above Louis Lake and all I shot was a snowshoe rabbit.

My father wanted to go pheasant hunting one year.  We did not have a shotgun.  Dad's friend Joe Yack had a shotgun.  We arranged to borrow the shotgun from Joe and he brought it to the house the day before we were to go pheasant hunting.

I was sitting on the couch or a chair on the north side of our front room. I took the shotgun in my hands to look at it and to make sure that the gun was not loaded.  This particular gun was a pump action gun.  In order to get a shell in the chamber, one had to pull the pump lever toward the trigger end of the gun and the chamber would open, eject the shell and place a new shell into the chamber.   I checked and there was no shell in the chamber.  As I moved the pump lever back into the locked position, the shotgun discharged firing the shot into the front of the piano.  The safety was on and I did not touch the trigger. 

The piano was on the south wall of the living room up against the wall separating the living room from my parent’s bedroom.   Martell had just walked in front of the piano just before the shotgun discharged.  My mother and my brother Glendon were in the bedroom behind the piano making the bed.

The buckshot from the gun blew a nice round ragged hole in the piano and went through the sounding board of the piano and out the back and through the wall of the bedroom and shot dropped on the floor in front of mother and Glendon.

 

Needless to say, I was upset and did not want to have anything to do with the gun after that experience.  My mother said that we should not reveal this to my father, but wait until a later time.

We went pheasant hunting the next day out behind the State Training School.  There were a lot of pheasants in the fields where they had farmed and left some grain stubble.  Dad was in front and Martell, Glendon and I hung back.  Dad pumped the shotgun and the gun discharged in the same way that it had for me.  Martell said, “That is just what happened to Laurence!”  Fortunately Dad did not hear that and I motioned to Martell to be quiet.

We finally did tell Dad, but he could not be too critical, because the same thing happened to him.  Until we got the piano tuned, the strings that were hit by the shot were out of tune when the keys were hit.  Dad took the gun back to Joe and we never had a shotgun in the house that I remember.

I do not remember what ever happened to the 22-gauge rifle. 

Fortunately, in this instance, no one was hurt or injured except the piano, but they could have been.

As I went through the next years, I saw a number of not so fortunate incidents.  When I was an intern at the Dee hospital, a young man and his sister were frightened when their parents were away and got a rifle from the gun cabinet and it discharged while the young 16 year old boy was holding the gun hitting his sister in the back and leaving her paralyzed. 

I was in the Dee emergency room when they brought in a man who had been deer hunting riding a Tote Goat[1].  A hunter mistook him for a deer and shot him off the machine.  He was hit in the leg and had his femur shattered.  He was fortunate not to have bled to death.

At that time there were more hunters in the field in Utah[2] than there were American infantry soldiers at Omaha beach in Normandy during the D-day invasion[3].  Hunting is a dangerous thing to do even though the hunters are not trying to kill each other.

We did not have a gun in the house after our marriage and after my medical training I never did go hunting. 

I took care of a patient in my practice, who lost his eye sight in one eye by someone shooting at him with a BB gun.  I received a great deal of criticism, when as stake president, I spoke in stake conference about hunting and killing animals after President Kimball gave his conference address on “Don’t kill the little birds”.

There is a great deal of debate at the present time about guns.  We can read about a people in the Book of Mormon who buried their weapons of war.

Perhaps we ought to rely more on the Lord for our defense that the arm of the flesh.

---

[1] The Tote Gote is an off-road motorcycle that was produced from 1958 to 1970. It was developed by Ralph Bonham, who is credited with inventing the off-road motorcycle. Bonham created the Tote Gote to relieve the exhaustion of walking through the Utah mountains while hunting. First called the "Mechanical Goat", it was renamed to refer to its ability to "tote" (carry) deer out of the woods while climbing inclines with the skill of a mountain goat.

[2] More than 52,000 hunters expected afield for Utah's most popular hunt (DOWR Utah website).

[3] 43,250 infantry (Wikipedia).

