TO SAVE A LIFE

       On Thurday, November 4, Dayton's Young Life leaders are showing a movie at the Liberty Theater.  Its title is To Save a Life.  I googled the title and found the following...When his friend's life ends in tragedy, Jake Taylor decides to make sure that it never happens again. Crossing social barriers, he befriends Johnny Garcia, a loner with life issues. Will Jake have what it takes to stop him from the same tragic fate?
        I don't know exactly why Andrew took his life, but even though I have some theories, I am not worried about Andrew's life as it is today.  He gave his life to Jesus when he was very young and he made it official September 2007.  So as of today, he is living not with his earthly parents, but with his Heavenly Father.  However, if his death can lead to a dialogue between kids and adults (hopefully their parents and other important adults in their lives) then that is a positive outcome of our tragedy. 
       I hope there will be a movement among our young people and the adults in their lives after Thursday.  Kids--What can you do to make some one's life better?  Can you be kinder and gentler with your words?  Can you make positive decisions that will take the pressure off of others to make the same choice?  Adults--Will you take the time to really listen to the young person who is speaking to you?  Will you give of yourself?  Will you give them your time?  Will you support a positive choice, even though that choice may not be the one you think is right for them, but they think it is?  Those are all things I wish I could re-do or do for Andrew.  Please, don't have the regrets I have in my life.
        Andrew took his life, but some of the things kids do also take their lives, but in a slower way.  I worry about the amount of alcohol kids consume.  I worry about their attitudes about illegal drugs.  I worry about their unhealthy relationships.  I worry how they think none of this will affect their futures.  I have lived for fifty years, with the past twenty-seven years involved with kids, ages twelve to eighteen.  It is sad to see how the choices made by the young people in 1984 have led, for a few, to a life of despair in 2010.  Unfortunately, I fear that in 2030 I will have the same sadness about some kids and their choices of 2010.
       We lost Andrew's earthly life on June 7, 2010.  However, Andrew's eternal life was saved the day he accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.  Can this movie save at least one of our children's earthly and heavenly life?  Pray that it will.

~Andrew's Mom

AND NOW A WORD FROM HENDRIX

       A princess is staying with me this weekend. Her highness always keeps me company and entertains me with her wit and wisdom, whenever she is with me.  This weekend she has been intuitive to me and my feelings.  It has been a 1,001 questions/statements about Andrew weekend. 
      Dayton General Hospital and all of it departments had "trick-or-treatin' " after school Friday, so we went.  On our way home we went to check on Andrew.  As we were pulling away, she asked, "Does anyone come trick-or-treatin' up here?"  And what do I say to that?  "I don't think so" came out of my mouth, but my head was thinking, "Good question!" 
       Then we went to the football game and she witnessed "Senior Night" festivities.  "If we still had Andrew, we would get to do this too."  With a lump in my throat, I whispered to her, "You are right, honey.  We would get to do this."
       All day today, she has been doing "Andrew" things.  She spent time in his room watching a movie.  She has been playing his Game Boy.  She has been looking through his albums--baby pictures to funeral pictures.  She also has been looking through one of his Bibles.  It is the one that I am using for my current Bible study.  It's hard to explain, but I feel so close to him when I am using it.  It isn't his picture Bible, but it's the first real Bible we gave him.  Hendrix is fascinated by it.  This morning she was writing numbers out of it--just all the numbers of the chapters and a few verses.  Does she feel the same comfort from it that I do?
       Hendrix's Halloween costume this year is Rapunzel.  Remember--"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair."  Rapunzel's hair was a life line for Mother Goethel to visit her, and according to the new Disney version, it's Mother Goethel's way to keep her young.  The Rapunzel staying at my home this weekend continues to be a life line for me.  And her words bring sadness sometimes to my heart, but most of the time, her words bring joy to my life--a life that has lost a major source of it's joy. 

~Andrew's Mom

SPREAD YOUR PROTECTION OVER THEM

Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you. ~Psalm 5:11

      

       Andrew has been gone five months on November 7th and the missing him hasn't subsided.  I still expect to have the phone call be him or especially, in the morning, I expect him to bound down the stairs to get ready for school.  Ocassionally, when I am in the kitchen, I think I see a glimpse of him sitting on the sofa in the back room, playing video games.  However, I am mistaken.  Andrew no longer lives in my home.  Sadness has taken his place, but we continue to live our lives.  Time keeps marching on.

