~This symbol follows the story in each chapter
Chapter 3 - Simply Born
Building our Home & Noah’s Home Birth
Noah
There was this pine thicket where I would go,
Only reason was to hear the wind blow.
Like the voices of ancients, it would sigh,
Tickling the pine needles as it went by.
I listened closely; secrets it would share,
As it blew through the trees and rustled my hair.
Since my last visit, it’s been many years;
Much ground I’ve covered and conquered many fears.
With each mile I traveled, I’d feel my heart grow,
Many things I learned and from this I know:
Though great distances I roamed to find peace within,
Twas always in the thicket where the journey did begin.
Loran Smith (Athens Banner Herald (June 29, 2005)
Prior to the service, I sat on the porch of the mountain home of Earl Leonard, retired from Coca-Cola, and listened to the whisper of the Cartecay River, flowing gently by. It is a river in which Noah Harris swam as a boy. “He often tubed by here,” Leonard said. “When I heard the news of his death, I came out on this porch, broke down and cried profusely. I didn't know that I had that much crying left in me.” But you could hear Noah whispering, “Don't cry for me.”
~ Rick (scrambling to establish a home, quickly…)
With a $79 miter box, a $99 portable table saw, and a chainsaw we had been building our “telephone pole house” for the last year, surviving the winter by wearing our coats in the house and sitting on the wood-burning stove in the evenings. These were not the best of circumstances, but this beat the early days in which we slept in the bed of the truck with a piece of plastic over us as the rains came down. Things were definitely improving, but I couldn’t get the house warm because I had just completed the outside walls and had not yet installed the insulation, and the windows in the great room only had plastic over them. One of the door openings was covered by fiberboard insulation. Literally, we checked the temperature every morning by sticking our heads out from under the warm piles of blankets and blowing to see if our breath would turn white with frost. There was no one to blame since I was the sole builder on the site and the chief director and architect of what can only be called the grandest construction project of our lives. Lucy would always encourage me, telling me that living in an “object d’ arte” satisfied her restless spirit.
Now we sometimes feel that civilization is encroaching, but back then, building in the middle of the forest had its challenges since there were no lumber yards or supply houses nearby. Highway 400, a major thoroughfare into the mountains had not been completed. I used a third-generation locally owned sawmill “down the road” for my wood, so most of the house structure was made of rough-sawn lumber. In other words, every board has a story; and nothing is square. In short, what I did was bury 10 telephone poles in the ground in a circle around one big one in the middle. Lucy will tell you that she tamped down the poles for 21 long 12-hour days and discovered that fingers have muscles that could be stretched to the point of throbbing. I determined where I wanted the first floor and banded the outside poles on this level and worked toward the middle. I ended up with a circular, 10-piece pie-shape that, when it was braced off, looked like a spider web.
Lucy
To hear Rick tell the story, it sounds simple and easy, but I remember the day that he called my name loudly and I came running to find that he was up on a ladder with the claw of a hammer stuck in the side of his nose. "Luce, you are going to have to pull it out." was all he said. I did and though the blood sort of gushed, he went right back to work as I ran for the well-used peroxide bottle. Everyday brought a smashed fingernail or, at the very least, an award-winning blister.
~ On this level, two sections of the pie on the backside of the house became kitchen and two became bath/laundry room. This left a nice, large, six-slice living area. I went up nine feet on the center pole to create another level which I situated over the kitchen/bath area. This became the loft bedroom which I built over the lower four sections. Thus, we had a very large bedroom with a small deck off the back. I raised the roof in the bedroom area to give us windows on the sides and lots of headspace. Working mostly alone, I cut the tops off all the telephone poles to yield the roof line and laid huge 4” x 8” x 18’ rough-sawn beams from the outside poles to the center pole for the roof. That was a job. After getting the walls up, I built a deck that wrapped around the front six sections of the house and overlooked the creek. What’s funny and amazing to me in retrospect is that I built this house with no blueprints and little or no prior experience in carpentry, plumbing, electrical, wells and pumps, drain fields, chainsaws, or living outside in the forest for months at a time; I grew up in Miami.
Lucy
Speaking of chainsaws, many a mountain person will understand why I always will cherish my oil-besotted memory of a day when, having executed the shoulder-wrenching jerk that is required to start an old chainsaw no less than 25 times, Rick finally succumbed to the stubborn will of the machine, and realizing that it was simply not going to start "for him," threw it down the mountain in a shower of wood chips and expletives. At which point, I made a hasty exit and went for one of my long walks in the peaceful woods where I prayed for a miracle and later was delighted to return to the familiar buzz of that ornery piece of equipment. Thank you Lord!
~ As for the design and layout of the house, I made it up as I went along and have continued to add to it to this day using my “tried and true” creative methods of building. I suppose I had to prove to myself that where there is a will, there really is a way. We have since erected an addition to the front 6 sections where the original deck was. On the east side, we added a covered front porch and an entryway with Noah’s bedroom—which he helped to build, off the foyer. Adjoining Noah’s room, we added my office; but to get to it, we have to walk either around the outside walkway/gangway or through the house to the outside, west side, screened-in workout porch. I enter my meditation and writing sanctuary from this room.
We wrapped the house with a large deck on the east, and added a small deck for the hot tub. From this, we step onto the aforementioned walkway that wraps around the creek side of the house. This scenic route leads to the deck on the west side of the house which we call the “Cosmic Lounge” because of the whispering wind song and the deep shade that repels even the heat of August. The bottom line is that this adventure has worked for us because we love to be outside and because we have always had faith that if a person strives to live a virtuous life, allowing for guidance from the divine inspiration, then all things are possible. When we were worried we always said, “God’s got us covered.”
Noah (college journal)
Life is a journey, but for a journey to truly get somewhere, there must be a direction. Without direction, it’s just walking around. For some, walking might be a purpose; but, is a purpose a purpose if it is not recognized as such? It is our purpose and beliefs that guide us, our character that allows us to make decisions, the correct decisions.
~ Mom
I remember when I was in high school, my brother (Uncle Po Po) called me the mystic because I got so excited about brilliant colors in the sky and water-berries dripping from rain-drenched tree branches. When I was growing up, Thoreau’s term “different drummer” often had been applied to my suggestions as I sometimes chose to walk the two-and-one-half miles to and from high school in Delaware in the winter so I could experience the frosty cold. In college, I never minded that my old red bike caused many a bemused smile, for, like Noah, I have always preferred the rustle of the wind through my hair. I suppose even then, I was plotting to live in my favorite place, the great outdoors. When I first started teaching, I remember how my Granny, always one of my best friends, was appalled when I bought six acres in the mountains of Georgia though I could barely pay my rent in Atlanta. She said, “Honey, you’re a little different.” My response was, “Aren’t we all?” She just grinned.
I suppose if I hadn’t embraced a slightly alternative direction, destiny still would have arranged that I meet the love of my life, rather than as I did on a blind date in Roswell, Georgia. The initial meeting was promising, and when Rick and I discovered on our second or third date that we owned nearly adjoining properties on the same ridge top near a waterfall, the term “purpose” took on a whole new meaning. It wasn’t long before we joined our hearts and spirits and moved out of our all-the-conveniences apartment lifestyle to the banks of what the children in our extended family named Ticklebug Creek. We live so far out that when my high school students would threaten to roll our yard with toilet paper, I would draw them a map and tell them about our love of big dogs. Needless to say, we’ve never had the yard draped in white tissue because the roller-coaster curves in the road make it seem farther, more dangerous, and more costly than it actually is. Both of us always had the dream of living in the woods, at a spot where you could do a “360” and see very little that was touched by man.
Fifteen miles from the nearest town, we turn off the pavement and gently climb a half mile through the forest, snake to the right almost all the way around the small mountain church for which the road is named, cautiously execute a hairpin turn to the left, and for another half mile weave down through the majestic pine trees, tangled laurel thickets, and soaring oaks and poplars that line our road until reaching the waving American flag at the top of the driveway. Proceeding down the crunchy gravel path which curves through a tunnel of arched greenery, we cross over the cheerful burbling of Ticklebug Creek and our ears are joyfully assaulted by the cacophonous symphony created by the hawks, nuthatches, cardinals, and finches. Noah always loved the haunted laughter of the red-headed woodpecker and the way the “shadow-casting” buzzard gracefully rides the wind currents in the wild, blue yonder above the emerald canopy.
Noah (Scrap of paper)
Penetrate my skin and soul, O bountiful sun, warming my happiness.
~ Spring and summer, we often “hushed” in our tracks listening to “crow parties” erupting in the treetops; in still moments, we submerged ourselves in the lingering green aroma of the seasonal moisture burbling against the stream bank, washing winter leaves away, sucking up the light of the sun and bouncing it back into our eyes. Warm and dazzling, the fluid purity is a constant that continues to melt the little ice crystals still hiding in the cracks of our mending hearts, and we find ourselves emerging, breath fluttering like the iridescent, gossamer dragonfly wings that wink and ride the fresh, free air.
Uncle Stu Glenn (Fort Worth, Texas)
I am truly inspired by the grace, beauty and love Noah brought into this world. His spirit shall always live on in those magnificent Georgia hills and in all our hearts. He will always be there.
~ We stroll to the left of a thick Japonica hedge and climb the moss-chinked steps onto the wooden walkway that leads to the first level of deck extensions that surround our decagon (10-sided) mountain cabin. Lucy’s dad (Pop Pop) the engineer, used to stare at the multi-angled, split-level umbrella roof and shake his head. He’d tell his friends and engineering students, “You have to see it to believe it.” We can feel a cooling breeze that seems to whisper, “Consider the lilies of the field.” Here the pioneer spirit wells up, and we often pause and grin as we think of friends Donna and Lloyd who call this kind of solitude in the wilderness “true luxury living.” Crossing the deck to the left, it’s up two steps to the covered “country” porch of what Noah figuratively labeled his “Mecca” soon after he went off to the University of Georgia. If the tiny Yorkie, Dooley, and the extra-large Golden, Dubya, are not too friendly, we can pause and listen to the water one more time before entering the foyer where we often stop to remove muddy boots as we peruse the memorabilia collection that has resulted from twenty-nine years of family life as well as from the constant trolling for Mother Nature’s artifacts through the heavily wooded peaks, valleys, and streams that surround our home.
Bobby Ray Toon (Noah’s commanding officer in Ba’quba, June 25, 2005)
Thank you, Ellijay, because the community, the church, the elementary across the street, his friends, and neighbors...All of you are the sum total of who Noah Harris was and the difference that he made in Iraq. He was a mountain of an LT and I could get into statistics of how many people we captured, how many weapons we found, but the one statistic that there is no way I could ever tell you is how many lives of the Iraqi people Noah touched in the five months he was on the ground and where the love that he showed to those people will ultimately lead. When I worked out with Noah, I’d say, “Brother, it looks like you have legs comin’ out of your shoulders.” But what I didn’t know at the time was the largest muscle that Noah Harris had was one you couldn’t see, and that was his heart. The night before I was to come back home for R and R, I was talking to Noah, and he was telling me not to spend too much time hunting, to spend some time with my wife and daughters; and I planned to do both. I looked down at his laptop at his screen-saver; the picture wasn’t a super model or a car. It was a house with azaleas in the yard. When I asked him about it, he said, “Sir, that’s why I’m here. That’s my parents’ home back in Ellijay.”