Music and me

Recently I received an e-mail from my friend John Frank in which he detailed his experiences with music in his life.  For my children and grandchildren I wanted to explore the musical experiences in my life, which were and are an important aspect of my time here on earth.

My father liked music and so did his brothers and parents. I liked to hear my father and his brothers sing together. I can remember riding in a car and listening to the singing when I was quite young.

I do not remember the first time I sang, but when we lived in Cheyenne and I was in 4th grade, I had a part in a class play. I was the rich man who wanted to buy a pair of shoes. The teacher wanted me to say the part, but I guess I sort of sang the words, so she put them to music and I sang my part. We put on the play for the school and then went on to perform the play for the high school.  This started my entry into music.

When we moved to Denver I sang in the ward choir.

My voice was a high soprano. I sang in a choir in junior high school, but my voice was so high that I could sing the soprano part an octave above the written part.

About this time my parents bought a used piano. This is the same piano that Mary Ellen has in her home.  It is the same one that I shot a hole in with a shotgun. But that is another story for another time.

I took piano lessons with my brothers. The piano teacher was Lela Higginson.  I would baby sit her children as partial payment for my lessons.

My uncle Merrill had a Saxophone that he gave to us and I joined the junior high school band. They did not need a Saxophone in the band, so the band director Mr. Kenneth Sizer asked me to play the Clarinet.  During the summer, I took private lessons from him.  We eventually bought a metal Clarinet.

I would bring the clarinet music home with me to practice.  We did not have a music stand, so I would use the handles of the gas stove to hold up the music while I would practice in the kitchen.

I spent more time practicing the clarinet than I did practicing the piano, so the piano teacher dropped me as a student, but my brothers and I learned to play a trio on the same piano.  We played ”We Three Kings of Orient Are”.

The year that I was in ninth grade, my voice changed. I could no longer sing soprano, so I became a bass. My range was from a C above middle C to a G two octaves below middle C.

During this time we moved from Denver to Lander during the middle of the school year. I was in the high school band and the choir as well. We had a good music teacher, Caryl Alexander.  He taught band and choir as well as other classes.  I started out in the third clarinet section, but by the end on the year I was playing second clarinet.

I was very interested in performing, so I tried out to sing in the district music festival. This was held in the spring of 1949 in Thermopolis. I competed singing, "I walked today where Jesus walked".  Lucille Farthing accompanied me on the piano. Our choir and band also performed. I do not remember if our ratings were outstanding, but I do remember that I was not pleased with my vocal solo performance.  I said that I would do better the next year.

 

I decided to buy a better clarinet than the metal one that I had, so I cashed in my savings bonds and raided my savings account and bought a LeBlanc ebony clarinet for $350 from Les Parsons, who had a music store in Casper, Wyoming my junior year of high school.  I still have this one today.  I also bought a crystal mouthpiece, which unfortunately got chipped later and became unusable.  The tone achieved with this mouthpiece was superior to any of the hard rubber or plastic mouthpieces on the market.

I took vocal lessons for a short time when I lived in Lander. I continued to sing and play the clarinet during the rest of my years in high school. I sang and acted in a musical performance "Rings In The Sawdust".

 

I sang in the district chorus and played in the district band.

During my senior year I was first chair first clarinet in the band and also in the district band and in the all-state band.  I was in the district chorus as well as the all-state chorus.
I was first clarinet in a clarinet quartet from Lander and we were allowed to compete in the state music festival in Casper.

The band took first in then state competition as well as the choir. I also entered the district competition in solo voice singing "Run Mary Run". I also played a clarinet solo and was privileged to compete in the state competition.

About this time my parents bought a 45 rpm record player.  Then they also purchased a number of records.  I wanted to have my own music so the first record that I bought was the 1812 overture by Tchaikovsky.  On the reverse side was the Capriccio Italian also by Tchaikovsky.  We did not have a classical radio station so we played the records more than we listened to the radio.

The high school also had a dance band and I played the clarinet and saxophone in the dance band.  We also had another band that played German music.  The book that we played from was the “Hungry Five”.

