'Country Roads' & Exploding Christmas TreesLead to Final Lesson in Fatherhood

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the final part of a three-part series about me walking into the “wilderness” with my 7-year-old niece and walking out with a completely different perspective on being a father. (Read intro post here)

– – –

I don’t think there is anything more powerful than presence. It’s a gift that is often taken for granted and/or overshadowed by the distractions of living life.

Sharing a moment with someone – no matter how big or how small – is what makes life really worth living.

I’ve quoted Chris McCandless before and here I go again...he said it best before he died alone in the Alaskan wilderness: “HAPPINESS IS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED.”

I saw the power of presence over and over again at my niece’s father-and-daughter campout. These dads were spending unforgettable moments with their children – creating memories that had the potential to last a lifetime.

The program, which is a part of the YMCA, is branded beautifully:

Adventure Guides encourages fathers and their children to spend uninterrupted time together as members of a larger group, building lifelong memories and bonds. Through activities such as weekend camping trips, games, ceremonies and family adventures, dad and child will create memories that neither will ever forget.

I asked one dad during the weekend if they had anything like this for moms. He said, “They get plenty of mom time.”

A sad, but very true response.

This was a “Daddies Only” weekend and these little girls (and a handful of boys) were eating it up.

This power of presence hit me full force on Saturday night. After a full day of adventures, we all bundled up and painted our faces for the culminating campfire “ceremony.” I think they called it “Tribal Fire” or “Great Way to Get Rid of Our Christmas Tree.”

The camp leaders put together an impressive stack of wood – AND Christmas trees. It was a welcomed blaze because it was the coldest night of the winter – 28 degrees.

(NOTE: Have you ever seen a Christmas tree burn? It's an impressive explosion of sparks and flames. They could have filmed a public service announcement during this ceremony.)

When the fire quickly burned down – and was not threatening to singe our body hair anymore – we all huddled close to the fire pit and sang songs.

I’m not sure if it was the group’s rendition of “Country Roads” or the campfire illuminating everyone’s chapped cheeks, but that was a profound moment for me.

In a society where we are bombarded by stories of dead-beat and/or workaholic and/or absent fathers, I was surrounded by approximately 50 dads with their arms tightly wrapped around their child.

Were they just keeping each other warm? That was part of it.

Were they literally embracing the moment? Absolutely.

You could get a sense that everyone had loving, heart-felt thoughts dancing through their head as they stared into the flames:

• “We don’t do this enough.”

• “I will never forget this moment.”

• “Love. This.”

Not a single dad was talking on his cell phone.

Not a single dad was banging away on his laptop.

Not a single dad was staring through the television.

Not a single dad was checking his stocks, updating his Facebook status or glancing at the Mavericks score.

(Actually...I was the only jerk with his cell phone out. In my defense, I was trying to capture the moment for my sister and brother-in-law – photo above.)

For a brief moment, the daily grind – and all the trivial bullsh associated with the grind – was getting its butts kicked by the power of presence.

We closed the evening with the tribal theme song, “Pals Forever.” (I’m glad they had a song sheet or I would have been the guy mouthing “juicy watermelon” over and over again.)

It was perfect ending to a wonderfully great day (exhausting, but wonderfully great).

PALS FOREVER

Pals Forever, Pals Forever,
That’s our slogan, that’s our song.
Kids are stronger, dads feel younger
When they take the boys/girls along.

Through the days and through the years
We will wander side by side.
Pals forever, Pals Forever,
The Great Spirit is our guide.

Moms adore it, dads are for it,
And the kids all think it’s fine.
Pals Forever, Pals Forever,
As Adventure Guides we’ll have good times.

It was no “Country Roads,” but it spoke volumes about the mission and vision of the program AND what every dad should strive to focus on every single day: Presence.

With ALL of that said – three blog posts in three days about this fantastic experience – I have to wrap this up and finally close my laptop.