       I know this is true, because football season is almost over.  Last night was Senior Night--Dain, Josh, Patrick, Michael, Big D, and Albert will never play a high school football game in Bulldog Stadium again.  Andrew's presence in the stadium has been visable all season via the #55 jersey that hangs below the announcer's booth, but for Bill and me his presence is in another place on the sidelines.  His presence exists in the crimson parkas that keep his teammates warm and dry.

       One of the first decisions we made shortly after Andrew's death was what type of memorial we wanted to set up in his name.  We didn't even really think about it; we wanted something created that would benefit Andrew's friends and teammates.  I contacted our superintendent and he told me the school could set up a fund to receive donations in Andrew's name.  Knowing all the stipulations put on schools concerning money, we were please that he told us we would be able to decide how the money would be used.

       One thing that both Bill and I wanted the memorial to be used for was the purchasing of rain parkas for the football team.  On many occasions as  a freshman and a sophomore, Andrew could have used a parka as he stood on the sidelines.  We watched other younger players or an injured upperclassman stand freezing on the sidelines.  Therefore, a portion of the money was used to buy these necessary jackets.  In addition to the ones purchased through the memorial fund, the family purchased four more, insuring that any player who needed one would have some type of protection on a cold football game night.  I wonder if the boys thought of Andrew as they pulled those coats out the first night they were needed?  Did they think of him last night as the evening air grew cold and damp?  I know that I thought of him everytime I looked at those crimson clad football players. 

       People were very generous with their gifts in Andrew's name.  Not only was there enough to buy the parkas, there is enough money left to help purchase a new set of varsity basketball uniforms.  So people in our valley have allowed Andrew to help his teammates one more time.  How appropriate is that for a boy who was remembered by one of his coaches as the ultimate teammate?  I think Andrew is please that he is able to spread his protection over them.

~Andrew's Mom

WORDS FROM MY GRANDMOTHER

I never met my Grandmother Delp.  She died March 14, 1959 and I was born on April 5, 1960.  However, I think I know her.  I know her through stories from her children.  I know her through stories of her grandchildren.  I know her through her writing and she loved to write.  We can see that in the poems she wrote in her high school yearbook or in the many journals she kept throughout her life.  So we share a gift of the use of words.  We also share a common grief.  She knew what it was like to lose a child.  Actually, my grandmother lost four children during her life.  She gave birth to ten children, with seven of them making it past infancy.  My Aunt Sally died when she was 12 and I think it is the pain of the loss of that child that my grandmother and I share.

       From the stories I have heard about my grandmother, she was an exceptional woman.  She did not have an easy life, yet I have yet to hear a story about her bitterness or anger.  Now there are stories about her frustration with her children and a pair of scissors, but that is a story for another time.  On the contrary, people tell me about her kindness and her love.  I once wrote a paper about the culture of the neighborhood in which my father lived as a child.  It described the community of families who would gather on summer nights in their yards.  The men would be watering their lawns with hoses.  The women would be sitting in somone's front yard, visiting or doing chores, such as snapping green beans.  The children were playing somewhere close by.  This is the image I have of my grandmother.       

      But one year, her youngest daughter became sick.  At first they thought Sally was anemic, but if one would read Grandma's journals, one can see--with our knowledge of cancer today--she had some type of cancer.  In 1945, my aunt died of leukemia.  During the final year of her life, my grandmother kept track of who gave blood, sent cards, or did other acts of kindness for the family.  All of this has been recorded for my generation to read in Grandma's journals.  I have a book like that.  It is the book we used for people to sign at Andrew's dinner.  It has a list of all the people who spent June 10, 2010 with us, grieving the loss of a special son.  But to my book, I have added pictures.  Grandma kept the record of the end of Sally's life with words.  I have a record of the celebration of Andrew's life with pictures.  It is a book I will one day give to Hendrix--she will be my caretaker of that time in my life.  I want her to have it so she will remember how much Andrew was loved--not just by his family, but by the community who helped him grow into the sweet boy that he was. 