~ The commanding theme of every room of the house since 06/18/05 has slowly emerged as a shrine of celebration for a life well lived. Noah’s exuberance seems to fill the open, sun-lit space with happy green eyes and toothy smiles. We often gaze at our favorite snapshot of him, snuggled up with the sweet love of his life at Christmas time, 2004, just one month before he went to Iraq. We love the slippery feel of the extra-large, purple, number 27 football jersey. We still can see him blasting through the defense of one of our local rivals and busting the game wide open.
John Pettit
(One of Noah’s favorite high school coaches, June 25, 2005)
When Noah was in the sixth grade, he went to his first wrestling camp in Boone, North Carolina. His mom was worried that he was the youngest in our group, so I kept an eye on him. At the breaks of the workout sessions while others were resting, I’d look over and Noah’d be doing back handsprings... Noah was intense. He was gonna give you 100%... always sitting on "ready-ready." Energy was always bubblin’ in him. He always went beyond the call of duty. I remember one time when we were on an annual hiking trip. As I was climbing down the side of the mountain, I stopped and commented on the beauty of a particular rock. Noah saw me looking at it, but I wasn’t going to carry it down. When we all got down, I wasn’t surprised that there was Noah with the rock... I want to leave you with Philippians 4: 6-8. “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.”
~ There’s a memorial guide-on from Sgt. Jim Wilson’s Humvee that commands attention, flanked by a patriotic quilt, hand made by the Quilts of Honor crafters from Deepstep, Ga., who continue to make good on the goal to deliver a hand-made quilt to every Georgia hero; golden sparkles reflect from numerous plaques, and various patriotic and inspirational statuary, given to us by family, friends, and even strangers who feel compelled to respond to the celebration of Noah’s life—all speak volumes of the love of a community for its fallen son. A framed replica of the bronze memorial that hangs in the Harris Weight Room at the University of Georgia ROTC building features the picture that Rick has dubbed “Captain America.” Best of all, there are many photos, lovingly enlarged by many of his wonderful friends for whom Noah has grown larger than life. Each item is too precious to be tucked away in a box somewhere collecting dust. So we polish them and display them just as we honor the knowledge that an American hero walked here.
1Lt. Adam Aderholt (3rd ID Ba’Quba Buddy)
Noah brought nothing but smiles and a positive outward look to our mission at hand. He was an outstanding platoon leader and led his platoon bravely into combat. I personally could count on him for anything; he was always doing the right thing which led to many successes. Because I knew Noah on a personal level, I know he is another Guardian Angel watching over us.
~ We cross the foyer to the left and step into the great room which we have always called the cathedral of our home. Our eyes often travel upward to the glowing light filtering through the stained glass windows that adorn the now-completed, center-piece cupola which, like a many-sided tent, sits open-eyed, atop the ten-sided vaulting, knotty pine ceiling. Whenever we look at it, we remember the week when Noah agilely crawled from beam to beam, manning the nail gun to finish the trim. On the right, a Rick-crafted staircase, supported by what we wood butchers call “character” beams, rises to the loft which bisects the house in such a way as to make the upstairs overwhelmingly attractive to children and mountain cabin enthusiasts.
On the once blank wall at the first step, resides the quilt presented by the "Home of the Brave Project" as well as the Atlanta Fine Arts League portrait of our UGA cheerleader, painted painstakingly by Keith Barnett. Underneath the stairs in the exact center of the house, a Chambers portrait of Jesus reminds us of the way to live, heart and soul. Noah passed that centering image multiple times every day–it’s not too far from the refrigerator! Perhaps that is why his favorite Iraqi expression quickly became, “Inshallah.” Noah said it means “The will of God” or “If God wills it.” He often pondered what it exactly meant to the Iraqis because he wanted to understand about their culture and embrace it; but I think to him it meant put first things first, do the right thing to share love with the world.
Pop Pop (Noah’s grandfather, June 25, 2005)
I don’t have the words to tell you how much I loved Noah or how much he loved me. From day one, we were special to each other. The thing I want to remember the most about him was that love that he gave me and everyone else he came into contact with. I think of Noah as being the example of love, and it’s hard to think that love is not going to be with us anymore, but as I stand here today, I feel that love coming from you folks who are here to honor my grandson. Noah loved his country and he loved this community.
~ To the left of the top of the stairs is a prominent white wall that has become the Noah Harris Wall. Our eyes sweep across the exhibits with great joy, some of which are the 1999 Georgia State Scholar Athlete of the Year Award, three framed United States Congressional Records, a bronze replica of the dedication plaque that hangs in the Gilmer High School Noah Harris Center, and a framed UGA cheerleading uniform. The apex of what seems to us to be an immense, exquisite fractal that begins somewhere out in the infinite universe, spiraling our imaginations along an all-inclusive cosmic pattern of visual perfection to a culminating point, is the Anne Marie Oborn portrait of Lt. Noah Harris in his dress blues.
We look at the radiant spirit of optimism—that was always in Noah’s eyes—captured by the artist and think, “Yes, we will see him again.” Functioning as an exclamation point is the last Christmas present to Noah from the artist in the family, Aunt Mona, whose prolific drawings and paintings grace the walls of so many of our homes; ironically, it’s not her signature splash of color, but rather a Fallen Heroes emblem that warns, “The nation which forgets its defenders will itself be forgotten.” Beneath it, on the forest-green tiled buffet, next to the memorial flag presented to us by the Army at his birthday celebration, is a stack of pictures of our Hero son; we give them to all who ask for a memento of their American friend.
Vicki Thompson (wife of Ronnie, Ford dealer, Ellijay, Ga.)
Noah was my Hero long before he went into the Army. I fell in love with Noah the first time I met him. And my love for him burns until today. He could talk me into supporting whatever new adventure he was pursuing. He made me feel like the most beautiful and special person. He could come into my office and give me my hug and that smile. I would just melt. I often asked him when he thought he would run for president. He could have been president. He just had it. He knew what life was all about even as a teenager. Noah has been such an influence on my life. He changed me. He taught me what it means to give back, to just give because it is the right thing to do. “IDWIC!” He said that to me so many times. I made him a promise. I promised to send him care packages. I never did. I never got a package to him. I could go through all the times Noah was here. I could tell you all about his charms and his wisdom. I could tell you stories of his eating whole batches of Toll House cookies. But I need to tell you what Noah has done for me since he left. He renewed my faith in mankind. I believe a man can do something just because he feels it in his gut, even knowing it may cost him his life. I saw this young man grow and become what God meant for him to be. He never wavered in his decision to join the Army. Not once did he ever say he could change his mind. He simply kissed my forehead and told me,“Miss Vicki, there comes a time in your life when you have to serve a purpose higher than yourself. Trust me; this is my purpose.”What do you say to that? I just cried and let him see me smile before he walked out of my office.
~ Noah’s Birthday – June 25th, 1981
I often travel back to a day all moms remember. It was approaching high noon and the pinnacle of an exciting year of learning about the mountains and teaching at a new school. The house was dried-in ("Dried-in" is construction talk meaning a house is sealed, but none of the finish work is done), and I was nine months and fifteen days pregnant. All through the previous night, Rick and I had laughed and said that Noah was taking his sweet time coming into the world. My friends kept telling me I needed to at least think about a girl’s name, but Rick and I were positive all we would ever need was “Noah.”
Now, after thirty-two and one half hours of labor, Jenna’s face was creased with worry as Rick and I pushed as hard as we could. It was hot and we were all perspiring, but I knew that the tiny beads of sweat on this stalwart midwife’s upper lip were a result of her concern for me and my baby. Down by the branch in the mountains of North Georgia, air-conditioning was mostly not a necessity. Today was definitely different. It seemed even the atmosphere was conspiring with intense humidity to make this event as challenging as possible, but that seemed normal. Just as we had hand dug and set the foundation of our post-and-beam home, we were determined to maintain a personal experience with this momentous occasion.
Granny (Lyda “Buck” Glenn)
Honey, You guys ain’t got enough brains to wad a shotgun with. I am just horrified, especially in this day and age when modern medicine can provide such wonderful advantages...
~ We wanted our baby boy to be born “au naturel.” We wanted to be in the experience, and an experience we had; but I will offer the rejoinder: “Always be mindful of what you wish for.” We tried warm showers, long walks, standing, and sitting. I would have been frightened, but with true American ingenuity, experience, and inspiration shining in her eyes, Jenna kept us going, and she had one more idea up her sleeve. “Lucy, maybe if you saw what was happening, you’d know what needs to be done. Rick, do you have a mirror, at least twelve by twelve?” Rick jumped up from his position behind me where he had steadfastly been supporting and helping me to breathe. He ran to the bathroom, and calling, “I’ve got just the thing,” proceeded to jerk the oval, vanity mirror off the wall. High above my head, the midday Georgia sunlight seemed to cast a golden glow over the whole scene. Everyone was tired, but no one was ready to give up and head to the hospital.
Just as the pressure started to pick up speed on my contraction, the mirror was placed so that everyone, including me, could see the crown of the baby’s head. I remember saying to Rick, “I sure am glad I’ve seen The Hulk on television.” When I said it, I was serious, but everyone burst out laughing, probably because at that point, Rick’s face was kind of science fiction green and mine was probably tomato red. Teamwork and intuition ruled and after one more push, our beautiful son burst forth and spread his arms wide with the confidence of an Olympic diver executing a perfect angel dive into the world. Donna took pictures as Jenna caught him and placed him in my arms, and in that moment I understood with crystal clarity that I was going to sacrifice everything to guard and protect this amazing treasure. He was gurgling audibly, and all 10-and-one-half pounds were wiggling.
The exuberant expression of his birth images proved to be a premonition of his modus operandi. For the next twenty-four years with his mom and dad and family and friends somewhere nearby, he was always plunging into life with his commentary flowing; and, invariably, he was moving and shaking the earth around him and using those immense widespread limbs to hug the people. Like our home, his birth was a challenge, but our life together was always as idyllic as that first moment on June 25, 1981, when Noah Harris was simply born—without the aid of doctors, nurses, and high technology. After one talk with friends about their places of origin, Noah developed a ready quip to explain his entrance into life.
Young Noah (To friends)
“You may have been born in a hospital, but I wasn’t. I was born at home. For real... I mean in the house, in the living room... right over there.”
~ Even the phones had gone dead that day and service hadn’t been returned until a late afternoon thunderstorm had growled across the ridge line with refreshing rain that cooled and cleared the air; it seemed in honor of Noah’s birth. We didn’t actually see a rainbow, but to us it was a promise, as though even the weather had conspired to acknowledge the advent of a courageous, adventurous, trailblazing spirit, an attitude that Noah would maintain and nourish along with his hunger to be in the present and make the most of every moment. The details of his momentous birth were to stay with him for the rest of his life as a clear bellwether.
