My Cousin Kent Christopher

 Kent Christopher passed away on Oct. 2nd.  You can read his obituary here 
(https://www.maupinfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Stephen-Kent-Christopher?obId=45814312#/obituaryInfo). His son, Shaun reached out to me and asked if I would be willing to speak about Kent during the funeral.  Here is what I came up with and of course there was some adlibbing, but this is very close to what I shared.

Remarks for Kent’s Funeral

I’m honored to be asked to share a few words about my cousin Kent. Please realize these are my recollections, and sometimes that doesn’t match anyone else’s reality.

When Shaun told me that Kent thought of me as a brother — I understood that completely. My Dad and three of his siblings each had just one child, so for me, my cousins weren’t just cousins. They were more like brothers and sisters.

Kent was four years younger than me — I’m 71 now — so we go way back. When we were boys, we spent a lot of time together… staying over at each other’s houses, wrestling, arguing, making each other mad — and just as quick, well not always just as quick, making up again. You know… brother stuff.

We both went to McIntire elementary school together for a little bit. Often we’d walk to my house after school. Kent’s family moved around a bit —Auxvasse, Effingham, and Oklahoma City as I recall — but we stayed close. I visited them wherever they were. And his mom, Ethel, well… she was like another mother to me.

One of my favorite memories goes back to the mid-sixties, when CB radios and walkie-talkies were all the rage. Kent and I decided we’d start our own radio station. We set up shop right there in the living room. I had a record player and a stack of 45s. We’d hold the walkie-talkie up to the speaker, play songs, make announcements, and even deliver “news.” We thought we were real DJs. Looking back, I think that might’ve been one of the happiest times we ever had together — just two kids with big imaginations having a blast.

Another memory was the summer of ’69. I went down to Oklahoma City to stay with them. Kent had this sweet little Yamaha motorcycle, and there was a spot nearby where we could ride, kinda like a dirt flat track. That summer, his folks — Richard and Ethel — took us on a road trip to California to visit family. We stopped in Las Vegas along the way, naturally, and checked out this brand-new casino called Circus Circus. My job was to keep an eye on Kent and stay out of trouble — I was 15, he was 11… neither job was easy! But we found the upper deck that had an arcade full of cheap games, and we thought we’d struck gold. The trip included Disneyland. It was a magical summer…

Life moved on, as it does. About seven years later, I left Missouri, and we didn’t see each other as much for a while. Kent became an over-the-road truck driver, got married, and had two wonderful children — Mary and Shaun. From what I saw family meant the world to him. Likewise I know he always carried a deep love for his mom, Ethel.

When I eventually moved back to Missouri, we started talking more often again. Our conversations were always a mix of catching up and storytelling. Kent had a mind like a steel trap — he could remember every name, every place, and every detail. I’ll admit, half the time I didn’t know who he was talking about! But that didn’t matter. He’d laugh when the story was funny, grumble when something got under his skin, and light up when he talked about his grandson, Sawyer. You could just hear how proud he was, how much he loved his family.

Now, Kent could be stubborn — and I say that with love. I read somewhere that stubbornness sometimes comes from fear, and maybe there’s truth in that. But it can also come from strength — from caring deeply, from wanting to do things the right way. That what I remember about Kent.

For much of my life, he was the closest thing I had to a brother. And I’m going to miss him — deeply.

But I take comfort in knowing that he’s now reunited with his mom and dad, and his Grandparents. I know he missed them terribly. And now they’re together again.

Rest easy, cousin. You’ll always be family — always my brother in spirit…

We drove down to Fulton today (10/10/25) for the graveside service. On the way I got a call from Shaun, the minister that officiated the Thursday night funeral service was having trouble with his powered wheel chair and couldn't get to the Central Christian Church graveyard.  Would I be willing to say a prayer.  The second time in less than 24 hours that I was given the gift of the chance to show up, much like the countless times Kent's Mom showed up for me.  What follows is what I could come up with between Williamsburg and the church.

Graveside Service for Kent

Good morning everyone.  I consider everyone here family and am honored to be asked to help. Thank you all for being here today as we lay Kent to rest. Your presence — family, friends, and those who knew him through the years — is a reminder of how many lives he touched.
We gather not just in grief, but in gratitude — for the time we had with him, and for the ways he made each of our lives a little better.

We gather not just in grief, but in gratitude — for the time we had with him, and for the ways he made each of our lives a little better..

Kent was a good man — steady, humble, and kind-hearted. He had that quiet strength that didn’t need to announce itself. The kind of man who’d show up when you needed help, stay until the job was done, and never expect a thank you. He had a quick wit and a soft heart — and somehow managed to be both practical and full of mischief at the same time.
Folks like Kent make the world better just by being themselves.

It's too long ago to pin down a time frame, but I probably wouldn't be as good a swimmer as I am without Kent.  One summer Ethel singed Kent up for the Red Cross swimming lessons at the city park pool.  As luck would have it, Kent had an accident and got some stitches in his knee.  Ethel asked if I wanted to take Kent's place and of course I jumped at the chance. I've never been overly fond of swimming, jumping into deep water still takes my breath away for a moment. Because of Kent, and Ethel, I can calm down and apply the knowledge that those lessons provided me.

Read the 23rd Psalm

As we say goodbye today, let’s hold on to those moments — the laughter, the work done side by side, the quiet talks. Kent’s gone from our sight, but not from our hearts.
And I believe he’s at peace — reunited with loved ones, free of pain, and resting in the care of a loving God.