My son is crawling on me like I’m a human jungle gym, sneaking in an occasional face-squeezing kiss and continuously asking me: “Where’s Dus?” (a.k.a. our dog who is actually named Gus)

Reminder: I loved spending the weekend in the "wilderness" with Mary Grace, but more importantly I received a two-day, hands-on tutorial in fatherhood.

It's time to be present.

"Hey, Crash! Where IS Dus?!?!?!?"

There is Tremendous Perspective From the Top of a 40-foot Climbing Wall

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is Part II of a three-part series about me walking into the “wilderness” with my 7-year-old niece and walking out with a completely different perspective on being a father. (Read intro post here)

– – –

Saturday morning was the “official” start of my niece’s father-daughter campout, which was a little confusing to me. After being there 12 hours and experiencing a miserable night of sleep, I was baffled by the term “official” on our itinerary. (Trying to sleep in the before-mentioned prison beds made things pretty “official” in my book.)

I guess Friday night wasn’t “official,” because we ate dinner at a local restaurant – complete with prime rib and an adult beverage.
I can understand that.

But I would have thought smores by the campfire and letting the kids run around like someone accidently left their cages open would definitely constitute “official.” I was wrong.

It didn’t matter...I was ready to “officially” get things started and tackle any adventure that came our way.

But before we jump into canoeing and candle making, my “wake-up call” on Saturday morning is worth mentioning. It definitely helped lay the foundation for the day ahead. (Reminder: Herding cats.)

The eight girls in our cabin were specifically instructed to stay asleep – or at least confined to their bunks – until 7 o’clock on Saturday morning. I guess that’s like telling a kid to NOT push that big red button, because the whispers and giggles started at 6:15. (They just couldn’t hold out for 45 more minutes.)

“Is anyone awake?” one of my 7-year-old roommates whispered
into the darkness.

“I am,” came a tiny voice from across the room.

Then there was the not-so-quite: “I’m still trying to sleep!”

I think a couple of the dads wanted to scream: “Me too!”

After a couple more back-and-forth whispers, little footsteps were added to the morning mix of noises – some were headed to the bathroom, while others were off to another bunk.

At 6:45 the “Glow Stick Incident” occurred, and there was NO WAY we were going to make it our 7 a.m. goal.

One of my 7-year-old roommates accidently busted open the glow stick that she received the night before. (Rumor has it that she chewed off the end of the glow stick, but I cannot confirm and/or deny that.) Regardless of how the plastic rod was penetrated, she felt inclined to draw on the cabin floor with the illuminated liquid.

It was a glowing mess – one that quickly became a hot topic of conversation in the cabin.

I was still lying in my bunk, aware of the glowing art project, but not that concerned. My niece was still in her bunk – being the model Wildflower – so I didn’t feel inclined to get involved.

Then I got my “wake-up call.”

With a hint of pride in her voice, my niece exclaimed: “My glow stick busted, too.” Then her pride was quickly replaced with confused concern: “Oh, no....it’s on my sleeping bag....AND my arm.”

“GIVE ME THE GLOW STICK,” I firmly said from the bunk below. (No one was asleep after my dad/coach voice rattled the walls.) Her little hand reached over the edge of the bunk bed and handed me the plastic stick.

As I demanded that she get down and wash off “the glow,” possible headlines filled my head: “Camper poisoned by toxic glow stick” and “DFW 7-year-old stained for life with glow stick goop.”

Everyone laughed at the glowing slime on her arm, hands, and PJs as she climbed down the ladder. She wore it like a badge of honor.

They begged her not to wash it off, and she probably wouldn’t have without another firm directive from me.

The cats were officially on the loose and the herding had begun.

– – –

When we finally got dressed and attacked the brisk morning, we didn’t stop until we laid back down on our prison beds that night.

• We played miniature golf

• We paddled a canoe

• We went on a treasure hunt

• We shot BB guns

• We went to the archery range

• We made candles

• We memorized scripture

• We participated in relay races.