I will always remember how I stared at his beautiful, chubby, angel face for the next two months as I learned the fine points of being a mom; I loved them all and have written in my journal that I didn’t even go out of the house for two weeks because I was just having too much fun. My teacher’s summer vacation was over too soon, and before I was ready, it was time to do the hardest thing I have ever done. I handed my precious joy off to Rick, who, like a professional fullback, was ready to grab him and run—all smiles and delight.
Joshua Archer, ROTC buddy, Guestbook Entry–June 25, 2005, Memorial Celebration
I met Noah through ROTC at UGA, and from the moment I met him until the moment he left, the man changed my life. I’ll remember everything he ever taught me about, from lifting weights and eating properly to just living life and loving people that you don’t even know or see on a consistent basis. The last thing that Noah said to me on May 13, 2005, when he was home on R&R was, “If I don’t come home from Iraq, I want you to cry for me for ten minutes and then Drive ON because I realize I am doing what I love. I wouldn’t change it for the world... Noah…I read articles about you and feel so proud and honored to have known you. Looking back at our time together makes me realize how precious life is and how important relationships are. You were always so modest about your accomplishments; I never even knew you were a wrestler! You gave your heart to every person you ever came in contact with and very few people can say that about themselves. Your legacy challenges me to become a better officer and man. I will miss you so much and I will never forget the lessons you taught me.
~ Rick “Mr. Mom”
This beautiful adventure was an inspired dream which became possible only after we cut our ties with the world in 1980. For me, that was a piece of cake because I was never at ease in the city; I preferred sitting by the creek with my beautiful lady. We moved from our apartment to the mountains to live in the blue tarp tent-like shelter. We started to build our home with about $10k, the sum total after pooling all our assets. We worked hard and sacrificed a lot to get our peaceful oasis, and we believed that life would unfold as it was supposed to. I was at the point of having the first stage of the house about finished just as Noah was due on the scene. Although we had made arrangements with a nearby hospital in case of an emergency, I remember feeling thrilled that it was going to be the mid-wife, a couple of lady friends (for backup), and I who would welcome Noah into the world. It was a 20-minute drive to the nearest town, but Lucy and I had faith in our vision.
Stella Sullivan (Terry College, Leader Scholar Buddy)
... On our first day of class, Melanie (Dr. Lankau) had each of us take a personality quiz. She paired me up with Noah and two other students, I think mainly because we had such different personalities...Noah was “the performer.” This suited him because at the time he was captain of the cheerleading squad. Well, I am glad they paired me up with Noah because this allowed us to spend lots of time together. We did lots of projects together. One was about the qualities of leadership. Each of us interviewed someone who we felt embodied certain qualities of leadership. Noah chose to interview his dad. Mr. Harris, I remember that in the interview you said the hardest part of being a leader was taking risks. You had built your house with your hands. I also remember Noah talking about his mother. He truly admired you... he said you were an amazing teacher. When I read about all the great things he did in Iraq, I can’t help but smile. He was compassionate. He led his men and built up morale...He became a man.
~ We had made a family decision to have me stay home with Noah since Lucy had what she considered a great, stable teaching position. When we married, we knew we were together for the long haul which meant to us that Lucy’s seamless development as a teacher was an important thing. Teaching has always been her calling. We were thinking that I would be able to keep working on the house, and that I could keep an eye on Noah as I hammered and sawed. Logical, right? We thought that maybe I could pick up some work on the weekends if we needed additional money. At that time, no one had ever heard of a Mr. Mom experience, but we weren’t worried about it; we were inspired and enthusiastic.
Well, almost immediately after taking Noah in September when Lucy went back to school, I realized that caring for a baby was a much more time-consuming venture than I had realized. There was no way I was going to be able to work on the house and take care of a baby at the same time. When I was not feeding Noah, I was changing a diaper, rocking him to sleep, playing with him, walking him, or cleaning the house. There was no down time except when he would sleep, and then I had to tip-toe around the house. So much for my logic!
Aunt Betsy Mitchell (She corrupted him with his first bowl of Fruity Pebbles!)
An American Hero...Heroes aren't born; they are raised and nurtured daily with love, respect, honor, and dignity. Heroes don't happen by chance, they are taught to love God, country and humanity. Heroes don't realize their greatness, but the people around them realize how great they are.
~ Time slowed to a creepy crawl. Days went by unnoticed. I did not see another person other than Lucy for weeks at a time. I thought I was going to go bonkers with boredom while Lucy was struggling with missing her baby boy. It was the most quietly stressful experience I had ever endured. Maybe I was stressed because my broad life had become so narrow. After having worked throughout my life, occasionally holding down three jobs at a time, I found that now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere all alone, babysitting, and unable to accomplish anything. I would see day after day, staring me in the face, all the remaining work in my unfinished house.
In 1981, in our neck of the woods, there was no Internet, no cable; desktop computers were just coming out, and we had no TV reception because of the height of the mountains. I experienced a few moments of desperation when I realized that Noah was only three months old and I had committed to seeing him through to kindergarten. This was stacking up to be a very long and trying Mr. Mom ordeal! To make it worse, I was having guilt feelings about not appreciating the opportunity to live my dream; I knew that all I had ever wanted or needed was right in front of me, but I just didn’t know if I could make it through.
However, the one bright spot that still seems to illuminate even the darkest moments is that we did live in the middle of a beautiful seasonal forest with a gentle but ample creek that ran beside and around the house and then twisted its way through the lower property. This is one of the few flat areas in this mountainous region as most of the surrounding terrain is steep right down to the sweet, babbling waters; whereas we have a small spring-laden valley that opens out. It may be one of the reasons the original horse and buggy road between historic, small towns lying to the east and west of us runs through the lower property alongside the creek. Noah and I often imagined that settlers and Native Americans alike stopped and rested beside Ticklebug Creek.
Noah (UGA tattered note card)
I let go of all my ego agendas that attempt to control my destiny. I fly the path of life effortlessly and confidently to my true destination. I accept that there will always be an ideal to guide me, yet it will not make me anxious or impatient because I know I am perfect in this present moment.
~ As three months turned into one year which turned into two, I settled into Mother Nature’s open arms and Noah and I played in the forest every day. Being close to the weather, we learned to read the signs of the wind and sun. I felt a deep calm begin to well up within me. Noah would be in the creek when it was warm enough, and I hiked him around the property in the backpack every day; this was our entertainment, so it’s no surprise that his first word was, “Ouk!” Rain or shine, at nine months of age, he would stand at the front door and twist the brass knob. He always loved nature and I became his playmate who helped him walk beside the “falldarall” (waterfall) and chase “flutterbies” (butterflies). Experiencing the wonder and joy of the natural order of nature through Noah’s innocence renewed my faith in the hand of Providence that had always guided my life. Though our routine changed as Noah grew older, we were always roaming around our part of the forest in the mountains of North Georgia.
In retrospect, I guess Lucy and I were pretty adventurous at the time. We often talked about how it felt to live life out on the end of a limb over a gaping chasm of imminent failure, but I will always consider earning my motherhood badge to be the personal growth experience of which I am most proud. I often suggest this role to young fathers. Over the years, watching Noah grow up, and seeing his character and confidence develop, I have come to realize it was the perfect blend of rough and tumble in nature with Dad, and a little tenderness in the evening from Mom which enabled him to unfold his life, fearless, pure, and unadulterated.
Noah (College Journal)
Devotion: When I lose purpose or devotion in my life, my emotions run amok. Devotion. Without a doubt, a large portion of my time should be spent finding greater spirituality so that my weak thoughts don’t control me. I am what I am for a reason; I am where I am for a reason. I will let go of my attachments and gain control of my life. I am a Christian, but I must explore what I believe. I will illuminate my unconscious thoughts by working on it.
~ For Noah, it was an Abraham Lincoln experience living in the forest. He didn’t have to walk through the snow to get to school or learn to read by fire light, but through his exposure to the struggles of building a home in the elements and from struggling with and finally embracing the solace that can be found in solitude, he developed an unbreakable connection with the earth, the creek, the wind, and the light. It made my job as his father, the one granted the blessing and responsibility of raising and giving him to God, very easy because Noah grew to be grateful, humble, and solid in the presence of the beauty that surrounded him. From the balance and peace of nature, he learned to listen for the truth and confidently turn in the right direction. When he heard the call of his destiny, he honored its demands, refined and perfected his life, and followed his path, no matter where it led.
Joe Cavalli (UGA Cheerleader)
Noah was so real! From the day I met him up at my grandmother’s lake house on Lake Burton when he was a freshman at UGA and we hiked up Dick’s Creek together with Clay and he was so selfless and interested in me and not in himself, to seeing him on the sidelines cheering and how his eyes would light up and he would run over to shake my hand across the hedges. He was such an incredible guy. But what is most impressive to me is all that I learned about him after his death such as being a State Champ Wrestler. He knew I was a very good wrestler myself, but never once told me he was a State Champ! He once more impressed me when he ran into me a little over a year ago in Atlanta last Christmas. He was his personable passionate self, only this time, he was sporting a crew cut and excited about going overseas. I couldn’t believe it at first because my first thoughts were of how much he has to offer here as a smart and good-looking guy, but then it dawned on me that his view of doing for others first is what made him so special!
~ Mom’s Dream
In the steamy, sunlit days following Noah’s death, Rick and I threw open the doors of the house and welcomed the constant stream of visitors who came to love us and share with us and be with us. They seemed hungry to touch and see the parts of Noah’s life that so many had only heard about. Rick spent six hours preparing a scrapbook of our lives by adding pictures to his good old notebook that depicted the construction of our home. This is something he had always planned to do and at the end of June, 2005, it was a task that could not be added to a list. As so often happened in those days, I would be sharing with one group of folks and Rick would be with another.
I hadn’t really taken a look at the pictures he had added until the day I was walking through the foyer with some friends, and I overheard Rick in the kitchen saying cheerfully, “That’s the picture of Noah’s birth. You know he was conceived right out there under that giant maple where we lived in a tent for six months as we built the house.” As I stepped into the great room, I was greeted by expressions of awe and wonder on the faces of some of Noah’s high school friends. In the alternate universe where we now reside, our lives must be an open book, pictures and anecdotes of a woman’s most vulnerable moments included. I could almost hear Noah chuckling and telling his friends as he so often had, “Mom and Dad are just a couple of old hippies.” I would always correct him and say that Rick was a wild child, but that I was a flower child, meaning that, to me, life would be greatly enhanced if we all heeded the line from one of my favorite poets,
William Blake
To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower,
hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.
~ That would always make Noah laugh even more because it confirmed his suspicions about me, and it seemed to delight him that I so loved and quoted poems that reflect the undeniable messages of oneness that manifest from encouraging an abiding connection to the outdoor wonders of our planet. As a youngster, he saw the trees “dance”; as a leader, he heard them whisper words of gratitude, solace, and inspiration. To our nature boy, life was a book of love whose pages guided best when they were turned, caressed, rustled, and earmarked by the competent fingers of the wind.
Noah (College journal)
Sitting on my knees beneath a moonlit sky,
Watching the silver lining as the clouds are pushed by.
