We have a travel day today, Thursday, September 3, 2026. Yep. We travel down into the heart of the metroplex, down to the Houston Medical Center, Baylor School of Medicine, to be precise. This will be the follow-up appointment for the wife with the surgeon or his designee. I should say Super Surgeon since he has so much starch in that long white coat it almost looks like one of the capes on a superhero. Just kidding. A little. I remember when we would go back to our Louisiana home place where we attended church with our folks. The folks remembered us, but when Mom told them we were from the Houston area, their faces would fall. Why? We learned that many of their friends were sent to Houston as a last resort for medical treatment. Many of them died in the Houston area. I should remember how to get to the doctor's office since we were there a few weeks ago. I should. I actually did go there again when the wife was in the hospital. I thought I knew where I was going. I ended up at the doctor's office, and a fellow flagged me down and told me I was going the wrong way on a one-way street. He was a security fellow and very pleasant. I asked where the hospital was, and he gave me directions. I shook hands with him, and we both wished each other a God-blessed day. He told me I might want to get out of there since other folks would be headed towards me. Ha! This time I will ask for God's guidance along with the GPS utility and the help from my co-pilot sitting beside me. I imagine some of you are shaking your heads, thinking I don't know directions very well. Bingo! Here's my current response: It's the confounded construction! That's why I have trouble finding my way. Got it? Good. Ha!
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Today I remember my little brother because this is his birth date. He left us for his eternal destiny back in 2011. I am three years older than Donald. We were fairly close when we were younger. After Dad passed away in 1954, we moved to the tiny village of Hornbeck, Louisiana. We moved in with my mom's parents, Granny and Paw Paw Mac. I was 7, and Donald was 4. They put us three boys in a bedroom, including our older brother Jimmy, the eldest of six children. Jimmy was 12 at the time. Jimmy got the single bed, and Donald and I slept together in the double bed. This was a new beginning of sorts for our pitiful little family. We had some great challenges intermixed with some great times in those transition days. I don't know exactly when and where, but Donald, even at an early age, determined he would travel on The Donald Road. He was different. Looking back, one thing I admire about him is how he wore his difference out for everyone to see. He pretty much bucked the system and, at age 17, after high school, he went off to find new adventures in the United States Marine Corps. He spent the next 20 years serving our country. He spent much of his time as a Drill Sergeant, a position he dearly loved. His life was filled with much difficulty in his personal family life, and he chased several personal demons as well. We reunited as brothers when he returned to the east side of Houston for a job serving the school district in their ROTC program. He came often to our home and to our church services. We enjoyed Sunday lunch together often. His last years were spent dealing with health challenges, and because I lived closest, I became the point person for the family. My sister Jo and I were privileged to be with him when he passed from this life to the next. Our stepbrother Victor and I conducted his homegoing service. He was buried in our family plot with full military honors in that little town where we restarted our lives back in 1954. Many Marines have told me the impact the drill instructor had on their lives and how their training allowed them to come home after being in a hot war situation. They instructed me to say Thank You to my brother for helping them and others survive. His life counted. May God bless his children and his memory as we think about him today.
Amen.
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