Just trying to recall all the activities for this blog post made me tired – imagine actually doing this over the course of one day. WOW!

The really tiring part was all the walking between activities. (My niece asked how far I thought we walked on Saturday. I guessed 6 miles.) Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep a “tribe” of 7-year-olds focused on a specific destination and moving in the same direction? Trying doing it for 6 miles.

Walking...walking...walking....“Squirrel!” (And now we’re running in a totally different direction.)

And then there was the barrage of rhetorical questions throughout the day:

“Are we almost there?” – I thought this phrase was only applicable in the car on long road trips. I was wrong.

“Can we go?” – If they were giving out a badge for patience this weekend, our girls would have missed out.

“Can I have another glow stick?” – No response, just tired glares.

– – –

My niece’s favorite part of the day was climbing the 40-foot rock wall. I was convinced that she would give a valiant effort, but I was skeptical that she’d make it to the top. I guess you could say that I had guarded realism.

She surprised the heck out of me AND provided me a welcomed slap across the face.

It was at the base of that rock wall – watching all the kids try to conquer the 40-foot climb – when my life started flashing before my eyes. (Specifically my life as a father.) While I started making excuses for Mary Grace before she even put on the harness, other parents refused to let their child quit before they reached the top.

"DO. NOT. STOP!"

“Settle down, Dad – it’s just a rock wall,” I thought to myself with a judgmental smirk. I made a silent promise to myself that I would never be that guy.

But when Mary Grace started to throw in the towel – about 25 feet up the wall – success was the only option. It’s like I knew there was a boost of confidence that waited for her at the top.

I didn’t scream: “Keep going!” or “You will NOT quit!”

I just encouraged. (Thanks to the before-mentioned dad.)

As she got closer to the top, I started to feel guilty for not giving her a chance out of the gate. She was going to make it and I was going to have roasted crow with a side of eggs for my afternoon snack.

“Almost there...a little more...YEAH, MARY GRACE!”

After she rappelled down the wall – and her feet were safely on the ground – I hugged her neck and told her how proud I was of her. But I was also subconsciously making a promise to my son.

“I will always encourage him to go a little farther,” I thought. “I will never protect him with excuses – especially before he even tries.”

Probably the two biggest parenting lessons I learned from my 7-year-old niece that day:

• If you want something bad enough – you WILL succeed

• A little bit of confidence can go a long way

That’s what I loved most about Mary Grace’s accomplishment –the intense shot of confidence it provided. I’m convinced that climbing that wall was her favorite part of the weekend because she tasted success.

It was my favorite part of the weekend because it started to open my eyes.

Butt Trumpets & Prison Beds Provide Perspective, Help Create Experience of a Lifetime

When you take your 7-year-old niece camping – with grand visions of writing about the experience – it’s a little overwhelming.

My sister asked if I would accompany Mary Grace (right) on her inaugural father-daughter outing. It was part of the Oak Cliff Y-Guides program, which “encourages fathers and their children to spend uninterrupted time together as members of a larger group, building lifelong memories and bonds.”

“Her dad doesn’t camp,” my sister explained.

“Sure...sounds fun,” I responded with visions of blog posts
dancing in my head.

Confession: After spending 36 hours in the “wilderness” – I’m stuck. I have no idea where this story should start, and I’m even less clueless where it should go. There was just WAY too much fodder.

I HAVE decided that this adventure is worthy of two or three blog posts. Heck, I made that decision when I received the information packet and it said: “You are a Wildflower!!! Congratulations!!” (When I found out that I’d be sporting a leather vest (right) all weekend, too...there was instantly fodder for another post!)

But what’s my angle? My point? What’s the essence of these blog posts?

One potential theme: The fact that the entire weekend was like herding cats.

Then there were the prison beds we slept on.

I could get profound and explain what it was like to be around an engaged group of loving and caring dads for a weekend.