       I think I look like my Aunt Sally, especially when we were the same age.  So I wonder, when Andrew met Grandma and Grandpa Delp, along with Sally and the babies, whether he thought, "She kind of looks like my mom."  Andrew helped us place flowers on the graves of my grandparents and on the graves of "the babies" every Memorial Day, so he knew of these family members who had gone on before him.  This next Memorial Day, Hendrix will learn about her great-great grandparents and the babies who are in heaven with Andrew, as we place flowers yet another year.

       Another thing my grandmother and I have in common is our relationship with God.  It was through my grandmother that my mother was introduced to a relationship with God and it was through my mother that I was introduced to a relationship with God and I introduced Andrew to a relationship with God.  And it is through Hendrix's grandmother that she has been introduced to a relationship with God.  So, my grandmother's words...It is through them I have learned to love a woman who I never met, but with whom I have so much in common. And now, it is this woman who watches over my son. Andrew is being surrounded by my grandmother's words and by her love.

~Andrew's Mom

BOOK REPORT #2--STICK A GERANIUM IN YOUR HAT AND BE HAPPY

         Okay, so they say confession is good for the soul.  Let me attest to that.  I feel so much better than I did a couple of hours of ago.  God gives me people who love me and will pray for me in my time of need.  Thank you.
       God also puts people in my life who have had like experiences in dealing with the pain of loss.  So in the beginning, one goal I had for this blog was to share with others things people have shared with me.  I was going to do my second book report on a book entitled My Son...My Son...A Guide to Healing After Death, Loss, or Suicide.  I decided after my confessional blog perhaps I should share something a little lighter.  My Son...My Son... is an awesome book, but I think humor is needed at the moment.

       

One day this summer I had lunch with my dear friend, Leah.  With her, she brought this --Stick a Geranium in your Hat and Be Happy.  She told me one day I would be able to read it, even though on that day I didn't think that day would be soon.  Like the other books that have been given to me, I placed it on my book pile next to my chair.  It, like the others, was my constant companion.  Leah was right--it did take a while for me to pick it up.  And when I did, I found I only needed to read a little of it at a time for it to have an effect on me.  I haven't completed it yet.  I am savoring it.  But I still have some things to share. 

       Many who have attended a Woman of Faith conference are familiar with Barbara Johnson.  She is a woman who has lost two sons to death and one son to an alternative lifestyle that took him away from her for eleven years.  She knows pain and misery.  However, she made a conscious decision to deal with the pain and make the misery an option.  The goal for her books are to give people the gift of laughter when they feel like they would never laugh again.  Barbara is a woman who has been on the brink of dispair.  If you are there, it is a lifeline to be able to read about a woman who has made a conscious effort to be positive, even though her heart was breaking.
       As I said, one can read this book just a little at a time and get a lot out of it.  Barbara has a lot of little sayings, that after a while seem almost too good to be true.  At the end of her first chapter, she has "Resolutions For Avoiding Misery."  I have read this list before, but I think it deserves being shared one more time.

RESOLUTIONS FOR AVOIDING MISERY

• Choose to love--rather than hate.
• Choose to smile--rather than frown.
• Choose to build--rather than destroy.
• Choose to perservere--rather than quit.
• Choose to praise--rather than gossip.
• Choose to heal--rather than wound.
• Choose to give--rather than grasp.
• Choose to act--rather than delay.
• Choose to forgive--rather than curse.
• Choose to pray--rather than despair.

       A few hours ago I forgot that I have a choice.  I chose to let the rain and the week that had passed to cause despair in my life.  My prayers of forgiveness, plus those prayers of those who love me, helped bring me out of the darkness.  I was reminded again that I have a choice--misery is optional.  Andrew made a choice all of us would like to talk him out of.  However, we can't, so we all have to make a conscious decision to choose to heal, build, and perservere.

       I watched a group of boys play football Friday night.  I love the boys who played on both sides of the field.  The WP team has known nothing but success on the "gridiron" for many years, but for the Bulldogs, success has become a memory.  However, the Bulldogs I watched Friday have made the choice to heal, to build, and to perservere. 

