The Week That Was

A few stories from this past week. First, Isaac. The kids and I have spent some time each day after work playing ball out front. They take turns batting, and I lob softballs to them (we actually use tennis balls because they hurt less when someone is hit in the face by a line drive, as happened twice this week). The two who are not batting take turns chasing down hits that travel to the far reaches of the cul-de-sac.

On Thursday, Isaac was chasing a ball when he tripped and fell on the pavement, skinning his right knee and scraping both hands. I hurried over and picked him up, but before I got there, he had pulled himself up, and, here’s the great part—he kept going for the ball. Here’s a toddler bleeding and crying, but refusing to give up the play. I have high hopes.

On Saturday, the kids and I spent the morning together. We began by going to the foothills of the Sandias on the eastern edge of town. We’ve done some hiking here before, but there’s a lot to explore. The Sandias hug the eastern edge of Albuquerque, rising abruptly, a curtain of granite that marks the end of the urban space and the beginning of wilderness. The sign by the parking lot, for examples, warns of cougars and bears, a 15 minute drive from downtown. Here we see some of the other wild animals of the area:
After parking, we headed off, traveling south toward the pass through which I-40 runs on its way out of town. The trail stayed mostly flat for the better part of a mile, after which it ascended, circling up a small hill. At the crest, looking southwest, we got a beautiful panorama of the valley before circling east and then north around the hill and returning to the flats. Here the kids pose with the city behind them:

We found a 10 foot slab of granite that was perfectly flat and ideally suited for resting and eating a snack; here Isaac does just that:

The hike around the hill became pretty serious, and Isaac spent much of it atop my shoulders. Allyson and Ryan, however, both tackled the slope well. We had started off early, so the summer heat was not unbearable, but we were all sweating nicely by the time we got back to the car. The gentle breeze was exquisite. Here is a shot of the older kids on the steepest part of the climb:

Birthday, Baseball, and Fireworks

One of the true joys of having children born in the summer months is being able to take them to baseball games to celebrate. We went to a game on Allyson’s birthday, and this week we did the same fro Isaac. After dinner, cake, and presents at home, we headed off to what would be a very memorable game.

Albuquerque, like much of the West, has been under a rather oppressive high pressure system for a few weeks now, and we’ve been consistently at or near triple-digit heat. Tuesday was no exception. According to the unofficial thermometer at the park, the game-time temperature was 103. And being somewhat directionally challenged, I failed to consider the location of the setting sun when I bought tickets, so we found ourselves on the first-base side with the New Mexico sun in our eyes for the first three innings.

Once the sun dipped below the edge of the shaded first-base seats, where, as I was reminded several times, we could have been sitting, we were in much better shape. The home pitcher was wild through the first two innings, at one point throwing ten consecutive balls and giving up six runs through the first three innings. The ‘Topes rallied with a three-run shot in the second and a smattering of one-run innings to finally take the lead in the seventh. And they held on for the win with a strong ninth from their new closer, a fireballer named Roy (not me, sorry to say).

Another advantage to Isaac’s birthday is fireworks. Not setting them off, but having them after the game on his birthday. We get to say that they’re doing fireworks just for him, and, since he’s three years old, he will believe us. But the steady and at times gusty winds threatened to cancel the show Tuesday. So as the game concluded, the announcer came on with news that made the second-largest crowd in team history roar in approval—the show would go on.

The fireworks themselves were nice, but the best part was watching Ryan’s face. He tends to disdain loud and bright things, but his rapt attention to the pyrotechnics was a sight to behold. During the height of the explosions, he actually began to tremble a bit, not from fear or surprise, but the sheer ecstasy of the display.

And as I watched him back in the light from the fireworks, I noticed that, for all my cynicism toward all things pyrotechnic, I too was enthralled, and the look on Ryan’s face was that of my own face a couple dozen years before.

Boca Negra Canyon

Most of you who have visited us have been hiking in the Petroglyph National Monument on Albuquerque's west mesa. On Saturday, the kids and I went bakc to hike the mesa trail at Boca Negra Canyon, a spot with a fascinating concentration of petroglyphs and a nice hike to the top of a mesa overlooking the valley.