But I think the most logical premises would be:

• The fact that my life continuously flashed before my eyes, and

• The importance of selling the experience to my brother-in-law so I can hand him the baton for future camp outs.

This is the first part of a three-part series about me walking into the wilderness with a 7-year-old and walking out with a completely different perspective of being a father.

While some of this blog post will come across as bitching and moaning – that is simply for dramatic effect and humor. This was a remarkable experience with my niece that I will NEVER forget.

I didn’t realize how much I would enjoy herding cats.

– – –

It’s important to set the scene for the weekend, because the term “camping” is a little bit of a stretch.

It was more like summer camp. The fact we were at Collin County Adventure Camp, which is spitting distance from the 'burbs, helped remove the tag of "roughing it."

There were heated cabins – no tents. We had indoor plumbing – no wiping with foliage. And we ate in a cafeteria – no hot dogs and beans over an open flame. We even had two showers in our cabin – no stale smell of nature for a long period of time.

There was a campfire, but that was nothing more than a safe haven for the dads. The kids only paid attention to it when it was time to make smores.

Needless to say, I sent my sister a text letting her know that my brother-in-law could probably handle this “camping” experience. I intentionally didn’t go into detail about the cabin, though. I thought that would be counter-productive to my recruiting efforts.

If he glanced at the instructions and checklist for the campout, he would have been tipped off. It read:

“Mark your clothes...It can get crazy in the cabins!”

I giggled when I read the warning. After being there 5 minutes, I totally understood. (No giggling)

There were eight kids and six adults in a 14-bunk room, which meant there were little socks, coats, PJs, undies and shoes EVERYWHERE. Obviously, the dads did a good job keeping their stuff corralled, but those little girls were like walking tornadoes. I almost came home with a pair of tights and a Hello Kitty nightgown. (I’m just glad I took the advice on the checklist and I put my initials in my boxers.)

When describing the accommodations via text to my sister and brother-in-law, I didn’t mention the chaos. I definitely didn’t bring up the concert of sounds that filled the cabin.

When you have 14 people sleeping in one room (some of my roommates pictured on the right) – the noises define the experience as soon as the lights are turned off. It starts with 7-year-old whispers and giggles and ends with intense snoring and flatulence from grown men.

You knew it wasn't ideal when some of the dads were threatening to sleep in their cars, despite the 29-degree temperatures. No one made good on his threat, though. I’m convinced it was because they weren’t 100 percent sure if they were part of the symphony or not. (I definitely wasn’t sure...campfires do a number on my sinuses and we had a chili cook-off one night.)

In all honesty, I think the prison beds would have caused someone to snap before the ensemble of sleep apnea and butt trumpets.

While I laid awake at 3:30 in the morning – begging my brain to block out the sounds, the radiant glow of the TWO exit signs and the aches in my lower back – I worked-up a description for these beds:

Imagine sleeping on a very large cookie sheet lined with a partially inflated pool raft.

One of the dads compared it to a combination of a park bench and an airplane seat. Another dad said the inmates at Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville would NOT be jealous. (That’s when I jumped on the term “prison beds” and didn’t look back.)

The mattress was definitely “memory foam” – the only problem it was remembering the person who outweighed me by 150 pounds and went immediately flat. (Reminder: An unforgiving cookie sheet was underneath the mattress.)

We all survived, though, and a plethora of adventures followed. There is nothing like a full-day of get-it-on after a horrible night of sleep.

Archery, BB gun range, candle making, rock wall climbing, treasure hunt, bonfire....

I’m just tired trying to remember everything.

That’s why I’ll save that for Part II.

Eyes Wide Open: Being an Absentee Father

I recently described business travel as “glamorous.”

That was the best adjective I could think of after eating peanuts and drinking stale coffee on a 6 a.m. flight to New Orleans. (That was the most sarcasm-inducing “breakfast” I had ever eaten.)

