You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?
Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?
You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. Do you understand?
If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand?
My wife and I recently brought home an old croquet set from her parents’ house in Nashville. She remembers playing croquet with her family in Paraguay when she was a young girl. In fact, they played with that very croquet set with traces of Paraguayan mud still present on the balls and mallets. My children also remembered playing croquet when we visited Peggy’s parents in the summertime, after they retired from their missionary work and moved back to Tennessee. Our girls have vivid and happy memories of those croquet matches with the cousins in the Skinner’s backyard. Grandpa was always the one who set it up. He knew all the rules and took time to oversee every game, making sure all the grandkids played fairly and correctly. It was great fun for all the cousins, and usually ended with Grandma inviting everyone in for cookies and ice cream, or maybe even fresh, cold watermelon.
It’s the week of the Fourth of July and my thoughts turn toward our veterans and active duty military. I am so appreciative to what they do and what they have done for our country. It’s always a tradition at Kingwood Church to honor them on the Sunday before Independence Day. It brings tears to my eyes every time. And I can’t help but think of my father, Coolidge Sims. He was a veteran of World War 2, and my personal war hero. But “hero” is not how he described himself. The following is a conversation I had with my dad in 2012, not long before he made his journey to heaven. It is an excerpt from a book I am presently writing about his life.
I had joined him for supper one evening in the dining hall of the assisted living center, and randomly we were talking about the fear of death. He recounted a wartime story that I had never heard before.
“When you were young, Dad, do you remember a time when you thought you might die? I asked candidly.
Dr. Mike Sims glanced at his watch as he pushed open the heavy glass door and exited the family practice clinic. Depending on traffic he could be home in less than fifteen minutes. He walked briskly toward the white Honda Pilot waiting in his reserved space in the parking lot. A quick press of the button on the key fob unlocked it just a half-second before he pulled open the door and slid into the drivers seat. The warm Georgia sun had heated the cab nicely– a welcome relief in the midst of the January cold snap. It was Thursday, and he was normally off on Thursday afternoons. Dr. Sims’ final patient of the morning had required more time than he had anticipated, causing his delay in leaving the clinic. Some people simply love to recount details– every detail of every pain that they have experienced over the last 48 hours. But over thirty=five years of experience had taught him to listen carefully, because somewhere sandwiched in the midst of insignificant details was the tell-tale key to a diagnosis. Dr. Sims was a good listener. A warm, caring demeanor had always been his style, boosting his practice and retaining the respect and loyalty of most of his patients.