A classmate of mine, Ruth Chapman and her brother formed a dance band.  My friend John L. Frank and Stan Brooks, who later married Ruth, were in the band.  We played music for the dances in the outlying farming communities, such as Crowheart and Pavillion and Ft. Washakie.  I played the clarinet and the saxophone and John played the trombone.

When I went to Weber College, I played in the band and sang in the men's chorus and played in the Ogden Symphony Orchestra.

When I went to Weber I took voice lessons from the choir director and sang in recitals.
I was in the men's chorus and sang in some impromptu quartettes

Weber College put on an operetta once a year.  The first year was the “Song of Norway”. I played in the pit orchestra for this production.  The next year I tried out for a singing part in the “Merry Widow”.  I played the comic lead, an old man who was a sugar daddy. That is grandpa on the left front in both photos.

 

In the spring of 1954 I tried out for the all-church orchestra, which was to play in the Salt Lake Tabernacle in June for the MIA conference.  I auditioned for Crawford Gates and was offered a place in the orchestra competing with music majors from the University of Utah and BYU.

At this time the Ogden Symphony invited Maurice Abravanell to be the guest conductor for a concert featuring Beethoven’s Eroica (3^rd) symphony.

I took my clarinet with me on my mission. I played my clarinet for Peter Osthoff and his mother and brother at Christmas time. While in Hildesheim I bought a Ukulele which I brought home with me and would play for my own entertainment. I played for enjoyment until I was transferred to Berlin where I was appointed the leader of the mission dance band. We practiced and played mostly American popular dance music. I had my parents send me my Saxophone. We went over to East Berlin and I purchased the instruments necessary to equip those who had not brought their instruments with them; Alto Sax, French Horns, another clarinet and a couple of trumpets.  I learned to play a few pieces on the trumpet.

When I was in Flensburg on my mission we interested a few young men to join some impromptu jam sessions.

In Goslar my companion Duane Bishop and I joined the community choir and rehearsed and sang with them in concert in the Kaiser Pfalz.

When I returned from my mission and attended BYU, I did not play in the orchestra or sing in the choir.  The German class formed a choir to sing in German. We practiced Handel’s Creation, but I do not remember performing. I also had a bock flute or recorder and we played quartettes.

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the young lady that I had asked to marry me (Alice) could play the piano.

While in medical school I sang in a quartette with other members of my class. Two of the members sang in the Tabernacle Choir.  We sang once a year at the medical school family night.  I played my clarinet and ukulele for my own personal enjoyment.

After medical school I was busy, so I did not perform much.  We moved to Lander and one of the first purchases that I made was for a 33 1/2 rpm stereo record player and changer.  We began acquiring records and that was the main music in our lives.

We then moved to the Naval Air Station at Lemoore California.  Alice bought me a Christmas present of a baritone ukulele.  I loved to play that instrument and since we did not have a piano I played the accompaniment for the songs that we sang at family home evening.

We moved back to Lander and during the ensuing years I played clarinet duets with another man in Lander.  We bought a grand piano and we offered piano lessons to each of our children.  Alice even took piano lessons and became proficient so that she even accompanied me when I sang solos.

Each of our children was encouraged to play a musical instrument other than the piano and one played the French horn another clarinet another the saxophone another the flute another played the trumpet and two were percussionists. We even had a trombone.

We continue to acquire high Fidelity records.  We have a number of compact cassette classical music recordings and then we have a collection of CDs.

After we moved to North Salt Lake, I continued to sing in the ward choir and was privileged to sing in a community choir for the 24th of July celebration in the Tabernacle at Temple Square (2009). My voice had changed from earlier years so that I could sing tenor as well as bass.  In the last couple of years I have developed a hoarseness, which the doctor has diagnosed as an old floppy larynx.  So my singing for performance has gone by the way.  I still have my clarinet, a saxophone, the trumpet, and a trombone in addition to the recorder (bock flute) and a chromatic harmonica that I picked up in Berlin when I was on my mission.