Alone I am in body, but in spirit presence feel;
My eyelids drift together and in the dark I heal,
listening to cold dancing music that blows so high,
rustling are the leaves from the breeze that whispers by.
My face is kissed by chill but a warmth glows inside,
On my lips the sweet memory of the angel by my side.
~ So, when the guys who were gaping at the open book of Noah’s birth turned to look at me, without hesitation, I smiled and told them the details of a dream I had had just three days after Noah’s death. I was rocking gently, at first under a dark, starlit night sky, kind of like the one you can see from our front deck on a moonless night. It was different in that I felt as though I were floating on a gentle sea. Then, as I gazed in wonder, the sky became a vast plain that had no beginning and no end which morphed into a moving mass of shimmering lights that became a myriad of angelic beings swaying as I was, in time with a celestial harmony. To my surprise, as I peacefully stared at the undulating, glowing waves to which I seemed connected, the face of an old friend who had died a couple of years ago loomed forward, urgently commanded my attention, and said, “Don’t look back. It’ll hurt your eyes.”
As I stared at her beautiful face amid the vast sea of glowing beings, wondering that she knew about my new eye surgery, from on high somewhere behind me boomed an explosion of light like white fireworks on July Fourth. Reflected in her face was the brilliant sputtering of innumerable sparklers; a sweetly hissing cascade of light flowed down over me and all of the beings in front of me. In slow motion, as though part of a well-rehearsed, joyous ceremony, the quadrillions raised their arms simultaneously, and my departed friend looked into my eyes, arms up-stretched and said, “There’s Noah.” Noah and an entourage of white knights, insisting, “Don’t despair; Repair!” It was like seeing the great patchwork quilt of being to which we all belong, but from a distance, and I was looking in the opposite direction.
I told his dearest buddies that, though Noah might have died in a huge explosion, and though some may worry about the impact of such force on a soul, I believe it was in that moment he was born again to an even higher purpose which is served whenever we do as Noah, the servant leader, did and risk ourselves for a vision of a better world. In their eyes I could see he had become their avatar of freedom, hope, and joy, and at that moment, I was so proud that, because of the vision of America that inspired my son and the over one-and-a-half million fallen heroes who came before him, each of us has the opportunity to stand up for freedom and protect those who cannot, simply by living with deliberation and consciousness. Rick has called him a shooting star, and I know him as our shining star.
Noah (MaryAnn Henderson, fourth-grade teacher, chose Noah to do a Johnny Cash lip sync for the “Hee Haw Hoe-Down”)
I fly a starship
Across the universe divide.
And when I reach the other side;
I’ll find a place to rest my spirit if I can;
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again;
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain;
But I will remain.
And I’ll be back again and again and again and again...
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 4 - Simply Raised
Noah’s Early Life Experiences
Noah: (“Mom” – a poem written for Lucy’s 50th birthday)
Here I am, one fifth of a century old,
A man to most, but always Momma’s little boy,
My role model and my cold hands to hold,
Always there to fill my life with compassion and joy.
Following in your footsteps, such big shoes I have to fill,
You are my inspiration and my pride, so strong and true.
All you’ve done for me, I’m sure, took iron will.
No poems, cards, or gifts could ever repay you.
Though we are separated, we never are apart.
In my mind, I give you 13 hugs, and the promise,
Not a moment goes by that you’re not in my heart.
President George W. Bush (Nationally televised speech: President Bush Discusses Progress in the Global War on Terror, Atlanta, Georgia, September 2, 2006)
The enemies of freedom are skilled and they are sophisticated, and they are waging a long and determined war. The free world must understand the stakes of this struggle. The free world must support young democracies... We see the full measure and the strength of this nation in the men and women in uniform who fight this war, and who have given their lives in the cause of liberty and freedom. One of these soldiers was a young lieutenant named Noah Harris, who was killed last summer in Iraq when his Humvee was hit by a roadside bomb. Noah grew up here in Georgia; he graduated from the University... He volunteered for the Army after September 11th, 2001. He told his dad that people had an obligation to serve a cause higher than themselves. In Iraq, Lieutenant Harris was an officer known for his toughness and his skill in battle and for the Beanie Babies that he carried with him to hand out to the Iraqi children...for the photo of his parents’ home in Ellijay... Lieutenant Harris understood the stakes in Iraq. He knew that to protect his loved ones at home, America must defeat our enemies overseas. If America pulls out of Iraq before the Iraqis can defend themselves, the terrorists will follow us here, home. The best way to honor the memory of brave Americans like Lieutenant Harris is to complete the mission they began – so we will stay, we will fight, and we will win in Iraq.
~ Mom
Rick’s from south Florida and I am from a university town in Delaware, not far from Philadelphia. Many friends have wondered aloud, “What are two city slickers doing way back in the mountains?” What happened was we both had grandparents who planted seeds in the earth along with dreams of the seasonal forest in their grandkids’ hearts. Rick and Noah loved the story that my dahlia-raising grandfather, Pop Glenn, spun--tales of the Green-eyed Wampus, an eight-legged critter that runs around the mountains on four short legs and four long ones, searching for children to scare.
Rick and I grew up worlds apart geographically, but each of us separately hankered after nature, peace, God, and truth. To me, cities are a manifestation of the excellence of the human imagination, and I believe I succeeded in passing on to Noah my love of architecture, cinema, dance, poetry, diversity; but after trying the urban experience for many years, I knew that, as much as I have always loved people, the country life drew my soul like a moth to the light. For his own reasons, Rick was a willing instigator of my urban flight pattern.
He had the attitude that we had nothing to lose and everything to gain by returning to the primeval forest and building our round habitat into the warm, sheltering embrace formed by the base of our mountain. I remember watching him dig, straining, sweating, smiling with the inner drive that characterizes all of our projects saying, “Together, we can do it!” He was right: Our humble abode fits like an interlocking puzzle piece that has been hand-snugged into the cozy, creek-side plateau. It’s not perfect but, like our lives, the setting always has been idyllic. When Granny asked, “Isn’t it kind of scary after dark? Aren’t you bored out there?” I reminded her of our three black bears story; and she shuddered.
One late night, not long after Noah was born, Rick ran outside in his underwear to see what the dogs were barking at only to find Middle Bear (300lbs.) romping around the hillside behind the house. After 45 minutes of banging pans together, trying to chase off Middle Bear, we thought we had been successful and turned off the lights, climbed the ladder to the loft, and went back to bed. We had just laid our heads down when Rick heard noises that were menacingly close to the back deck. We could actually hear the bear snuffling and it sounded big! Our two canine pets were literally "bawling like coon dogs" as Rick headed back down the ladder, out of the house, and up the back bank. Rick was afraid that the bear might be able to leap onto the little back deck and charge through the plastic covered window; the prospect of having a live bear in the loft with our new baby compelled him to action.
It was so dark, he yelled for me to turn the back porch light on and when it came on, there was Rick in his "whitey-tighties" face to face with 300 pounds of shiny black fur; I'm sure he was thinking about the teeth and claws. Rick raised his arms and yelled at the bear at the top of his lungs to, "Get the h*** out of here!" We were amazed to watch as the bear ran for the huge oak tree in our back yard and dashed up 50' to the lower branches in about 3 seconds flat and then slid down the tree and proceeded to run up and down it again and again. Neither of us had ever had contact with a bear, and we were as they say "bumfuzzled" until Rick heard another noise and pointed the flashlight at the base of another tree; there was Baby Bear (100 lbs) all round black eyes and fuzzy head and next to the cub was Mama Bear (500 lbs.). As though in a horror movie, I was mesmerized, sure that I was about to witness the end of Rick, but as we watched, to our great relief, Mama Bear turned and led Baby bear back over the mountain; with a final huffing snort, Middle Bear followed close behind.
We were not afraid to be alone in the wilderness with our lives of the mind and spirit; and boredom is a state we have never entertained because between us, we are interested in almost every area of human endeavor and philosophy; any we haven’t perused are on “the list.” Though we might have seemed hopelessly “trapped” to some, in fact, we had innumerable frontiers about which to read, talk, dream, and banter. In our minds, it seemed that only goodness could come from our endeavor. We were explorers, following the currents, exuberantly pushing the boundaries of knowledge and experience; but when Noah was born, the wind shifted instantaneously as did the direction of our enthusiasm. Our focus narrowed and we pooled our resources and traded everything for the opportunity to be Noah’s mom and dad. I remember telling Mother Nature, my books, and my friends, “I’ll be back again someday.” No longer exploring outwardly, my attention turned inward where I just knew I could find everything that was required.
Jennifer Rittenberry Burton...
I thought the world of Noah; he is the sweetest man I have ever met... I have a one-and-a-half year old son... I hope that he loves me as much as Noah loved you.
To say that the most wonderful experience of my life was being Noah’s mom, and that I was simply “born to be his mother” sounds understated. He meant everything to me; I loved it when he started saying, “YMETM” and to this day, all I have to do is close my eyes and the memories of his childhood are there, gleaming treasures of value beyond anything I ever could have imagined. From the instant he was born, every day was better than the one that came before. Perfection motherhood moments, like clear snapshots, remain because I would scrunch up my eyes and repeat, “I want to remember this always.”
Paige Yergens (Atlanta, GA)
I had the pleasure of knowing Noah while in attendance at The University of Georgia. He epitomized what a bulldog should be. He was kind, handsome, funny, loving, open, and always made you feel as if you were the most important person in the world. It seemed like he had a light around him. I am so thankful for him, and I feel that in his passing, I have gained strength to be more like Noah. I want to strive to live life to the fullest. I know that I will from now on, have a little of that "Noah Sparkle" in my heart.
~ Like all moms, I loved his baby fat rolls and the way he gurgled and cooed as he nuzzled up to feed. I can still hear how he laughed aloud in his sleep from the day he was born. I’d wake Rick up and say, “Listen, Honey, he’s watching angels on the other side.” At this moment, behind my eyes are flashing images of his bare feet, running pigeon-toed through the woods, splashing across the creek; and in my ears, one of Noah’s pine-thicket wind songs carries his bright chatter on soft whispers. I hear him call, “Mom, watch this!” “Aw, come on Mom, just one more. PPLLLEEEAASSE?” “Mom, what’s for dinner?” I am living a non-stop montage of delightful snapshots featuring my grubby, grinning, golden child, and it’s full of the words, books, poems, and songs that meant so much to us.
Before he was born, we read to him, played symphonies, and plastered the house with word and number labels of two-inch red lettering on white poster board cutouts. I became a convicted student of linguistic philosophy in college when I had awakened to the metaphysical mystery of words and descriptions, realizing that nothing is as it seems and that all words have the power to convey different meanings to different people. Noah heard frequently, “The more I know, the less I understand.” I figured it couldn’t hurt to start him on his search for wisdom by kick-starting his exploration of the subtle shades of meaning which can offer immeasurable bright moments of illumination, comfort, and hope. When he was a baby, we’d ask him, “Where’s the word for ‘door’?” and he’d fling his arm toward the lettering. “What’s it mean?” “Ouk, ouk, ouk!” he’d laugh.