I was in the Big Easy working on an out-of-the-box social media campaign for Tulane Athletics.

The only reason I’m sharing this boring behind-the-scenes information: I think it’s important that you know and understand why I abandoned my family for an entire week.

Why I abandoned my wife.

Why I abandoned my 19-month-old son.

Why I abandoned my dog.

FOR EIGHT DAYS!

I really thought I was a big boy. I thought I could handle it.

Nope.

I was standing on the doormat to hell, screaming: “Excuse me! I have a reservation for one!”

I was miserable. I missed them like CRAZY, and each and every day I missed them that much more.

Thank goodness my understanding and VERY cool wife kept me sane. She sent me two to three photos a day of my “Little Man,” and every time it made me smile.

I thought I share some of my favorites:

My boy loves ANYTHING with a steering wheel.

He's a fan of pickles, too.

I told you about steering wheels, right?

(I'm entering this shot into PWT Hall of Fame)

When I'm gone for long periods of time,

Crash starts interviewing new daddies.

Tell my son: "Show me your eyes"

and this is what you get.

Crash: Don't drink and drive!

An instant classic!

When I take him on an airplane...he's a little more hyper than this.

(Flying with his mom to see his grandparents)

"Show me your eyes!"

Social Media Experiment: Socially Inept?

EDITOR’S NOTE: This was written Oct. 10, 2010, as part of a social media experiment that I decided to document along the way. I had dreams of creating this “scientific journal” but it turned into eight pages of babble. This is the third installment of a 3-part series. Click here to see introductory post.

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One of my last Facebook posts was a picture of me and my son at a Rangers game (right). He was looking up at me and I was acting like I was scolding him. I wrote a clever caption:

“CRASH: Dad, I like how the Rangers match-up against Tampa Bay in the playoffs. ME: BOY! If you just jinxed them...I’m going to spank your tiny little butt.”

Funny, right?

All I could think about after uploading that picture were the potential responses.

“How many people are going to comment on this post?”

“Is anyone going to ‘like’ it?”

“Cute baby photos with funny captions ALWAYS generate some dialogue...and then you throw in the Rangers. WOW! This should be huge!”

“Please! Please! Please!”

Confession: I’m not that pathetic, but I DID login several times to see if anyone had left a comment. (Actually, that’s more embarrassing than my pseudo, over-dramatic thought process.)

But that’s why we post and/or Tweet, right? To get feedback, comments, reTweets?

Otherwise social media isn’t very “social.”

This desire for online interaction started to impact my psyche, though. The adjective “obsessed” carries a lot of negative connotations, but it’s definitely appropriate in this instance.

I HAD to receive feedback.

More confessions:

• I’ve actually gotten my feelings hurt when no one commented on certain status updates.

Explanation: You think you’ve formulated just the right status update – it’s funny, engaging, something everyone can relate to. It’s one of those posts that even makes you giggle. But after you hit “submit”... crickets.

• I check my Twitter account daily to see if any of my thoughtful Tweets were reTweeted.

Explanation: Similar feeble explanation from above...but this is also the case when I share a funny or interesting news story, an inspiring quote or upload a fun picture.

• I would get excited when one of my random followers (Twitter) or a long-lost friends (Facebook) came out of the wood work to share their thoughts.

Note: No pitiful explanation needed.

I just hate the fact that I needed that feedback.

Why couldn’t I just be happy to live peacefully in my quite narcissistic world?

Why couldn’t I be like everyone else and post about where I was or what I was eating? No one is going to respond about a turkey sandwich or the fact I was at Starbucks AGAIN.

This need for online interaction even started to impact my life. I would stress about making the “perfect post,” which means I was thinking about it ALL THE TIME.

I was planning my next update during life’s mundane activities – taking a shower, driving to work and/or mowing the lawn.

But major life events were not exempt.

Example: I was planning my status update even before my just-born son had the birthing goop washed off of him. And I already mentioned the first time my son ate real food – I snapped a photo after his first bite and then raced to the computer.

