Gen. George S. Patton’s Third Army’s push through Germany was interrupted one last time. It was 10:09 p.m. and my son, a little curly-haired 3-year-old, was staring at me through the slats on the stair rail. “Daddy will you wead to me?” he said while holding a little book.

His aversion to going to bed is fueled by a fear that he’ll miss something downstairs if he is tucked in his covers.

He had sneaked downstairs when Patton was in Sicily and again when the general had been dispatched to London. Each time he had a reason for getting out of bed, first to go to the bathroom, then to get a hug and a kiss goodnight. (Fortunately the pause button on my digital video record system was working just fine.)

The Lord has blessed me and my wife with three wonderful children.

My outgoing daughter is 6, going on 16. She is the family’s brilliant diplomat who can read people better than most adults. This comes in handy when someone tells her something that isn’t true. (It’s not so handy when her father is trying to be a bit evasive while trying to answer one of the numerous questions that fills the typical day.)

She is as beautiful as she is smart and always considers the feelings of others. A day doesn’t pass that she doesn’t draw a picture for a friend or a get-well card for someone who is sick at church.

In March, while I was preparing to go to Washington to interview President Bush, she tried to convince me that I should a take her with me. She had her picture taken with then-Gov. Bush when she was barely 1 and had toured the White House when she was 3.

Knowing she wasn’t going with me, she sat down at the bar in the kitchen and began drawing. She drew an American flag, a duck (that’s what it looked like to me) with eagle markings flying in the sky and a big black book with the words “Holy Bible” written on it. She said, “Everyone knows W. Bush loves to read the Bible.”

She made me promise I would give it to him. I reluctantly agreed. Now she has a letter from the president framed in our kitchen, thanking her for her art work. She often reminds me that she should have been able to go with me and deliver it herself.

Our second child, who soon will be 5, is 100 percent boy. But he is also careful, calm and obedient, always responding to me and his mother with “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am.” Like most kids, he becomes a little bullheaded when he gets tired, but his conscience often gets the best of him. Within his 50-pound frame is a tender heart.

I came to know his toughness firsthand the other day after he issued me a challenge to a light saber duel out on our front lawn. I accepted, thinking nothing of it. I suddenly found myself being charged, desperately trying to defend myself. Unable to fend off each crashing blow of his battery-powered light saber (complete with sound effects), he caught the side of my arm and when I tried to block him, he pulled back and then ravaged my knuckles.

My audible outburst must have scared him. He stopped, realizing he had busted my hand. He instantly started crying, dropped his weapon and began hugging me while apologizing for hurting me. What a kid. He says he wants to play football this fall.

Then there is our third child, the happy little warrior. His speech is still a little broken, but it doesn’t keep him from talking. He has a little bit of his sister’s common sense and his brother’s caring heart, but he brings to the family a solid helping of persistence and honesty.

The other day the two of us were driving to the gym. I looked back at him and told him he was my favorite 3-year-old. Expecting something equally as kind and heartfelt in return, he smiled and said, “Daddy, you’re fat.”

We couldn’t get to the gym fast enough.



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David Sanders writes twice weekly for the Arkansas News Bureau in Little Rock. His e-mail address is DavidJSanders@aol.com.