My children gave me an iPod so that I can have music wherever I go and now I have that same music on my iPhone.

I love classical music.  I listen to it in the car where I can find two different stations that broadcast classical music.

When I was the age of most of my grandchildren I did not have as much appreciation for classical music as I do now.  I hope each one my grandchildren will develop a love and appreciation for good music.  It will enrich your life as it has mine.

Love,

Grandpa

What e’er thou art, act well thy part.

What e’er thou art, act well thy part.

This may be a strange title for a letter from Grandpa.  I have been meaning to write it for a little over a month now and tonight I was watching the news on the television and they had a story, which prompted me to write this now.

I do not visit Facebook very often.  I do not have the time or the need to do it, but occasionally I am interested to see what you write on your pages.  I also occasionally look at other people’s pages as well.  Sometimes it is interesting, but often I am disappointed to see the apparent lack of sensitivity that some people have when posting.

The title of this blog is not unique with me.  When I was going to BYU after my mission I read a talk given in 1957 by President McKay[1].  He explained: “I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church. Then I thought [about] what we had done that forenoon. We had been sightseeing, we had gained historical instruction and information, it is true, and I was thrilled with it. … However, that was not missionary work…’ I accepted the message given to me on that stone, [What e’er thou art, act well thy part] and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

We are all members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Our manners, our decorum and our speech and writings and actions should reflect that. 

The news program stated that colleges and universities and employers look at postings on social media to judge our character.  Perhaps we are only having fun with our friends, but it can, and sometimes does turn nasty.  We need to remember that light-mindedness has no place in the gospel of Jesus Christ and certainly not in the life of one of Christ’s disciples.

As Thumper the rabbit[2] is quoted as saying, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all.”  If you cannot be uplifting in your communication, it is better not to post on Facebook or tweet on Twitter or post on your blog.

My mother used to ask me regularly if I had cleaned my face.  Now I ask you, “Have you cleaned up your Facebook and made it presentable?”  Do you want people to judge you by your posts?

Love,

Grandpa

---

[1] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykfMvoHu6xA  Here is the link to a video you might want to watch.

[2] From the movie Bambi

Fires

We have recently been having a lot of wild fires and forest fires in Utah.  I have had some experience with fighting fires.  I was employed by the Forest Service the summer after I graduated from high school.   My missionary companion in Goslar,  Elder Kirk Ellsworth was a smoke-jumper and brought slides of the fires that he fought with him on his mission and we used to show them to our investigators.

During that summer (1952), I helped fight two forest fires. The first one was the Dishpan Butte fire. This was about halfway between Dickinson Park and Smith Lake. We got the call one evening after work and drove up and reached Dickinson Park before dark.

We started up the trail and then it slowly got dark and we lost the trail. We couldn't see the blaze marks on the trees, but we could see the fire lighting up the night sky so we headed up the mountain in the dark. I had a Coleman lantern to light the way. I stumbled and shook the lantern and the mantle broke and we were without light at all. We continued to walk using a flashlight intermittently to see where we were, because we knew that if the batteries failed we would have no light at all. We walked on through the night feeling our way along.

I was walking along during the climb upward and was in the lead. I decided to stop and take a rest and so when we were ready to go again the one with the flashlight turned it on and shone it into the path that we were to take. We could not see anything ahead and on closer inspection we were on top of a giant boulder and the ground, on the way we were going, was about 40 feet below us. We were spared a nasty fall. We eventually got to the fire and started digging a fire line with a shovel and Pulaski. (A Pulaski is a fire fighting instrument with an axe blade on one side of the head and a adze blade at right angles on the other side of the head.)  I worked all night and when the morning came we had pretty well contained the fire. We spent the next few days going over the burned area and putting out hot spots.   The fire would smolder in the dead pine needles called pine duff. If it was not put out it might burn like a punk that you use to light fire crackers and it has been known to smolder for a winter even with snow on top of it and then breakout in a forest fire the next summer when things got hot.