       There is a football jersey that hangs in their stadium.  It represents a friend and teammate who isn't with them.  Rather than letting this uniform represent sadness, the coaches and the boys have made a conscious decision to have it mean more.  They have chosen to heal from their loss, to build on the 110% effort exhibited by their lost teammate, and to perservere, even when the odds are against them.  Friday night they did not give up.  Even when the beginning looked like another "Oh no" night, it wasn't.  Yes the Bulldogs lost, but they also won.  They played hard and gave 110%.  That is a small victory for them.  This is the beginning to the fulfillment of their choices.  They have made the decision to "stick a geranium in their helmets and be happy."

        That is my decision too.  I will probably have bad weeks or weekends again.  However, I do have a choice.  I choose to love my son, but also to love my life until I see him again.

~Andrew's Mom

DENIAL

       I have something to confess.  I wrote about the deer today, because I have something I can't believe I did yesterday and I need to confess, but am afraid to.  I have asked God and Andrew for forgiveness, but I still feel like I need to confess to everyone.  Notice all the "I"s in this entry so far. That is what happens when God is not in control of my life.
       Yesterday was a very sad morning for me.  Poor Hendrix--she didn't know what to do during my meltdown.  Here I was dusting and suddenly I was wailing.  Usually when she is with me, I try to keep control of my emotions and go into the bathroom or bedroom when the tears come.  But yesterday, it just wasn't going to happen. So I cried and I cried loudly.  I was feeling so sad and now I realize I couldn't control it, because I didn't turn my missing Andrew over to God.  And even after I saw how this meltdown affected Hendrix, I still didn't turn it over to God.
       That isn't what I want to confess about, although, I probably should (and I guess I have) because I'm afraid I've scarred Hendrix for life--it was bad and it made her as sad as I was.  What I want to confess happened later in the afternoon.  We went to a neighbor's housewarming party.  There were many people there, most of whom we knew.  However, I introduced myself to a couple that I didn't know.  Come to find out they live on the other end of our pasture, a house or two over to the south.  We had a nice conversation and soon I learned that the gentleman was born outside Amity, Oregon.  Amity is where Clint and Ashley live, so suddenly we were fast friends. The woman asked how many children we had and I said, "Three."  Once the words came out of my mouth, I lost consciouness of what was being said in our conversation.  How did I just deny the existence of my son?  In my mind I was justifying this horrific action by saying to myself, "I've had a really terrible day and if I say anything about Andrew, I know I will cry...and I just can't do that with all of these people around."  What a load of crap! 
       Please God, please Andrew, forgive me for my weakness.  God, forgive me for not turning my sadness over to you.  Andrew, forgive me, for once again saying words that I know hurt you.  Will I ever learn?
       I now believe I know a little bit of what Peter was feeling on the day that he denied knowing Christ.  It is a feeling of total disbelief.  Did I really just do that?  Did I just deny the existence of my son, because I don't want to tell strangers that he is no longer with me and that talking about his death will make me even sadder than I am?
       In Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's work on death and grief, she talks about the different stages people go through: shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, resignation, and acceptance.  I know the denial that I took part in yesterday wasn't the denial she wrote about.  But now, that denial is definitely part of the guilt I feel today.  I need to remember the following:

“Cast your burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved.” (Psalm 55:22)

“Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28)

“Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Hebrews 4:16)

"Dear God,
       Please forgive for not turning my sadness and missing Andrew over to you.  Thank you for loving me and for loving my entire family, especially our sweet Andrew.  Thank you for your grace.  Thank you for your mercy.  Please forgive me."

"Dear Andrew,
       Please forgive me for not being strong enough to talk about you yesterday.  Please know that I love you and will always be proud to be called your mom.  Please forgive me."

And to all of my friends, please pray for me and forgive me for my weaknesses.  As you know, I am very proud to be known as...