Baby Noah may not have understood the letters, but he knew they had power; they were tools with which to open locks. And that’s how it began; he knew that his struggle to decode could yield the meaning that would satisfy his hunger to understand and to move. As we crawled around in the yard and rolled in the leaves, I was thrilled to observe how the grunts, squeals, and body-talk kept morphing into moments of clarity. He was always expressing his “Song of Myself” and in a very spiritual way, behind it all, I could hear Walt Whitman’s “...America singing.” Noah loved to communicate almost as much as he loved trees, moss, pine needles, mud, animals, weapons, tools, vehicles, people, music, and a challenge. Funny, I have always associated the Nat King Cole song, “Nature Boy” with my boy. It was a favorite we sang together when he was a toddler; I would rock him as he put his fingers in my mouth and caterwauled along. Now it seems more appropriate than ever before.
There was a boy...
A very strange enchanted boy.
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea,
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he.
And then one day,
One magic day, he passed my way.
And while we spoke of many things,
Fools and kings,
This he said to me,
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return."
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return."
(Words and music by Eden Ahbez)
~ The lesson of the final couplet was something we always sang loudest. Noah would squeeze my neck as he yelled the Beatles’ song, “All You Need Is Love,” and Jesus’ commandments came first every day, “Love God, and love thy neighbor as thyself.” He was raised on the Golden Rule because that’s what we believe. He always heard about Emerson’s “transparent eyeball,” Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream...” speech, and Gandhi’s denunciation of material wealth. He loved the Norman Rockwell picture that occupied the center position on my bulletin board at school; I have passed it on to his biggest Bulldog fan and my fellow teacher, Stacey Hadden.
It renders poignantly a multi-national gathering of folks who have joined together under the banner, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Right next to it were the many smiling pictures of former GHS students in purple graduation gowns; in the middle was a larger picture of a local boy gone seaman, Charles Lloyd, a humble servant I always held up as a hero because he took away all excuses about why something couldn't be done; after suffering through leukemia, Charlie fought his way into the Navy to serve his country.
Rikki
Shamis (Captain Noah’s UGA Cheer Partner)
I remember when I found out Noah was going to be my partner. I couldn’t have been more excited... I think I was a little worried since I had already hit his nose (during try-outs). He was always so encouraging, uplifting, and patient. He made me laugh and feel so special. He had so much charisma. I remember his talking about his parents... he had so much respect and love for you guys. He was so proud of you. I am honored to have known Noah. I was so proud of him for taking a strong stand for our freedom and taking the road not traveled by many today. He knew what he had to do. I could hear the passion for our country when talking with him...
~ Before Noah went off to school, we were living our “Rock Solid American Dream Routine.” We had created a secure environment, and as there is no such thing as a typical day in nature, it became our way of life, to observe the tiny movements in the changing of the seasons for the special gifts of meaning they might offer. Noah named a certain evening color, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.” He called the wind, “The Hawk.” We heard that other folks struggled during the full moon, but for us, it just painted our little valley with wide swathes of light through which to stroll as we gazed at our peaceful shire, endeavoring to meet every challenge with the same kind of constancy.
The night before I was to return to the world of work and leave my precious gift from God, I prayed for the strength to maintain level. I could tell by the tears that surged against my eyelids, that I was going to need help to even get out the door without losing my faith. I just didn’t want to go and I worried about the effect my impending flood of tears might have on my bundle of joy; but I knew I had to be strong. As I rocked Noah to sleep on the porch swing above the creek, out of the silence of the night came a memory that bolstered my courage.
Suddenly, I remembered a moment of epiphany that had taught me how to defy the urge to sleep while I was in college. My packed schedule of working, studying, and exploring life had come to a moment of crisis one night during which I had been anxiously contemplating which one to give up: the job, the books, or the fun? I just couldn’t fit everything into my schedule. I had fallen asleep in a pile of paper, only to be awakened at 4 a.m. by a voice yelling, “Sleep! Give up sleep!” To my astonishment, I immediately had sat up in bed and gone to work in a manner that was so exceedingly focused and powerful that I used the early morning study hours for the rest of my college career with dynamic results.
In a twinkling of an eye, I understood it might just work better for all of us if I practiced that same lesson that had served me so well. I would simply re-establish my schedule of waking up at dark o’clock. It worked like a charm the very first day and from then on! I would slip out of the house and into the school which was glowing with silence and grab all of the quiet inspiration that lurked in the center of the calm. I admit that, for the first few weeks, I experienced culture shock and I actually “primal screamed” out the window on a particularly lonely stretch of road; the feelings of loss were surprisingly intense.
My body kept telling me I was missing something I had been born to witness, and it hurt; but I focused on Rick’s famous saying, “You can teach your heart to think and your mind to feel.” It was obviously a lesson I needed to learn because gradually it became easier and Noah was growing like a well-planted sapling, stout and bold. Slowly my pain turned into prayer and my cries into yelps of inspiration. I will admit that, some days, if someone dared to cross my path at the end of the day, I would command that colleague or student to “...See me first thing tomorrow,” as I rushed to the parking lot and the big red truck. I had to hold my right foot off the accelerator because I was motivated to get home to my little paradise and my precious joy. It was no surprise to me when I found the following laminated prayer stuck in one of the many journals Noah left behind.
Noah (Verse 3 of College Wallet Prayer)
I accept that I will develop mastery over the dark force (sleep). I will learn to modify my appetites and I will always be vigilant to recognize my weaknesses and work to correct them.
~ I supposed that every day for Noah and Rick was like my cherished Saturdays and Sundays. When I got home for the weekend, I didn’t want to go anywhere. Our huge rooster Big Bird, the terror of Ticklebug Creek, woke everybody at first light, to which we added hugs and kisses with a healthful breakfast close behind. We were committed to all things natural, and Noah never even knew what sugar was until he was more than a year old. When he was a teenager, he’d tell his friends, “Yep, my mom and dad fed me sticks and twigs when I was a baby. That’s why I grew so big.” He was a relaxed breast-fed bundle of joy when I was around, but we learned to keep on hand a special-recipe, vegetarian, immune-system booster because that boy was always hungry! Rick and I grew to love the undulating hum of the silly “Noahsong” that accompanied his bottles. Though he was always comfortable with singing, he was never really happy until he could walk.
We would put him in a backpack, and he used urgent kicks and grunts to drive us around the property before he could run himself. I’d be singing lines from a song I had learned in elementary school, “I love to go a wandering along the mountain track, and as I go I love to sing, my knapsack on my back.” He was always on the move and, though he slept hard, he woke up ready to play occasionally five times a night until he was more than two years old. He never willingly went to bed, but rather dropped in his tracks with a piece of milk-white quartz, a crushed daffodil, or a hickory sword curled tightly in his fingers; only then would I examine his bumps, cuts, and bruises for infection. I even cut his hair when he was sleeping because he would never sit still long enough for me to get it right.
Granny called him her “little busybody” because when he was awake, he was “on task.” Sometimes when I arrived home, Rick would meet me at the door and say, “Look what I found in the pumpkin patch,” or “Here’s an early Christmas present.” He’d head for the nearest mountain town and the fellowship of buddies, leaving Noah and me with plenty of time just to be together. Rick and I were a tag team, and Noah actually had the best of two worlds, a dad to teach him the tough, day-to-day lessons of the physical universe, and a mom with whom to talk endlessly about everything he saw, heard, felt, or about which he was just plain curious.
Noah was the kind of baby who was prone to talking and “smiling out loud.” He’d get to playing with his favorite un-toy of the moment, a box, a newspaper, or plastic bags, and the laughter would start. Like all babies, he loved a good magazine and would “talk” about them as he tore them to shreds. I wrote in his baby journal that he was saying, “Mombop, Mombop,” in his sleep at seven months and “Mama” when he saw me or Rick at nine months. The articulation really focused at 10 months, and he was associating words and objects that were important.
He would empty the magazine basket and climb in it and fly, “Vroom Vroom.” That’s when Noah became the crowd pleaser with his fake sneeze that would cause anyone to crack a smile; if that didn’t work, he’d wrinkle his nose and make, “Ha Ha!” Pure ham and rambunctious movement, Noah could walk so well at nine months that we removed the first rung of the temporary ladder into the loft for fear of his neck.
When he toddled around the mountains in his first pair of athletic shoes, he would try to throw rocks over the telephone wires or round up the dogs; and if we didn’t watch him closely enough, he’d jump into the nearest puddle for the sheer delight of making splashes.
One cold, gray-cast winter day, when the temperature just barely nudged 20, and we could see our white, frothy breath as it swirled away on the icy breeze, Noah and I set out on an anti-cabin-fever walk. Trundling along beside the creek, we examined the thin white ice that laced the edges of the winter-black waters. When we reached the wooden bridge that squatted just a couple feet above a deep crook in the stream, I turned back to head for home just as Noah bent to pick up a rock. Like all little kids in the mountains, he was a determined stone chucker. “Rockinawawa.
Rockinawawa!” He barked as he threw his arm down hard in the direction of the chilly surface.
It was a mass, gravity, and momentum experiment to which we referred often when he was studying physical science, wrestling, politics, or drama. His sweet, blue-jacket-bundled head followed his hand down toward the creek and would have gone under except he pulled up at the last instant, went rigid, and executed a perfect “10” belly flop. I snatched him up, but not before he had gotten a face full of shockingly frigid water. He was soaked to the skin. His mouth was open but no sound was coming out; trapped in heart-stopping, baby anguish, his body bowed up as I wrapped him in my coat and ran for the house. Suddenly, squeals of pain and terror broke the spell and with every bounding stride I took, he squeaked like a rubber squeezy doll. It sounded kind of like, “Waaahhhsqueak! Waaahhhsqueak! Waaahhhsqueak!” His agony soon turned into tickle, and within ten paces his wailing turned into giggling which turned into baby guffaws. By the time we got back to the house, he had icicles dripping from his blue corduroys, and Rick was kind of mad but his concern vanished as Noah continued to practice his good-humor lesson for the rest of the day, pointing at his clothes drying by the fire and bursting into fresh waves of giggles.
Christy Lindstrum (ETC-3, Mother’s Day Interview)
Noah, how would you describe Iraq?
Feels like you are standing in an oven when it’s 115 degrees and you have on 60 pounds of equipment. Every fly in the world vacations in Ba'Quba; it’s a popular resort.
~ As a matter of fact, Noah practiced joking around for the rest of his life. When he was seven, he and his constant sidekick, Alex, always preferred wet and muddy to dry and clean. I called them the sunburned “boys of summer” among other things when they chased me with the head of a large mouth bass they’d caught. Once they got into trouble for not showing up on time for supper. They had been treed by a wild boar, but we didn’t find out until years later because they were afraid we would tell them they couldn’t roam so freely if we knew of that danger. They went without dessert rather than reveal why they had been late, but it didn’t seem to bother them as they just couldn’t stop laughing.