Yep...missed it all.

I guess I just HAD to have one of my “friends” write “Cute” or “Like father, like son” to get me to my next post.

PERFECT WORLD: Nothing says parenthood like a leaking bag of throw-up and a little blood

I am ready to be a father.

I know there are a lot of people reading this blog who think that statement is…

a.) Scary
b.) Humorous
c.) Unimaginable
d.) All of the Above

The reason why I say that….you have no idea how many people have told me – with a devilish smirk and a slow shake of the head – “I can’t WAIT until you have kids.”

I think I’ve heard that statement around 86 times – each reference with the same underlying meaning: “Don’t worry, Drew. When you’re a dad, you’ll get yours!”

Well, I’m ready to get mine.

Tanya and I have started seriously trying. (“Seriously” consists of ovulation tests, prenatal vitamins, and her screaming “hurry up and put the dog outside.”)

We’ve also been talking about the possibility of adoption. Because of our ages, our desire for a large family, and our intense desire to give back, this is a tremendous option. (Tanya’s involvement in CASA – a national child advocate program – has also helped open our eyes to the lives we can touch through this process.)

In a perfect world, we would get pregnant right now, have a summer baby, start seriously looking into adoption – possibly pull the trigger this time next year, conceive another child a year later, and have a BIG, loving family in less than three years.

WOW!

“Drew, are you really sure you’re ready for that?”

It’s funny you ask.

This weekend, I received a sneak peek into my “perfect world.” I spent two days with my business partner, her husband, and their children. (Three boys – ages 4, 6 and 8.) We made a marathon trip to Oklahoma to watch TCU play the Sooners.

It was towards the end of the trip when someone made a slap-across-the-face comment to me. I think I was staring blankly at the three little boys running around their uncle’s living room like they were on fire.

“Don’t worry. If you spread them out a little bit better than we did, it’s not as overwhelming.”

Ummmm….remember earlier in the post…have baby, adopt, have another baby, adopt…BIG family…not spread out?

SLAP! SLAP!

I think I’ll be OK, though. This weekend was a good test. Here were some of the highlights (Not to brag, but I think I scored a C+ ... which IS passing):

TEST 1:

The six-year-old got carsick 40 minutes outside of Fort Worth.

THE PLAY-BY-PLAY:

• “Daddy can we pull over?”

• He threw up in a grocery sack just as we pulled into a Braum’s parking lot.

• The bag had hole in it and started to leak before he could make it outside the van.

• The oldest kept talking in third-person and reminding himself not to look.

• The youngest, very aware of where we were, kept asking for ice cream in the middle of the chaos.

• The sick child had to be stripped down, and he rode the rest of the trip in the seat right behind me with no shirt, a package of Wet Wipes, and a new plastic bag.

• There were no more incidents.

MY PERSPECTIVE:

The site and smell of throw-up didn’t make me hurl … I think anytime someone speaks in third-person it’s hilarious (especially when that person is eight years old) … the fact that there were no other incidents was HUGE – especially because of the new seating arrangement in the van.

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TEST 2:

The youngest decided to head-butt the sidewalk.

THE PLAY-BY-PLAY:

• He actually tripped over the curb in a dimly lit parking lot and smashed his face pretty good.

• After the initial shock wore off, he realized he was injured and wanted everyone else to know it, too.

• His sweet aunt ran to his rescue.

• Even though he looked like he was in a car wreck, he was bouncing off the walls the next morning.

MY PERSPECTIVE:

I saw him face plant, and while his aunt was loving him up, I just kept telling him to “shake it off” . . . when I saw the blood, I decided to let a “real adult” handle the situation . . . I also learned that kids are pretty resilient.

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TEST 3:

On our way home, we had to stop for a bathroom break 6 minutes into the trip. (That is no lie and/or exaggeration . . . 360 seconds from leaving the house.)