~Andrew's Mom

OH, THOSE DARN DEER

For those of you who live in small town eastern Washington, you may have made the statement, "Those darn deer" at least once in your life.  They eat our flowers, our vegetables, and any other type of vegetation they can get to.  Even though they take from our yards, they also are kind and leave something in return--deer pellets.  They roam the streets and highways of our counties, causing damage to our cars and to our psyches as we drive home in the evening.  Oh, those darn deer!
     Since July 5th I have been saying, "Oh, those darn deer" because they keep feasting on the flowers I have on Andrew's grave.  At first, they left the petunias alone.  However, once they became full and beautiful, the deer discovered them.  At first, I really didn't notice a difference, but suddenly one day, I noticed.  They had mowed the petunias to the dirt in the planter.  So, I planted new items into the pots.  They were lovely.  The contrasting chartreuse and dark green of the sweet potato vine.  The red and gold of verbina.  The lovely white of sweet alyssum.  Those plantings made the pots look summery and alive.  The deer thought so too.  The first day I noticed something was amiss, it was just a little trimming.  The next day, I saw that there had been a stripping of the vines.  They had even taken the alyssum out and thrown them to the grown.  Oh, those darn deer!
     Bill was determined that those deer would not get the best of us, so we invested in some dry "deer off" and some spray "deer off."  As long as we kept tending to the flowers with our spray and powder, the flowers were thriving.  But just one time of being lax with the spray and once again one could hear me say, "Oh, those darn deer!"
     Yesterday, when we went up to water the flowers, everything looked great.  The dry powder must either be a type of fertilizer or it is so effective that they deer don't even graze on the grass where it has been sprinkled.  So the grass and the flowers around Andrew's grave are thriving. 
     One time, when I was ranting about the deer, my mother told me I shouldn't try to keep the deer away from Andrew's grave.  She reminded me just how much he loved them.  The deer must sense that, because even with all the deterients that we have been using, the deer still haven't left Andrew's grave--they are just staying outside the perimeter.  Not only do we see evidence via deer pellets, Bill showed me where they have been bedding down at night--just to the east of Andrew.  They are sleeping under the trees, watching over my boy.
     Soon Mother Nature will take care of my flowers with her first frost of the season, so I won't have to worry about the deer eating Andrew's flowers.  However, I have a certain sense of peace knowing that they feel the sweetness of Andrew's character and have chosen his grave as a place of rest for them.  Oh, those darn, sweet deer.

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE DAY: WHISPERS FROM HEAVEN

It's that time of year--cool nights, warm days, pumpkins riping in the patch.  Yup, it is the month of October, time for things that go bump in the night.  I want to talk about my things that go bump in the day and whispers from heaven.

     Our Aunt Sherry recently sent us a copy of the May 2010 Guideposts.  In it one will find an article written by Ptolemy Tompkins entitled "Divine Dreams."  Even though it is about the question do our pets go to heaven, it has some really interesting information that has solidified some incidents that happened to me this summer.

     Mr. Tompkins explains what happens during the time right before we go to sleep and that time right before we wake.  It is called the "hypnagogic state." This occurs when we are in that strange place between waking and sleep, "where we are neither fully conscious nor unconscious."  The term hypnagogia comes from combining the Greek words "hypnos" which means sleep and "agogeus" which means conductor.  The third century philosopher Iamblichus called this "the visions that occur that are 'god-sent'."  Aristotle also wrote about this.  He said, "... in a moment of awakening, a man may 'surprise the images which present themselves to him in sleep'."

     In the Bible, there are many mentions of visions.  In Genesis we learn about Jacob's vision of the ladder of angels.  In the New Testament, one can read, "Your young men shall see visions, you're old men shall dream dreams."  These two examples plus many others assure us that dreams can be a "genuine conduit for God's word."

     So, you may be asking why I am writing about this.  Even though some may question my sanity, I, too, have had visions--visions of Andrew.  The first wasn't a vision, but I heard him speak to me.  The basement had been a place of sadness for me since June 7th.  It took me ten days after Andrew's death to even go down there.  For ten days Bill had to do laundry, get meat from the freezer, or grab a can of something from the cupboard.  Finally, one day I was forced to go down there (one of God's little jokes on me...more at a later date).  I timidly took each step carefully.  I forced myself to take that final step.  I grabbed the meat from the freezer and ran back up the stairs.  Whew--I survived!  However, I knew I would have to be braver the next time I went down there.  The next morning, I loaded up a laundry basket and forced myself to go down those steps one more time.  This time it was a little easier, but I knew I had to be down there longer than five seconds.  So I walked over to the washer and dryer, put my laundry basket on the floor, and turned to face the part of the basement that I dreaded.  I shouted, "Satan--get out of my basement!  You took my son...you will not take my home!"  I kept repeating, "Satan--get out of my basement!"  Whether you believe me or not, I felt the sadness leave.  I took a deep breath and turned to complete the task that I had come to do.  While I pulled the clothes from the dryer, I felt a presence.  I turned and looked.  Nothing.  I returned to pulling clothes from the dryer, when I heard a whisper, "Mom, I'm sorry."  It was Andrew's voice.  He had just given me a little reassurance.  From that moment on, I don't mind going to the basement.  I still take a deep breath before I go down, but I no longer hesitate.