By way of preface, it is important to note that we have been under a long hot spell here in NM; Saturday topped out at 97, and, as you can see, the sky was bright and blue. The kids and I drank over a quart of water on our 30 minute hike. Here the kids pause on their way up the mesa:
Boca Negra Canyon slopes southwest from the top of the escarpment on the city's western edge, making it an ideal spot for the carving of petroglyphs, which usually are found on south-facing rocks. The shorter trails on the canyon feature dozens of fascinating petrogylphs of animal and human figures, as well as the abstract designs common to the ancient populations of the area.

But I like the hike for the views. Atop the mesa, you have a sweeping panorama of the city, and some day I want to bring binoculars and scan for the temple in the northeast distance. For now, however, I am content to watch my children learn to hike by scrambling over the rocks and realize in the process how much they can do. Boca Negra has become a nice family tradition, as a child is truly a "big kid" when he or she can do this hike without being carried at all. Here three big kids pose atop the mesa:

Some Time in Utah

As most of you know, Summer and the kids spent a few weeks in Utah recently. The stated purpose of the trip was so that I could work on my dissertation (I did; I now have 35 pages drafted), but my theory is that Summer wanted to be in an air conditioned house for part of the hot season. Anyhow, apparently three weeks in Utah does the following to Isaac:

The original plan was for me to fly up on 28 June, go to a baseball game in Orem with some of the Utah and Idaho family, and then drive home this coming weekend with the crew. But Summer and I just missed each other too much (who says I'm not a romantic), and I had written my 30+ pages, so we moved the trip up a week. So we're already home, which is wonderful, but I will miss going to the Owlz game.

Summer and I spent Thursday night and Friday in Salt Lake WITHOUT THE KIDS. I love my children, but it was nice to get away with my wife (for the second time since Allyson was born). We went to Red Butte Arboretum and the the Utah Museum of Fine Arts in SLC Friday. Both were great fun, although the 95 degree day was a bit oppressive. At the Arboretum we bought Ryan a bug collecting kit; here the kids search the Catherall backyard for bugs.

We drove home Saturday and Sunday, staying in Green River on the way. Saturday evening we stopped in Price to visit the dinosaur museum. That too was fun. Here the kids pose by the entrance under the statue of a Utahraptor devouring some smaller dinosaur.

Happy Fathers Day

Fathers Day has never meant much to me. Part of this is cultural; we don’t do as much with this day as we do with Mothers Day: there are no flowers in sacrament meeting, missionaries don’t call home, it just doesn’t stand out. Part of this too is personal, as Fathers Day is sandwiched in the middle of a very hectic time of year for our family. We have, in the span of about two months, our anniversary, Mothers Day, and then the birthdays of four of the five people who call our house home. It’s easy to miss this one day.

But this year, more than any other in my life, I find myself thinking about this day, reconsidering its meaning. And in so doing, in pondering why we celebrate fatherhood, my mind moves naturally to the question of what fatherhood is.

I am fortunate to have a wonderful father, a man who has always been involved in my life, who has blessed me with positive and nurturing experiences, who in countless small ways has made me who I am—and who I am trying to become. Dad is not perfect, and I’d venture to say that he was much less perfect when I was younger. And I suppose that may be the most important thing I’m learning about fatherhood: you never really know what you’re doing, but you try to do better each day, and, if you’re lucky, you start to get it right.

Here’s an example of getting it right. When I left on my mission, Dad wrote a letter that touched me deeply. He explained that from that time on, he and I would be physically more distant but closer in terms of shared experiences. The more we would come to have in common, the more alike we would be, and, in a very humble and grateful way, he compared this to our relationship to God. Never has my father’s testimony meant more to me.

But this isn’t about Dad as much as it is about me, or rather, my own children. Becoming a father for the first time was frightening, and it took a lot of time and prayer to feel even slightly equal to the task. And I look back on those early years—when Allyson was an infant and a toddler, when Ryan was born, when we first moved to Albuquerque—with a mixture of nostalgia for how simple our lives were and regret for the things I wish I had done better.

As my children grow, I find a deep sense of fulfillment in seeing them be so capable, so kind, so happy. Recently, I attended a workshop on teaching student success, and much of what we did turned my thoughts to my children. One activity involved setting personal goals, and I found myself forming my goals around what I wanted my children to be: gentle, patient, curious, loving, reverent individuals of faith and confidence.