One of our favorite Noah stories was of a stunt he pulled at the Officer’s Confidence Course he attended at Fort Lewis, Washington. After free-falling 30 feet, instead of using proper form, he pulled a “can opener” and splashed the trainer and had to do push-ups; over the phone he could barely get the words out as he laughingly relayed the story. Noah got quiet when he revealed the consideration that it might have ruined his chances at being chosen as one of the top cadets out of the national gathering. He said, “It was worth it, though. Everybody cracked up.” As it turns out, he was amazed and thrilled to be given the top honor of serving as the Commander of Troops on graduation day. I guess the Army has a sense of humor.
Philip Boldt
I knew your son from ROTC. I remember many occasions at Fort Gordon and also at ROTC Advanced camp where we would find many stupid things to laugh about. After I looked back through my pictures I found a picture that was funny to me. We were riding in a "cattle car" at Fort Lewis, Wash., in the summer of 2004. Noah was sitting there in this crowded cattle car and another cadet had fallen asleep and had his head resting on Noah's shoulder. Noah played along and let everyone take pictures of the other cadet so we could use them for blackmail later... Now I am an army officer/Apache helicopter pilot who is currently deployed to Iraq... oddly enough I find myself flying almost daily combat missions over Ba'quba where he died. Every mission... I do everything in my power to make sure that everyone on the ground makes it home alive at the end of the day. His memory keeps me ever focused. I will never forget him!
~ The culminating point of his babyhood had to be his two year birthday party. What began as a simple picnic for toddlers and their parents somehow spiraled into an event that included more than 80 people, lots of sugar, and lasted for two days instead of two hours. When Rick and I later tried to figure out what happened, we realized that, in the mountains where everyone came to get away into nature, humans were few and far between. We all liked having plenty of time and space for reflection. However, when we did get together, it became kind of a happening for young and old alike.
Because his celebration was the first one of summer, it snowballed by word of mouth, friend to friend. I don’t know who started it, but some invited friends who had children spread the word to other childless friends who continued with something like, “The party’s at Rick and Lucy’s.” I had just finished decorating Noah’s “birthday” tree which shaded the eight place-settings on the picnic table I had planned to use for the little luncheon of hot dogs, cake, and singing when the live rock-and-roll band showed up and asked where they might plug in. Rick and I were kind of caught off guard. At the time, we lived at the end of a long, rutted, dirt road, and vehicles just kept coming with no end in sight, promising a major traffic jam.
With his good-natured love of parties and a “You can’t fight city hall” attitude, Rick jumped into action and began directing folks into parking spaces between trees and on the volleyball field; he was so busy I did not speak to him again until almost sundown when the band cranked up and he prayed over the food and the hands that had prepared it. How they had plugged in their equipment on the deck was a mystery to me. Hospitality always prevails in the South; everybody had brought food, but we had just one little stove and refrigerator. It seemed like a miracle that a makeshift picnic area arose in the yard, made of scrap lumber, saw horses, and cinder blocks.
After several hours, a feast fit for a king materialized. Someone had picked flowers and made centerpieces for the event. Rick’s words of blessing were planted in our hearts and the whole crowd went hush; then we all sang “Happy Birthday” to Noah and dug into the buffet. Barbara’s squash casserole almost immediately disappeared. She was grinning from ear to ear and told me later, “It would have been better if it had been cooked instead of raw.” But it didn’t matter. It was a golden summer day of laughter, fellowship, music, games, and fun.
Noah received a lot of presents, and he was glad to give one to each of his friends as long as he was the one to tear into the package. All the kids had a blast and they were entertained by Noah who took full advantage of the situation and had a great time as the “naked” host. It started when I put his birthday outfit on him, a cute pair of blue striped overall shorts. I suppose he didn’t like them because when I turned to make a suggestion as to where some campers might put up a tent for the night, he scooted out of reach. I wasn’t worried because Noah was on his home turf, surrounded by friends. I tried to keep him in my eye range, but he’d disappear, and I’d call out, “Rick, have you seen Noah?” and someone would yell, “We’ve got him. He’s o.k.!”
Rick and I would move on to the next thing. I couldn’t believe it when I finally caught sight of him as he led a group of kids across the main bridge; except for the conical party hat that sat rakishly to the side of his curly head, he was proudly displaying his original birthday suit. I guess he always knew how to follow his bliss! It’s a good thing we were too busy to be embarrassed. It’s no wonder Noah grew to greet folks with his arms spread wide, always looking for the positive event. He literally never met a stranger. Wherever he was, it was one big happy family, reveling in the glory of nature, sowing seeds of liberty and happiness.
Noah (College Affirmation Prayer)
Life is a beautiful gift and I have been truly blessed. Each moment is an opportunity. I am God’s greatest miracle. God has me covered in each situation. I am blessed. I am adaptable. I am comfortable in all situations. I am confident, powerful, and charismatic. God has paved my path with gold. God has opened doors wherever I go.
Darrell Huckaby (“The Greatest Sacrifice”)
If you never met Noah, you just missed out. He was a great person—open and loving and full of energy and enthusiasm. I’ll say again—God never created a finer human being...a person you would want to hang out with...ingenious and always put a positive spin on everything.
~ I don’t know when Noah first learned Robert Frost’s Nothing Gold Can Stay, but he was very young and I am sure he could recite it on the day he died because he’d see a beautiful field of yellow flowers and start reciting. Even as a small child, poetry was his touchstone for expressing his joy at the fleeting moments of splendor that life in the mountains affords. I’ll always remember he said these words with a sweet smile:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
~ When we talked about finding meaning in making choices, it was always about “The Road Not Taken,” and how a simple poem about roaming through fallen leaves could reflect the essence of destiny. In nature Noah could find humor, good will, and solutions to almost any dilemma. As a follow up to my 50th birthday poem, he presented me with a compilation of his work. On a tiny piece of paper I unfolded as I was going through it, I read “...spring buds dripping off fresh green trees.” It turned up in one of his poems which made me happy because I think he was like me, always storing images of inspiration and oneness to be pulled out at a later date. Mother Nature teaches a reverence for life in a way that transcends the petty concerns and distractions of modern life as she opens the door of peace and quiet joy.
Noah (High School Senior Poem 1999)
Warmth upon my face; it is golden morning.
Out of deep slumber I unfold without warning.
Open my eyes to the sweet gift I’ve been granted;
Another day of breath I shall not take for granted.
With vigor I rise, beating conquest in my eyes;
Mine for the taking, all that’s beneath the skies.
A hint of a smile tickles as I draw my sword,
Onward I stride, stolid without uttering a word.
For talk, however beautiful is empty and cheap,
It is strength and blithe action that rewards will reap.
As the night falls, to my partners I raise my glass,
A toast to the precious day I lived as my last.
Before I retire, I fall on my knees to pray,
With gratitude for all that I’ve received today.
That I may rise and live and breathe my honor once more,
Using every minute to its fullest until there are no more.
~ Emulating the model of his Dad, Noah was all boy. Under the watchful eye of Mr. Mom, he handled a small collection of knives starting at the age of two. When I would fuss and worry, Rick told me, “Kids crave responsibility.” He also told me he had personally dulled the edges of each and every one. Noah kept his parents in shape as he, between the ages of two and three, wore out three brand-new Big Wheels. We’d wedge a strong walking staff against the orange plastic bumper that covered the rear axle, and we’d push as he pedaled, grinding up and down the miles of graveled hills in our neighborhood. Around that time, Grandma Geri from Lawrenceville became one of his best buddies.
Noah would go visit her in the big city and they would roam about in Atlanta malls, shopping, eating, going to the movies, visiting relatives, and (especially Noah) eating. They also visited the big toy stores where Grandma would let him play for hours. One day, on a whim, she bought her “Darlin’ Angel” a silver bike with training wheels for his birthday, which wasn’t coming for another four months. He had hopped on it in the toy store, and to her it seemed as if he were ready to ride. At the time, I thought it would be a long while before he actually used it, but, with Dad beside him as he teetered back and forth on the soft old mountain highway, Noah conquered gravity; we took the trainers off when he turned four, and he took off through the woods and never looked back. His daddy raised him to be fearless, and shake it off when he fell.
With Mr. Mom, he saw how things like chain saws, hammers, inner tubes, and axes worked. I remember Rick always told us, “We are not nouns; but verbs.” Noah helped to build his own room when he was five. He was the pinnacle of our peak experience, and building our home was a labor of love because we always had in mind that our hour-glass valley would stay in the family for more than 200 years, kind of like democracy has been the foundation of the American family for more than 200 years. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we were living the dream. We had our hard times—sometimes we were flat broke, but Rick was tough and refused to borrow money, and we felt rich because we were making choices that seemed right for us.
One time, when we were nearly destitute, Rick went back to work. None of us liked it, and it only lasted until Noah got his first bad cold at daycare and had to stay home for a week. In five short days, he returned to his normal, open, rambunctious personality and at the end of a long, Saturday morning, kitchen-table chat, we reaffirmed our commitment to keep him with us until kindergarten. We knew he was our most precious gift, and we were willing to suck in our belts a notch, plan more carefully, and do without to protect his childhood.
It really wasn’t that hard. We just emphasized things we already did: playing outside and, of course, reading was a daily event. Books from the library and cast off magazines were everywhere, in the bathroom, in piles by the bed, and spewing from the toy box. None of us could go to sleep until Noah had his dose of reading. We went through piles of kids’ books until we started reading “big boy” books like Robinson Crusoe, Banner in the Sky, and Treasure Island. Every night, he’d say his prayers and then we’d read until he or I or both of us fell asleep. I knew that our plan was working well when he read most of the words on my favorite coffee cup on the way to school one morning:
Attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson
To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
~ In the same tradition of the words on that cup, we tried to express to Noah that it’s the simple, sometimes intangible things in life that are so valuable; and we tried to teach him how to discern what was truly important. I’d say, “People are more...” and he’d finish, “...important than things.” We emphasized talking and listening and understanding. Most of the toys we got him had an intrinsic usefulness or were good for developing the mind or the body, or provided a source of positive interaction. It seems amazing now that we bought the famous, heavy duty, “Noah” trampoline on time. It took a whole year of monthly payments, and though it sounded great to us, we weren’t sure he wanted one. As it turned out, that’s how Noah received one Christmas present that would change his life very positively in the distant future. It still serves as a medium of fun, exercise, and imaginative expression for all the children who visit because it provides about the most joyful workout a person could have. We always tried to turn work into play and keep play as the focus, as we maintained our non-stop running commentary about how we all were doing. It’s no surprise to us Noah became what many of his friends called a great communicator.
Charlie Barbour of Jacksonville, Fla.
Noah, You were THE ONE. My best friend at UGA. I'll never forget all the memories we've shared. All the gamedays in Athens. All the Road trips to Atlanta, Ole Miss, Chapel Hill, Bama, Jacksonville and all the time we spent driving around the Southeast. You were an inspiration to me every day and I always looked forward to seeing you (Even, at 6 am waking me up to go workout!) I admired your work-ethic in and out of the classroom, your passion for life, your thirst for knowledge, and your love for life. It's hard to let you go, but I'll keep you in my heart daily. I'm so lucky to have had a friend like you. You taught me so much about myself and how ATTITUDE is everything. You will always be Cap't Sunshine to me. I DRIVE ON because I know that's what you'd want me to do. You are a HERO and I'm so proud of you. I love you.
