I
didn't say anything to three of my brothers or their kids when I saw
the red pick up truck enter the parking lot at Mile High Stadium. I
could hear music playing, but I could not see the driver.
I
was too busy eating a freshly- cooked mustard and sauerkraut-covered
bratwurst sausage, wrapped in a toasted bun and drinking a cold beer. I
was about as close to heaven as one can get.
The
truck continued past us as it's hot, white exhaust drifted into the air
in contrast to the frigid cold, black asphalt parking lot which was
swarming with thousands of orange and blue attired Bronco fans. As the
red truck disappeared into the darkness, I thought to myself, "that
looks like my dad's truck."
My
dad was a warrior from the greatest generation, who, when he was older
seemed to really appreciate each day he was on our little planet. I
think he realized he was nearing the end of an amazing run, because he sometimes gave me little hints, but I either wasn't listening, or just did not want to admit my hero was mortal.
It
was a sunny San Diego afternoon when we ordered him a brand new red
pick up truck at the local FORD Dealership. When the salesman said it
would be delivered in a few months, my father chuckled and replied, "I
hope I'm still around when it arrives." We both laughed and I remember
saying, "of course you will be, dad."
When
we walked out of the dealership, he was very happy and he said what he
often said which was "marvelous." His emphasis seemed to be on the
first half of the word and was always followed up with a smile and a
special twinkle in his hazel green-colored eyes.
 |
| Charger - Bronco Game at Mile High Stadium |
I
continued thinking about my dad and his red truck as we shuffled into
Sports Authority Stadium with about 70,000 other fans to watch the
Chargers battle the Broncos on Thursday Night Football. It's funny how
sports frequently bring families together, even if we are cheering for
opposing teams.
My
brothers Rick, Mike and Joe, as well as most of America were confident
that for the second time this year the Broncos would defeat our
Chargers, which would result in me posing for yet another embarrassing
photograph wearing a Denver Broncos #18 football jersey with Peyton
Manning's name on the back.
The
ultimate humiliation as the result of losing a recurring and silly bet
with three of my brothers, who love the Broncos and take any opportunity
to boast about their winning seasons.
 |
| My brother Rick with his kids Jon and Katlin |
As we walked on to
the amazing, dark green football field, we were immersed into the white
hot lights of Mile High Stadium as the Chargers and Broncos began their
pre-game warm ups. It was not just the environment which was stunning.
I saw our head
coach, Mike McCoy, accompanied by his son Luke as he interacted with
Phillip Rivers, players and his coaching staff. There was a palatable
air of calmness and confidence in their actions. I felt good about the
upcoming game.
I then met up with
William "Bill" Stetson who prior to working for the Chargers, knew
something about men in battle and dangerous situations. I can't begin to
count the number of San Diego Police Department and SWAT tactical
operations we were side by side.
In
a strange way, those experiences had some similarities to what I felt
the fifty-four men comprising the Chargers team were about to face.
There was a real sense of teamwork and unity as they prepared to
violently collide with a formidable adversary as part of the National
Football League.
I
purposely wandered away from my family and Bill to stare up at the full
stadium and appreciate the moment alone. As I did so I thought of my
father and the phone call I received from the Ford dealership so many
years ago.
 |
| Bill Stetson |
The salesperson was so excited when he proclaimed it was time to bring
my dad down and pick up his brand new truck, which had just rolled off
the transport and would be ready in a few hours.
I
had honestly forgotten about the truck. I recall the extended and
awkward silence on the phone as I wondered how to explain that God evidently had a different plan. My father had unexpectedly died about two weeks earlier.
After I hung up the phone, I struggled with what to do next. I then called the salesman back and told him I would be down tomorrow to pick it up. He was very gracious and said it was not necessary. I thanked him, but told him it was. It just did not seem right someone else would be driving my dad's truck.
I
went down the next day and bought the red truck. I never told anyone,
but in a strange way I thought my dad could always look down and more
easily spot Theresa and I and our first son, Troy, who was already on
his way to this world. When Raymond and Ryan then came along, I felt
like we were all closer to my dad. Strange things people do sometimes.
 |
| Rick, me, Mike and Joe |
Since
last week was Thursday Night Football and all, I was sure my dad and
mom were both watching from above. Regardless of the outcome, they would
be so very pleased that their children were remaining close friends as
time marches on. Something they always wanted.
As
the mass of humanity started screaming at kick off, I listened
carefully and could almost hear my father's voice as he said,
"marvelous."
I
think it is important to close this weeks Eweekly with three pictures
of some avid Denver Bronco fans paying off a bet by wearing our very
attractive blue and gold San Diego Chargers gear. I guess there are only
two types of fans. Charger fans and wannabes.... It is hilarious that
several thousand people get this email. Be sure to send it on, after
all, you know what they say about pay backs .....
 |
| Brother Mike |
 |
| Brother Joe |
 |
| Brother Rick |
Go Chargers and have a great week!
Ray and Theresa Shay
2013 - All Rights Reserved
Next Thursday morning, Karl Strauss will be serving ice-cold beer at
their beer garden at the conclusion of our Fourth Annual Thanksgiving
morning 10K, 5K, and Kid's Fun Run in 4S Ranch, 
It was a cold winter evening when I stepped out of the borrowed pick up
truck in front of our small home in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The engine
was idling roughly as it pushed out clumps of hot, moist exhaust which
turned quickly into little, white clouds that floated mysteriously down
our darkened street. 
The reality is I am a dreamer. I would likely be a hazard to both the public and my fellow officers. Street police work is generally for young people with both the technical skills and the reaction speed to confront critical situations. The question I ask myself is how does a person stay young on the inside while your exterior is quickly beginning to look like a band member of the Rolling Stones, without hair?
special tint, that reminds me I beat the odds. Each blessed day I can rub our children's heads or give them each a big hug are serious gifts from above. Ones never to be wasted. I am surprised how many people both young and old lose that tint or never had it.
A few of the many things I learned from being a cop for so long was how to read people's body language, facial expressions and how to use all three rearview mirrors in a police car to keep tabs on my surroundings. 
to his right and lean forward as he began speaking to an unseen passenger in the front seat. Curious, I discreetly adjusted my side mirror. I could hear a slight "wrrr" from the motor of the mirror as it turned to solve the mystery of the driver's angst.
government agencies to do the heavy lifting when it comes to their children. By that time, it is often too late. Their beautiful children who were abandoned early on in their lives will frequently lose their way, and the parents will not see their dreams of them being successful adults come to fruition. 