The next fire was on the Wiggins Fork above Dubois. There was quite a large crew of firefighters fighting that fire and it seemed like it was better organized. It took a long time to drive up to the fire. We drove up to Dubois and then to Horse Creek and then took a dirt road to the Wiggins Fork (River). We could drive right up to the base of the fire, but had to drive through the river two or three times to get to the base camp. Some of the water would get into the engines and short out the spark and then the truck or jeep would be stranded and have to be towed to shore.

After a few days most of the firefighters went home and there were about 6 men left as the mop up crew. I was left to tend the camp and to cook. I cooked the breakfast and then fixed a lunch for them to carry with them and then I would cook the evening meal.

They left plenty of food for us to eat. I had a hindquarter of beef and about 8 hams and plenty of eggs and other provisions. I had to learn how to make coffee, because everybody but me drank coffee. They said that it was good, but I don't know.

I would cut a big round steak from the hindquarter and then cook about two and a half pounds per person. When we had ham I would give them three big slices. Most of the time I would boil the potatoes, because I only had a wood camp cook stove to cook on. I don't remember much else about it except that I like to fish and most of them did not like fish.  

I did not bring my fishing gear with me. One day as I was walking along the river I found some fishing line and when I had gathered it all in I found a hook on the end of it. I found a branch that I could make a pole from and so all I needed was some bait. There were some grasshoppers along the shore of the river and I managed to catch one. Now I could fish.

I managed to catch a fish and then another, but my grasshopper was looking pretty sad, by now. I had heard that you could use fish eyes as bait, so I decided to try it. It worked well and I was now in the fishing business. I ate the fish for lunch and then every day when I got the dishes done and the camp cleaned, I would go fishing and eat the fish for lunch. Every morning I would have to catch a grasshopper. Finally I lost my hook and had to try to make one, but it didn't work as well as the store bought kind. When we finished with the mopup we broke camp and had to leave all the perishable food there. We didn't have space to carry it back with us, so we left it for the bears and wild animals to enjoy. The rest of the summer was spent finishing the road work on the loop road.

Fighting fires is a dangerous business.  I am still careful not to leave a fire that I have used burning.  To make sure that the fire is completely out you should pour water on it and then run your fingers through the ashes to make sure that everything is cold.  Your great-great grandfather Wright Clark used to throw his lighted cigarettes out of the car window driving down the roads in Florida.  I told your grandmother that I was afraid that if her grandfather came to Wyoming to visit he would burn down the whole state.

Be careful with fire!!

Throwing rocks

Essays written in the past.  This was written in 1997

I write these to my grandchildren.  They are my observations on things that have happened to me or that I have experienced vicariously.  I think that sometimes we go through life as a participant, but not as an observer.  Perhaps you might gain from these experiences and thoughts.  My hope is that they may be of some benefit to you in your life.  Perhaps to save you from some unpleasantness.

Throwing rocks

Yesterday, July 28, 2001, I noticed that the lawn was getting long and I had decided the day before that I would mow the lawn.  I had earlier this summer gathered rocks out of the garden space and had piled them up in a spot under the overhang of the house.  They were out of my way and I thought that they would be there for use later or close to the trash can to dispose of when an appropriate time came along.  Three of my grandchildren were playing in a nearby tree and had been for a few days prior.

I started to mow the lawn and noticed a rock the size of a baseball in the lawn near the tree.  Obviously one of the children had thrown it there from the pile of rocks about ten feet away.  I picked it up and thought, “I don’t want to run over this rock with the lawn mower.”  From previous experience I had known that a rock that size could bend the shear pin in the lawnmower and then the mower would not run.  I would then have to take the mower apart and replace the shear pin.  I have done that on a number of occasions in the past and I did not want to spend the two hours doing that and so I picked up the rock and placed it in its previous location.