THE PLAY-BY-PLAY:

• As we’re pulling out of the driveway: “Did everyone use the bathroom?” . . . “Let’s see if we can make it all the way to Fort Worth without stopping!”

• Six minutes later: “Daddy, I need to use the restroom” . . . “I thought you went right before we left” . . . “I went pee pee, but I held my poo poo.”

• As they’re getting out of the car, the youngest says, “I need to go poo poo, too.”

MY PERSPECTIVE:

It really wasn’t that big of deal, we had to stop anyway because in the hustle and bustle of packing up and leaving, their mother left her keys at the house. A family member was in route to deliver them . . . It made me wonder, though: Would they have continued to “hold their poo poo” all the way home OR would we have stopped a few minutes later anyway? . . . I think kids just know when to take advantage of an opportunity.

Other minor tests included a running request/inquiry to play with my cell phone, the peaks and valleys of sugar highs, and the fact that watching cartoons and playing Wii trumps Sportscenter on Sunday morning.

Here are some other things that I simply learned:

• Kids don’t sleep in – even if the adults tailgated for over five hours the day before and finally went to bed around 1 a.m.

• If you give a child under 10 years old the choice of where to eat – it’s going to be McDonald’s.

• Chocolate milk is VERY popular with young kids. (Temperature of the milk is not important.)

• If you don’t want kids to climb on the furniture – don’t buy it.

• There is always A LOT of hustle and bustle when there are kids involved.

When I told their parents that I was going to blog about me tagging along on their weekend family get-away, I saw both of them cringe.

ME: “Are you worried?”

MOM: “I just don’t want people to think we’re a crazy family.”

I wasn’t going to use the adjective “crazy” – I think “perfect” is a lot more fitting.

OTHER NUGGETS:

A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER

Gus did not disappoint on his birthday. After posting his blog – highlighted by a photo gallery of random things he has eaten – he had a monumental day.

During our morning run, we had to stop with two miles to go so he could throw-up two nice-sized rocks.

That night, while I was out and about, he decided to kill another one of his sleep pads. When I opened the door to the bedroom it looked like it had snowed. He was rolling around in the stuffing like he had accomplished the most impressive feat in the world.

Here is his handy work:

'TRASH FIELD TRIP' HAS ME SEEING GREEN

A few months ago, my mom said, "I wonder if the stuff we put in the recycle bin actually gets recycled." It was kind of a random question, but irony quickly out weighed her randomness when I received the following flyer in the mail:

Fort Worth's Environmental Management Department hosted the "Cowtown Trash Trail Field Trip" on Sept. 20, and I was there along with my curious mother.

It wasn't at all what we expected. I told anyone and everyone that I was spending my Saturday morning on a tour bus, "following a trash truck around Fort Worth."

I never saw a trash truck, but I did see behind the scenes of a multi-million-dollar industry.

We drove out to the recycle center in Arlington and watched them shuffle through the "single stream" of recycled items and sort it down to the item of the day. On this particular Saturday, we watched aluminum go through the line. (The best part of seeing this...my mom got her question answered.)

After that, we visited the landfill in south Fort Worth. They told us how the "cells" of the landfill are constructed. They put an emphasis on how there used to be dumps and now there are strictly regulated landfills.

I just kept seeing dollar signs.

While people on our tour bus were commenting on how clean the landfill was, and how impressed they were with the new environmental standards, I kept firing off questions about the cash.

"How much does it cost to build a cell?"

"How much to you guys charge to have trash delivered here?"

"When will this particular cell be full?"

"How many cells will this particular landfill have in its lifetime?"

Did I say multi-million-dollar industry? Ummmm....how about multi-billion-dollar!

Overall, the "Field Trip" was good. I learned a lot. Got some behind-the-scene research on some investment opportunities. But the best part of that Saturday morning was just spending it with my mom.

(Check out all of our pictures by clicking here)