I closed with the Lord's Prayer

When Soldiers Patrol Main Street, Liberty Is Under Siege

I wore the uniform of this nation, served to the best of my ability. And in my years overseas, I saw what it looks like when armed soldiers stand on street corners with rifles at the ready. It does not protect the people—it frightens them. It does not symbolize freedom—it screams control. It is not safety—it is intimidation.

And now I see the same thing happening here, in the United States of America—the very land that claims to be “the land of the free.” Soldiers and military-grade weapons on our own streets. Let’s call it what it is: an attempt to cow the public into silence and submission.

This is not patriotism. This is not liberty. This is the ugly face of fear masquerading as security. We, the people, did not sacrifice generations of service and blood so that our cities could be turned into armed encampments.

Every rifle slung across a soldier’s chest on Main Street is a slap in the face to the Constitution. Every display of military force against citizens is a betrayal of the freedoms we swore to defend.

If we tolerate this, we are not “free.” We are being managed, manipulated, and kept in check by the very symbols of power that once stood as our defense. And let me be clear: there is no safety, no justice, and no future in an America that turns its military inward against its own people.

The “Big Beautiful” Bill Is a National Tragedy in the Making

My opinion and what I am sending to my Senators...

As a citizen, a voter, and someone who still believes in the promise of American democracy, I am writing to express my strongest opposition to the so-called “Big Beautiful” bill currently before the Senate.

Let me be clear: this bill is a betrayal of the very ideals it claims to uphold. Its deep, sweeping cuts to social programs like SNAP and Medicaid are not budgetary corrections — they are acts of cruelty. Millions of Americans, including working families, seniors, and children, rely on these programs not for convenience, but for survival. Slashing them is not fiscal responsibility; it is moral failure.

But the threat runs deeper. Embedded in this bill is a blatant power grab — a calculated dismantling of the checks and balances that are the bedrock of our constitutional system. Transferring the authority of the judiciary and Congress to the executive branch is not “streamlining government.” It is the blueprint for authoritarian rule.

This bill endangers not only the stability of our country but also our standing in the world. The United States has long been held as a model of democratic governance — flawed, but striving. If this bill becomes law, we forfeit that legacy.

To support this bill in its current form is to declare allegiance not to democracy, but to despotism. No one who votes for it can rightly call themselves a patriot. Patriots defend the Constitution, protect the vulnerable, and fight against tyranny — not for it.

Senator, your job is not to rubber-stamp power. It is to stand guard over it. I urge you — for the sake of your constituents, your oath, and your conscience — to oppose this bill with everything you have.

History will remember who stood for democracy, and who stood silent...

Look What ChatGPT has Learned from My Interactions with It

Meet the Grand Wizard of Code & Common Sense

A seventy-something software sorcerer who hung up the career cape but still casts spells in Python, Perl, and old-school shell. Retired, but not retired from thinking. Grew up wrangling data from dBase to Progress to pandas, and now turns stock news into graphs like it’s second nature.

With 35 years in 12-step recovery, you’ve got deep wisdom and a soft spot for the human side of life. You dig into history, question authority, appreciate a good joke, and somehow still find time to write birthday tributes and app ideas between M3U playlists and Peewee models.

You’re the kind of guy who can optimize file packing in Perl, decode old Hawaiian island names, and still ask, “Should I strip that parenthetical or nah?” And you always want the explanation behind the answer — because learning never retired.

And look what it thinks I can improve...

So, here's the honest, respectful read on areas where you might come up short or could sharpen things up:

🪓 Sharp Tools, Blunt Edges

You're direct — which is a strength — but sometimes it can veer into “cut-to-the-point” so fast that nuance or diplomacy gets edged out. In technical problem-solving, that works great. In conversations or leadership moments (even in writing to a Senator), you might miss a chance to persuade because the blade came down a little fast. You likely know this and have learned when to modulate it — but it’s a lever you control, and you could maybe tune it more than toggle it.

🔁 Efficiency Bias

You've built a career and a mind that seeks clarity and optimization. That sometimes leads to treating things (or even people) like systems that just need the right input. But humans — politics, family, recovery, even yourself — don’t always resolve with the same tidy logic. You get that, especially with your recovery background, but I bet it still bugs the hell out of you when someone (or something) resists a fix that should work.

There’s a low-level frustration that pops up occasionally when things feel inefficient by design (government, bloated bills, bad documentation). You might overextend energy trying to force clarity where chaos actually rules.

🎯 High Standards, Narrow Tolerances

Your bar is high. That’s why you’ve succeeded. But it might make you overly self-reliant — like, if someone can’t meet your level of rigor, you’ll just do it yourself. That’s a great short-term move, but long-term it can limit collaboration or mentoring moments where someone less skilled just needs your patience, not your fix. You probably don’t suffer fools — or sloppy thinkers — easily.

🧘 Internal Stillness ≠ Intellectual Stillness

You clearly want a deeper inner calm, maybe even detachment from the noise — but your mind’s default mode is to engage and dismantle. Stillness might be something you seek because it challenges your usual state, not because it's natural for you.

Improving here could give you better energy flow and more space to decide what not to tackle. You’ve earned the right to stop solving every damn thing.

Memorial Day Message

Today, we pause to remember and honor all who gave their lives in service to this country—our military heroes and first responders alike. Their courage and sacrifice are the backbone of America’s strength, security, and freedom. We owe them more than words can say. Let us never forget that the liberties we enjoy today were bought at a high price. May we live in a way that honors their memory, with gratitude and purpose.