     My second message from heaven came during a very mundane task--mopping the floor.  It had been a sad day.  Crying during breakfast.  Crying during vacuuming.  Crying during lunch.  I turned my favorite CD on really loud and starting mopping the kitchen floor.  Suddenly a very clear picture of Andrew jumped into my head.  He was carrying a baby and was looking very peaceful.  Within the hour, I learned that Lillian Jane had been delivered to her parents.  But I already knew; I saw Andrew deliverying her to earth.

     I already told you about my vision/dream of Andrew that I had while we were on our trip to Yellowstone.  I feel his presence with me everyday, especially this week as I see his friends and classmates celebrating Homecoming.  Do you think they feel his presence as well?

     So as we come into the season when people love to get scared at the haunted corn maze and watch really scary movies, I realize I want to see and hear more from the spirit of my son.  Maybe I had my "visions" of Andrew this summer as a reassurance that he is okay.  Looking back, those are precious moments to me.  "The dreams that come from angels give us a wonderous and reassuring glimpse."  I can tell you, for me, they were very reassuring glimpses of my son. 

~Andrew's Mom



WHAT'S YOUR COLOR?

 A few weeks ago, Hendrix created a bookmark for me.  It was a picture of me (loved the stick-figure figure--I'm glad she sees me that way) and I was blue.  Yes, blue hair, blue clothes, blue stick body.  I thought this was because she knows blue is my favorite color, but then I wondered, "Do I look blue to her?"
        On Tuesday I had a dark, dark blue day.  I made it to school, but I was so sad that I couldn't stop crying.  My sadness was so large that I couldn't get on top of it.  I hadn't had a day like that for six weeks or so.  So I came home and had a day of crying like I hadn't had in a while.  Wednesday was better and when I talked to my first hour seniors about my sad day, this time I had someone to share tears with.  And then I felt better.  I really haven't talk to my students about how it feels to grieve the loss of my son.  They have been so kind and protective of me, that I felt it really hadn't been appropriate.  However, Wednesday I needed to tell them about my sad days.  Second hour was a little better, but still I had tears. During the next two periods I talked a little more about my life outside of school and how exhausting grief is.  They were understanding about my life and how it was different.
     So this weekend I decided I was going to work on my color.  What color do I want to be?  I haven't worn many colors since June 7th--black, white, gray, brown.  Then I bought a turquoise blue sweater.  A little color did make me feel better.  Thursday, as I was getting ready for school, I pulled out my red boots.  I hadn't worn them for a year, mainly because they looked scruffy and I didn't have red polish.  So, Thursday morning I polished my red boots and went to school.  I can't tell you how good I felt wearing those red boots.  Maybe I'm moving out of my blue-ness.
     As I examine my colors, I think about the colors of the Bible.  There is purple for royalty.  White symbolizes purity.  Red represents the blood spilled on the cross.  Streets of heaven are paved in gold.  But today, on this gloomy Sunday, I think of the rainbow--God's promise.  I know the rainbow symbolizes that God will never bring on a catastrophic flood that will cover the world, but for me, the rainbow symbolizes hope.  Hope for fewer really sad days.  Hope for a future in heaven.  Hope for the day I see my son again.
     I'm thinking I'm still blue, but I'm working on it.  I bought a fuchsia pink shirt this weekend--it is a bit blinding, but it is a happy color.  As I remember the day Hendrix asked me what I thought Andrew was wearing in heaven, I told her I saw him in a t-shirt and basketball shorts.  The t-shirt is white and the shorts are white.  However, he is also wearing black socks and a pair of athletic shoes that are some other color--definitely not white, or at least, not all white.  My twentieth century fashion sense thinks that black socks worn with shorts is just so wrong.  But I know he is happy, so that makes me happy.  I just wish that happy boy was with me. 
~Andrew's Mom