This thought has been forming in my mind for some time, that the decisions I make now, at this time in my life, are not based on what I want to do as much as they are on what is best for my children; that is, I am no longer the focus of my choices. As a naturally and immensely selfish person, this is hard. Job decisions hinge on how my work affects them, and we consider where to live based in large part on the kinds of opportunities different options would give our children.

None of this, however, adequately (at least for me) answers the question I posed earlier—what, then, is fatherhood? The best answer I can give, perhaps, lies in two pictures taken more than three years apart. The first is from October 2003, my first year as a full-time faculty member, when we went up to Evanston over my fall break, and nearly two dozen Turners—by birth or marriage—got together. In this picture, Grandpa Turner sits in a folding chair with Dad, Nathan, and me standing around him. I am holding a two-year-old Ryan in my arms, and four generations unite for what would be the last time in this life.

The second picture is from this past March. Dad and Nathan flew out to Phoenix to meet Ryan and me for some spring training games. After a game, we posed at various spots along the third-base side of the concourse with the field behind us. The four of us huddle again, each of us older in his own way. This time Grandpa is not in the picture, except in the resemblances in each of our faces. I see it especially in the eyes: the man who taught me to ride a bicycle when we lived down the street from him is there in the face of the man who wrote to me on my mission, in the younger brother who is rapidly becoming a man, in the child in whom I see so much of myself. And he is there in my own face, as I stand in the middle of this group, halfway between age and youth.
In the juxtaposition of these two pictures I realize that fatherhood is not about a man, nor is it about biology or genetics, but rather a relationship between a man and those he loves. It’s about the generations past that have shaped us, and the generations future that we are now shaping. To my grandfathers, my father, my father-in-law, my brother, my brothers-in-law, and my sons, I wish you a happy day. And I thank you.

The Great Family Gathering of '07

I have been contemplating this entry for some time, and I have repeatedly considered it unnecessary, since many of you were part of this. But I'm posting it for two reasons: enough people have sent me photos that I think this would be a convenient way to share lots of different pictures, and since this blog is all about my ramblings, you have to expect this sort of nonsense.


The week of Allyson's baptism, Cheryl & Jason, Carolyn & Stew, Phil & Pat (with Kristin, Hyrum, and Cora), and Mom & Dad (with Nathan) all converged on Albuquerque are various times. We had a great time, going out to dinner several times in Old Town, visiting the Albuquerque Museum and BioPark, and talking until late night.


The pictures below cover two days: 1 June, when the Kimbers and Forbes accompanied us to the BioPark, and 2 June, when the Catheralls joined us in Old Town.

Here, the boys cling to Carolyn & Stew. We pretended we didn't know this cute but quirky family. In the distance, Allyson has attached herself to Cheryl & Jason.

Here Isaac watches the miniature train in the gardens.

And here, from Saturday, are Ryan and Allyson with their cousins. As you can see, they got along well with each other, which was incredibly cute.

Life in ABQ

Things are obviously pretty quiet here, but I can't let this much time pass without a blog entry. So, if all you care about are cute pictures of the kids, you're out of luck.

Thanks to everyone who visited last week. I know Allyson appreciated people coming for her baptism, and I was touched by the sacrifices many of you made to drive and/or fly long distances to get here. Thank you all so much.

I bragged to many of you about the Desert Willow--the tree by the kitchen window. It is now if full bloom. Everyday 20-40 flowers drop to the ground, and at least as many new ones open, so the ground under and around the tree is now littered with these blossoms. It's quite beautiful.

I have unplugged the television to make myself more productive, and replaced it with the radio. Every evening I listen to the Isoptopes play, which is great. Last night, they were down 8-2 to Memphis going into the bottom of the 8th at home. The 'Topes scored 4 runs to make it interesting, and after a strong shutout half inning from the Albuquerque pitcher, the home team came up to bat. After getting 2 runs to tie, the 'Topes got runners on 2nd and 3rd with one out. The next pitch was socked out of the park for a walk-off three-run shot. A good ending to the game, and exciting on the radio.