I started the lawn mower and commenced mowing the grass.  As I neared the tree I saw another rock about the same size which would be in the mower’s path on the next swath.  I reached down and picked it up and deposited it alongside the previous rock.  As I continued to mow the grass I was heading away from the tree toward the garage door when the mower struck a rock hidden from my view in the grass.  It was smaller than the previous two and the mower blade hit the rock and propelled it with high velocity out from under the mower in an arc and hit the wall of the house with a loud thud.  Fortunately the mower continued to run well and the shear pin was apparently not damaged.  Had I been mowing in the other direction the rock would have gone flying in the vicinity of the children playing in the crab apple tree.  One of the children may well have suffered the consequences of their actions.

Sometimes when we throw rocks we do not realize what the end result of that action would be.  A child does not understand the ramifications of the action.  They have not had the experience of the adult.  I remember that one of the things that my parents asked of me was not to throw rocks.  I remember when I was living in Cheyenne that one of the boys in the neighborhood used to throw rocks at me and my brothers.  I was want to throw them back at him and perhaps I did.  I don’t remember, but I do know that throwing rocks can hurt if you are hit by one. 

I read in the Deseret News the other day that three Boy Scouts were charged with throwing rocks into a lake in Utah.  It seems that the rocks that they were throwing were dinosaur tracks that they had pried up from their place of resting and tossed into the lake to hear the splash.  The park ranger was beside himself at their insensitivity and stupidity.  They were not aware that the rock formation that they were standing on was one of the longest and most well preserved set of dinosaur prints in the world. 

Getting back to my grandchildren, I stopped the mower and brought them all over to me and told them that I did not care which one of them threw the rocks.  They were not to throw rocks in the future and I did not want them putting obstacles in the lawn. 

I wonder how often we do not foresee the consequences of our actions.  Perhaps we in our insensitivity throw rocks or obstacles into peoples way with no thought as to what the consequences will be for our own and others safety or well being.  If we are sensitive to the spirit we can minimize the negative impact of our actions.  If we keep the commandments which God has given us, we will avoid the results of disobedience.  Every time you throw a rock remember that there is some consequence to that action.  The parental warning, “Don’t throw rocks!” is still a good one.

How I became a pediatrician and what you can learn from this experience

How I became a pediatrician and what you can learn from this experience.

I had always wanted to become a doctor.  I can never remember a time when I did not want to become a doctor.  My mother tells the story that when I was about four years old I would go around the house with part of an old bookcase handle and say I am a doctor.

When we lived in Denver we took Life magazine.  One of the issues was devoted to the making of a doctor.  It detailed all of the steps that were necessary to become a doctor.  I then outlined my life with what I would have to do to become a doctor. I have a clipping from the Rocky Mountain News from that time.  It was a brief introduction to the Rocky Mountain News carriers.  My picture was in the paper as well as my dreams for the future.  I wanted to become a doctor and so stated in the article.

When I was in high school in Lander I took the courses that would qualify me to attend college.  My aim at that time was still to become a doctor and that is what I told people when they ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up.

In the summers when I was in high school I worked for my uncle Howard in Soda Springs, Idaho.  One summer I remember a book that I read detailing the life of a gynecologist.  I decided at that time that I would like to be a gynecologist and an obstetrician.

When I attended Weber College I took the courses outlined for pre-medical studies.  I wanted to prepare myself so that I could become a doctor and an obstetrician and gynecologist.

After I came home from my mission I attended Brigham Young University.  There I took courses, which would further qualify me to attend medical school.  It was there that I applied to a number of medical schools for admission after three years of undergraduate training.  I was accepted to at least three medical schools, but the University of Utah was the first one to extend an invitation and acceptance to the following year's freshman class of Medical school.  During that time I also applied for a grant from the state of Wyoming to cover my out-of-state tuition at the University of Utah.  This was called the WICHE program.  It was an agreement between all of the western states that did not have medical schools and a few of the states who did have medical schools that they would allow students to attend medical school and waive the out of-state tuition.