~ I often talked to him just like I did my students about the power of words. I used, “In the beginning was the word and the word became flesh...” as a way of explaining the importance of considering the power of communication. We were always running our mouths. There wasn’t a nuance too small for conversation. Noah asked once, “Are the trees dancing or waving?” and we spent time observing and decided that on that particular day, they were “...gently spinning.” He understood what it meant to contemplate language, and he was so proud the Iraqis were in the process of writing their own constitution. He applauded the struggle they had undertaken as he proudly told everyone, “I will be witnessing the birth of a free people.” Though he might have added a “cool breeze” or a “palm frond rustling” to the text if the Iraqis had asked him, I’m sure he would have reveled in the positive language of this momentous document because he believed in the power of the mustard seed once planted.
Iraqi Preamble (Paragraph 4 of 5)
We, the people of Iraq, who have just risen from our stumble, and are looking with confidence to a future through a republican, federal, democratic, pluralistic system, have resolved with the determination of our men, women, elderly, and youth to respect the rule of law, to establish justice and equality, to cast aside the politics of aggression, to pay attention to women and their rights, the elderly and their concerns, and children and their affairs, to spread the culture of diversity, and to diffuse terrorism.
~ “Why?” That was always Noah’s favorite question. More often than not, “Why not?” was our favorite answer. As a teacher, I had always vowed to be the teacher who would strive to answer any and all questions or find someone who could help my students search for the truth. However, the day Noah asked, “Can I see the pictures of me being born?” I felt a little uncertain. The jury was still out among family and friends as to whether we should have photographed the actual delivery. He was only four, and I knew he would tell everybody all about it. I took a deep breath and pried open the cookie tin in which they were stored, and then we looked at each one many times and chatted for two hours, which is a long time for a four-year-old. Then he leaned back into my lap and asked, “Mom, tell me the story of Noah in the Bible.”
As I did, I remembered to tell him a story that occurred during the week of his birth. A local church, unaware of his arrival, had mysteriously posted on the church’s road side billboard: “Be prepared, Noah didn’t build the ark in a day.” He’d already heard how the news of his birth was passed along the Appalachian Trail, carried by hikers we had sheltered in our home during April before his birth in June. Noah knew it was my Granny’s commandment to take him to the Presbyterian Church in Dahlonega “...at least fifty times...” so he would have the advantage of understanding his name, his world, and his God. He always looked forward to going down to the altar and talking with the Reverend Frank Colloday who followed and supported Noah’s life to the end. Rick and I always told our sweet son, “The Earth is the ark, and we are all crew members,” and he must have grasped deeply, “I’m Noah.”
Frank (Noah’s Pastor)
I remember the day that Noah came down front to the children’s talk, dressed in his karate uniform. He was always one of the people that you seem to look up to... he made an impression that you’d never forget. When you were with him, he let you know in some way that you were a beautiful person. Noah didn’t notice your skin, your hair, your lifestyle. He saw that you were one of God’s Gifts.
~ At Frank’s church, I remember how Noah sang, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow...” at the top of his lungs because he knew the words and because that’s the atmosphere that Frank always encouraged. It was there that Noah made his debut as an actor. At Christmas when he was four, he was thrilled that he had the part of a shepherd in the Nativity play. He practiced wearing his shepherd robe all week long and he must have heard a heavy emphasis on the word “play” because when the narrator read the line about the shepherds walking on a long journey and following the star, he was supposed to walk once around the pulpit in which she was standing; but Noah kept walking around and around and around the altar, and the narrator kept repeating, “And the shepherds followed the star...” until she just had to laugh as did the whole congregation.
The little imp loved to hear people break up, and he liked to see joy in everyone’s eyes. That spring, he was the youngest person in a cast of 80 volunteers who joyfully re-enacted a local heritage play, Doris Kenimer’s “Gold in Them Thar Hills.” Kind of like at his second birthday celebration, he had a ball. As I was engaged in the business of directing and as Rick had been suckered into producing, we had to have faith the actors and members of the company would watch over Noah. Oh, he had a wonderful time with people. I always tell teacher friends, when they become parents and worry about their own children getting shortchanged time-wise, that to be the child of a small-town school teacher is to lead a charmed life. Throughout his childhood, wherever he went, he just considered himself to be part of the big family of humanity. It made him confident and unafraid to speak his mind or follow the whisperings of his heart.
Ms. Miller
(June 25, 2005)
To be called “teacher” by Noah Harris was such a gift. When he spoke to my students when he was home on R&R, I remember looking at them and wondering, “What will you do with that one wild, precious life that you have?” George Bernard Shaw said: “The true joy in life is being used for a mighty purpose instead of being a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy... My life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to serve. It is my privilege to do whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the harder I live... Life is a splendid torch which I hold for just a moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before I hand it off to future generations.” During Noah’s senior year, for a production of The Miracle Worker, it was Noah who promised that he would take care of the little children... I like high school students and wasn’t sure I could handle those little, wiggling bundles of knees and elbows. Noah taught me how to make it fun for little kids on the stage. The light burns brighter for children in Gilmer County... but also, for the children in Iraq.
Bandy (Miracle Worker Memory)
We were goofin’ around on the set, sitting on this antique love seat and all of the sudden, Noah had me up off the floor in one hand and Melinda Bailey was in the other fighting as hard as she could; and she dropped her punch all over the place on the borrowed couch. Mrs. Miller went off and started yellin’ and I was scared... Melinda looked like she was going to cry, but Noah was out of sight behind the couch laughing. He ended up having to clean up the mess, but whenever I saw him, he was always in one of those moods where he never took anything too seriously which I think is important. While he was cleaning up, he was still trying to have fun even though Ms. Miller was throwing stuff around. It was kind of an honor to get her riled... Another thing I’m going to remember is... Noah always did a good job... always. Even though he was definitely in it for the fun—any time you saw him, he was always having fun, but he always knew he was in the part, and he kept his energy focused.
Cindy (Bandy’s Mom)
I am thankful for the ability to remember what seemed at the time to be a very ordinary moment, but as each day passes to realize that the taking of a black and white picture of a young man dressed as Captain Keller and an eight-year-old boy (Bandy) dressed as Percy would begin a most inspirational relationship for the young boy and his family. What a glorious thing to have the ability to realize the greatness in a person and the knowledge to understand how courageous and purpose-filled that person’s life is. Noah was an inspiration to every person he touched. Peoples’ lives will never be the same because of Noah. He has filled so many lives with hope, encouragement, and vision. My family is grateful for the time we had with him, and thank God that we have so many comforting memories we can share. I will forever remember Noah, not as Captain Keller, but as the miracle worker.
Noah (The Prelude to the Morning Prayer)
Lord, thank you for this glorious day and the many gifts and happiness-es of which I am the grateful recipient. I greet this day with an attitude of pure love, passionate joy, humble acceptance, and overwhelming gratitude for everything that I have been given in your name, especially for the abundance of time, energy, and money with which to seek first the kingdom of heaven and be the servant of your will...
Kristen Tassa (Noah’s Basketball Cheer Partner 2000)
Noah was such a joy to be around... so caring and easy to talk to. We were basketball cheerleading partners in 2000 at UGA and when my best friend passed away from leukemia that year, Noah would listen as I talked through my feelings. Now, when I pray at night and talk through my emotions I have about losing him, I know Noah is listening to me. I feel an enormous amount of pride that I knew the great man from Ellijay.
~ Rick (Mr. Mom experience -yikes!)
As I have said, we were the kind of parents who, like Thoreau, wanted to live deliberately and not fritter life away in some sort of unconscious meandering through the world of mammon. Lucy and I were older and each of us had had enough “learning” experiences that we felt confident as we moved into this new adventure. We knew we were reaching for the stars with this dream, but it felt right even though this was unchartered territory for us city slickers. We knew there was the potential on this forest land to build our foundation for Noah and to achieve the highest possible harmony on the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual levels.
As I began to take on my Mr. Mom duties, I had to rapidly adapt my own life to care for an infant and quickly learn what was required of me. It was a great deal more demanding than I had ever imagined. At the end of some days I would be more exhausted than when I worked construction. I soon tired of the same daily routine and began to suffer ill effects from boredom. All my life, I was used to working or accomplishing something and now, I could not do anything that took me more than 20' from Noah. I read a lot, but I needed more. The grim prospect of time on my hands pressed down on me since I knew this was going to be my life for about 5 more years.
My prayers were answered when someone gave me a 450 Honda motorcycle that had a seized up engine. I bought a repair manual, brought the bike into the living room and divided the house in half by laying chairs down as a barrier. Noah would watch me with great interest as he tried to figure out how to come and help me. I had never worked on an engine like this before as my experience was limited to fixing our cars, but I had all the time in the world. When I explained what I was doing to the local Honda mechanics, they said it couldn't be done. Well, now I was feeling better since I had a challenge in front of me! To make a long story short, I eventually got the bike running and drove it over to the Honda shop; the mechanics came out and gave me a round of applause. As I recall, I drove it one or two times more and gave it away. I learned a valuable lesson of how important challenges are for a productive person. I always encouraged Noah to embrace and love the challenges of life.
As I cared for Noah, I did my best to keep him interested and stimulated through curiosity, learning, and challenges without spending a lot of money because we simply didn’t have a surplus. One time, for cheap fun and big adventure when he was just three, Noah and I went to Lenox Square Mall for the day. There were some renovations, and having seen it when it was just an open-air shopping center during my teen years, I was interested to check out the new architecture. It was great fun just looking, and only cost gasoline and lunch.
We enjoyed strolling through the multi-level complex, marveling at the trees growing right in the center of the walkways. We rode the escalators and wandered in the enclosed, impressive, open spaces. Exploring the food court was exciting since we didn’t even have a fast food place within 30 miles of our house. Noah loved checking out all the different chow. To him, at three years of age, it must have been some kind of food heaven because at home we ate very simple fare. We finally decided on what we would have for lunch and headed to an area that had a winding counter with high stools, the kind that enthralls three-year-olds.
It was very crowded because it was near lunchtime, and as Noah independently struggled to climb onto the stool, I unpacked our food and noticed a mother and daughter sitting close by who were grinning at Noah’s attempt to conquer his seat. Just at that moment, Noah said, “Daddy, I gotta go pee,” an expression that I heard quite a few times a day. I wasn’t concerned, and it didn’t register as anything unusual until I realized he had hopped off the stool. My head snapped around to follow his path as he started running in the general direction of the bathroom. I hadn’t pointed it out to him, but he was pretty good at figuring things out, so I followed behind just to see what he was going to do.
When I realized that he had veered toward a lovely garden area that had a large tree in the center, I picked up speed. I caught him just as he hopped up onto a little brick retaining wall and started to reach for his fly. Catching him from behind, I hustled him over to the bathroom where I explained, “Son, you can pee on the trees in the yard, but you can’t pee on the trees in Lenox Square.” When we got back to our food, I noticed that the mom and the little girl seemed to be choking; they were both bent over, shaking. Then, I caught their eyes as they stared openly and burst into laughter over Noah’s antics. There were a lot of people around watching and I was holding my breath hoping the area was not going to erupt into applause or laughter. It didn’t…close call, though.