And so it was that I attended four years of medical school and realized my dream of becoming a doctor.  I was still pointed toward becoming an obstetrician and gynecologist.  When people would ask me what I wanted to specialize in, I would tell them OB. During my junior and senior years of medical school I worked for the department of pediatrics.  Also during my senior year I worked every third night from seven at night till seven in the morning in the obstetrical department at LDS Hospital assisting with and delivering babies.  By that time I had decided that I liked both fields and would do a residency in obstetrics and then do a residency in pediatrics and do neonatal medicine.  This was unusual because at that time they did not have a specialty of neonatal medicine.

I chose to do my internship at the Dee Memorial Hospital in Ogden because they had a program in obstetrics that would allow you to spend two years in Ogden and one year at the University.  This I thought would give me a broad experience in all aspects of the specialty.  While in Ogden and working in the department of obstetrics, I found that it was less than I had anticipated and I decided to do a residency in obstetrics at the LDS Hospital.  Since I had worked there during my senior year, I felt I had a good chance of getting the residency there.  I made my application and waited expectantly for a letter of acceptance.

One day a pharmaceutical representative that I knew from Salt Lake asked me if I was going to LDS Hospital for my residency.  I told them that I had not yet received a letter of acceptance.  He told me that they had already filled their residency slots.  I was concerned and phone the head of the department of obstetrics at LDS Hospital and asked him about my residency application.  The reply was that they must have lost it.  You can imagine how I felt.  It was only a few months and I would be finished with my training and had no place to go for further training.

The next thing that happened was that my father called and said that the draft board was going to draft me into the Army after I finished my training.  Not too long after that I called Mrs. McOmie, who was the secretary of the draft board, and asked her when I would receive my draft notice.  She answered and said that I would not be drafted at that time.  In the meantime because I thought we were going to be drafted I went and bought a brand-new Volkswagen bus, because I thought we would need better transportation because we were going to be in the military.

Now I was in a pickle.  I had previously been examined to receive an appointment as an Air Force doctor, but rejected because of my previous history of duodenal ulcer.  I called the Army and inquired about volunteering for the draft and they informed me that it was impossible.

I then decided that I would try and get a pediatric residency.  I called Dr. Doug Heiner.  I had worked in his immunology laboratory between my junior and senior years and he was on the staff of the department of pediatrics at the university.  He told me that they had filled all their residency slots, but that he would ask Dr. Eugene Lahey about it.  Later I received a phone call from Dr. Heiner informing me that Dr. Lahey had found some money for another resident in the program and that I was accepted to fill that slot.  Thus I had someplace to further my training.  I still had interest in obstetrics, but thought I would do pediatrics first and then do the obstetrics later.

The first year of residency went well.  Dr. Lahey then decided to go to Oakland Children’s hospital and Dr. Pat Bray, a pediatric neurologist, became the head of the department.  Things were in somewhat of a turmoil and I became somewhat disillusioned.  I even considered quitting and going into private practice only partially trained.  I talked to Dr. Heiner and he encouraged me to continue and finish the residency.  I weighed the options and decided to stick it out. 

By the time that I had finished my residency I was making $350 per month as chief resident at Primary Children’s Hospital.  I looked into the obstetrical residency at LDS hospital and they were offering $150 per month for first year obstetrical residents.  By this time we had four children and our living expenses were such that I decided to forego the obstetrical residency and find a place to practice.  I had a few offers and now the world was my oyster, so I faced my next decision, where to practice.

I have never regretted the changes that resulted in my becoming a pediatrician.  I loved my life in Lander and my practice.  I never went to work wishing I had gone another direction.  As I look back on it now, I can see the hand of the Lord guiding my path to its destination, but I did not see it at the time.  I was where He wanted me to be, doing what He wanted me to do, taking care of His children in an area of His kingdom that to some was a waste place. 

Each of you will have what I term “course corrections” in your life.  You may not have all of your dreams realized.  Disappointments are the rule, not the exception in this life.  As long as you have a strong testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, He will guide you ever so gently to your place in the sun. Take Grandpa’s word for that.