When he reached the ripe old age of four-and-a-half, he saw a go-kart at a friend’s house, and it instantly opened up a whole new idea of the mountains for him. In just a few months, he had gone from the Big Wheel to the bike with no training wheels, and he saw no impediment to jumping on a power vehicle. We looked at a couple in a local store and when I saw the price-tag, I gave Noah the news that he would be without power transportation that Christmas. I told him it would take two years to set aside that much money. I knew he was disappointed, but what could I do? Then, just by chance Noah and I passed a hand-written sign when I was visiting some friends who lived two counties away, “Go-karts for Sale.”
Unbeknownst to Noah, I wrote the number down and began to negotiate for a single seat, small engine go-kart, just right for a five-year-old. The kind gentleman who sold me the vehicle built the karts “on the side” for extra money, and after talking to me, he agreed to give me the go-kart right before Christmas for half the money down. Lucy and I started saving every penny we could and told all of our relatives to forget about presents for us and just send Christmas bucks. We figured we would be able to make the final payment with the additional cash. We were so excited on the day I went to pick up the surprise that we almost showed it to him, but I hid it down in a shed where I was sure Noah would never find it.
On Christmas morning, Noah had two odd-shaped boxes from Santa Claus under the tree. One contained an old helmet that we had refurbished with neon-orange paint. He shook it and shook it and just had no idea. We also had wrapped a pair of “hotrod” looking boots. He had piles of presents from relatives under the tree, but it was those two boxes that he went to first. When he opened the boots, he smiled crookedly and said, “Boots! Just what I always wanted.” I was in pain from struggling so hard to keep from revealing that parked just out of view outside was his bright red Christmas dream. When he opened the helmet, Noah’s face scrunched up with several emotions: disbelief, hope, puzzlement.
When he looked at my face, I pointed to the window. He went over and looked out, and when he saw that cute little machine, his body exploded with joy. When he about tore the door off the hinges getting outside, Lucy and I hugged each other tightly, savoring the true meaning of Christmas. Even though it was cold and windy, pretty soon he was “hauling buggy” and whooping through the woods. For many years, I could always see that glowing orange helmet bumping over the hills and dales, streaking through the curling tunnels of laurel, and spinning around in place as he pulled one-eighties on the gravel road. It was here he learned how to drive at full speed while maintaining concentration. He probably seemed a little reckless to some people, but Noah could handle himself because he knew his limits. He would give us a mud-splattered grin and say, “I can do anything on my trusty go-kart, Bush Hog!”
Ski
(Noah’s Driver in Iraq)
There was a thing about what my job was going to be in Ba'Quba. LT said, “I hear you’ve got a bad record as a driver.” Ah, yes sir. “Good, you’re gonna be my driver.”
~ Along about that time, I taught him how to use a slingshot. I had been skilled with one as a child in Miami, and I knew he would enjoy conquering this ancient weapon. We were in the perfect location for him to get good with it, and I think he imagined himself quite the skilled marksman. Before long he began aiming and shooting, taking and making difficult shots. His growing skill level perhaps caused him to search for new and more interesting targets, but when he broke the ringer paddle on Lucy’s favorite set of wind chimes, I had a long talk with him about what would happen if he broke anything else. Well, his curiosity overpowered his developing good sense and he ended up shooting out the driver’s side window of his momma’s orange VW Bug.
Luckily, as I did window tinting for extra money, the Beetle’s window was held together by a sheet of tint film. Lucy had to drive it to school that way until I located a junk yard with a replacement window. It was the first and only time Noah received a spanking at my hand. We didn’t have the extra money to be repairing things, and he knew it. He spent the rest of the weekend in his room and learned a mighty lesson about consequences. On Sunday night, after he had been allowed to return to the land of the living, he came and sat on my lap as he would throughout all the times of his life, and I hugged him tightly as his tears flowed.
Mr. Mom, even as the stern disciplinarian, always told him that he was cherished above anything else on this earth. I was the one who could make him roll in hysterics on the floor over my Donald Duck rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner.” I was the one who taught him “Pull my finger,” but I also wanted to teach him to be the kind of person who made good choices. Noah understood that a spanking and a little solitary confinement falls into the category of “Whatever doesn’t kill you outright will make you stronger.” Lucy told him that Thoreau spent time in jail for refusing to pay taxes; and Noah had to be willing to meet the consequences of his choices. It was tough, but he knew it was love.
The very next summer we celebrated vacation by heading down from our beloved mountains and up to the beach near Ocean City, Maryland, to visit Pop Pop and Granny Peg on the Little Assawoman Bay. They had this beautiful front deck from which you could see the osprey and gulls swooping above the crab pots. Noah looked forward to rocking through the waves on the pontoon boat, and I couldn’t wait to fill up on fresh seafood. We were in high spirits as we drove up Interstate 85. It was a beautiful, sunny June morning, and we were enjoying the scenery, the free feeling of vacation, and the anticipation of the adventures ahead. Lucy was reading in the back of our long-bed van, Big Blue, and having completed first grade with all A’s, Noah was enjoying riding shotgun. As we rolled along, I mused about how much Noah had grown and matured. First grade had provided a few little bumps in the road, one of which we called, “The Thirty Dollars.”
For a brief period of time during the school year and for the first time ever in his life, Noah had a hard time going to sleep; he just seemed like he was going through an ornery phase. One night at bedtime, Lucy came and got me so that we could have a family meeting right on his bed. We were determined to get to the bottom of it! I remember that he was curled up in his blue blanket looking miserable. I said, “Noah, tell us what’s wrong.” His lip trembled as he said, “I’m just worried ’cause we don’t have enough money.” This immediately troubled me because I did not think he had any comprehension about our finances. I assured him that we were getting along just fine, but that didn’t settle it. Through further questioning, I discovered that he was troubled because he didn’t have any money. Without skipping a beat, I asked, “Well, how much money do you need to feel good again?” We almost cracked up when he whispered, “About thirty dollars.” I don’t know what had made him feel so insecure about money, but I could see that to him, it was real. So, I pulled out my wallet and gave him the money. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, put the money in his piggy bank and went right to sleep and never seemed to worry about it again.
As we rolled up the highway toward vacation, I had a brilliant idea. Maybe it was triggered by my remembrance of the $30.00 story, or that I wanted to maintain my system of always keeping him challenged and stimulated, or maybe it was just a fluke. We had just passed over a river and I had noticed the name sign and knew he hadn’t. I said, “Noah, I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you can tell me the name of the river we just crossed...one chance.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached down under the seat and pulled out the road atlas and began furiously flipping pages and reading the road signs. I was confident because I didn’t think that he even knew which state we were in. I just watched with amusement; I really didn’t think there was any way he would even make a guess for quite a while. However, after studying the map for just a few minutes, he turned to me and said, “Tar River!”
My jaw dropped and my mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe it. He started laughing and wiggling with excitement, just waiting to see how I was going to handle this turn of events. I thought of all the times I had told him that a man’s word is his bond, that it is more important than any other value because it represents his honor. What else could I say, “Well, son, I guess I owe you one thousand dollars.” He was beaming from ear to ear, but before I let him stretch out his hand to grasp it, I had to say, “I don’t have it on me right now, and I won’t have it any time soon. The best I can do is promise you that you will get it before you graduate from high school.”
That is one promise he never let me forget. I believe that he actually learned the value of “delayed gratification” from the Tar River. He’d want some of the one thousand dollars to spend on going to the movies or to buy candy, and I’d tell him, “Are you sure you want to fritter away that big chunk of moolah? If you save it, you’ll have some purchase power when you see something you really want.” When he needed a new pair of wrestling shoes, he’s say, “Hey Dad, let’s just put this on the Tar River bill.” I’d remind him about the kayak in ninth grade, the mountain climbing gear in tenth, the limo and prom tuxedo and on and on. As a matter of fact, it became a family joke as he would sheepishly ask for some of his "Tar River money" long after the original one thousand dollars was spent.
This turned out to be a great lesson in learning about finances, though he knew he never had to worry about money. We always told him that if he’d hold up his end of the bargain and do the very best he could and take responsibility for the highest level of achievement in all of his classes and in any endeavor he considered that we’d uphold our end of the bargain and he would have whatever he needed. With our family, it was always about making choices, and struggling to make the right one, and amend the situation if we went off in the wrong direction. It was always "one for all and all for one."
Mama’s Boy
Noah was a tough guy, no doubt, but he loved to watch his friends’ reactions whenever he said, “I’m a momma's boy and proud of it.” I don’t believe I ever heard of anyone questioning his soft heart or how he loved and empathized with kids of all ages. When he was home on R and R he mused, “You know, Mom, I might not be made of military stuff. I like to smile and hug and talk things out... When we were out on patrol, one night, it was dark, hot. In an operation, a 14-year-old boy was handcuffed along with a group of men who were suspected of organized terrorism. I noticed the boy looked very upset and, through the interpreter, I tried to reassure him, found out his name and where he lived. The next day, when we were near his house, we took him a soccer ball and I made a friend for life. Whenever I was out and about in his neighborhood, that kid and his friends paved the way for me and my men... Mama, the women watch us with great curiosity; we smile at them, carry stuff, open doors for them, and they know we will try to help them if we can. We’re planting seeds that will grow. This is just the beginning... My men and I are empowering these people to build their own water-treatment plants, their own electrical sub-stations. It’s awesome.”
~That’s my boy! I will always take solace from the fact that, from early childhood, Noah was simply raised and unafraid to be sensitive and to honor the feelings of everyone he met; and, more important, we know that the harsh realities he experienced in Ba'Quba hadn’t changed his positive heart, but rather had made him even more determined to be a champion of change. The high stakes just seemed to fill him up with conviction, and he felt with every fiber of his 220 pounds that everyone must be welcomed at his table. When we told him we were so proud he had taken that spirit to Iraq and was doing whatever he could to spread it, he smiled and said, “Like my mom and dad always said, ‘We all God’s children.’”
Noah
(Words of encouragement to his niece—Thanksgiving 2002)
“Alyssa, always remember that when you don’t win, that’s a good thing because you still have the opportunity for greatness in front of you. No pain no gain (NPNG), Baby!”
Alyssa’s Poem:
“Your Words in My World” (August, 2005)
When memories come into my songs,
Your name flashes into my heart where you live.
It’s your beautiful soul,
Let it come from where you are,
Let me sing with your voice,
It’s your beautiful soul, let it come.
Your words in my world come to push away the past,
Because I know who I am and there’s a hero above.
Your words in my world push through the wind,
And hold my future high above the mountains.
Your face appears in the sunshine parting the clouds,
It sparkles with rainbow light and shines down at me.
When I speak your name, the heavens start to open,
Noah, I see my hopes and dreams coming to you.
Have you seen me change, I wonder? That I’ve been reborn?
God has given me peace, and praise from you I’ve learned.
I know your words in my world come from where you are,
I live my life for you and all you’ve given to me,
Just like you, I want to be what I am meant to be.
Let your words come from where you are to me,
Let me sing with your voice, I am free.
Next: Chapter 5-6
