Passion

Pervert.

This ain't no kiss and tell kinda.  I mean, after all it's been since.. VICTOR!  STOP!

Ah damnit, you're supposed to say "DON'T STOP!", no comma.

I'm kidding I'm kidding.

This ain't about that kinda passion.... well, I guess it could be, but that wasnt uppermost in thought.

I. Love. Passion. In. People.

Situations. 

College game day on TV. Young'ns proudly displaying the colors, name, mascot of their institution, shaking, frantically waving their 'we're #1' finger, basically what some might call, "acting a fool."

Been there. Loved that.  Band camp, I think I was a fraternity pledge. Campus of Billy Jewell, old Brown Gym, 

barely enough room for a court, let alone bleachers. I had to (got to) wear a gorilla costume.

I remember running, doing a flip (ie, amped up cause I don't think I knew how to turn a flip.) Once landed, I wasn't sure if I was staring North, East, unsure of exactly where (which side) I came running from. This much I remember. Passion. (It's was 'Hell Week', it mighta had something to do with the two warm Buckhorns the 'actives' forced me to chug prior, ain't sure.)

Bottomline, or hell,  could be top line, I wasn't sure if I was on my hands or my feet: Yum. Passion. All important. 

Sports. There's passion in sports. No, there ain't no such thing as 110% effort... win one for the Gipper, maybe. I recall a basketball coach, team was sluggish, jogging, not offering great effort. "Time out."

The 5 on the court came to the sideline. Coach told 'em to stare at the 7, seated in chairs. "Now you, tell me, howintheheck am I to justify lollygagging, jogging back on D, getting beat to the baseline, to these 7 sitting here?" (Put me in Coach, I'm ready to play. Today. Look at me.

Oh yeah, that's a song.

We've talked passion in sports. Oh baby, is there passion in song. Music.

Those on stage..   first comes to mind, women-belter-outers. Joan Jett, "Singing, I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox baby, I love rock and roll, so come and take your time and dance with me, Ow!

Mebbe Chrissie Hynde, The Pretenders, and:

Gonna use my arms, 

Gonna use my legs,

Gonna use my style, 

Gonna use my sidestep,

Gonna use my fingers,

Gonna use my, my, my imagination.

Yum. Passion. Total brain concentration on the moment, I don't give a damn what else is happening.  ("We're gonna be late for church... the toast is burning!... the dogs gotta pee") NOT TILL AFTER THIS SONG IS OVER!  YUM!!!

Sorry, kinda, not really.

(At this very moment, I have a candle lit. If I have to pee, I take my phone with me - flashlight) Mother Nature is PO'ed about sumpin, power out all about town, THUNDER THUNDER, THUNDERATION.  Holy guacamole,  there is passion in WEATHER!.

Back to sports for a second. Parents of Littles. How fun. Moms (or dads) in lawn chairs.  Next time you take in a little league came, take a listen.  I bet you'll hear a parent repeat something like "Keep your eye on the ball Jimmy, eye on the ball." "Bat on the ball, bat on the ball, Gabe."... "Why?  They say things, twice, not sure why. They say things twice, not sure why. Lost, completely lost in passion, and I love it.

Little Johnny called out on strikes. Dad, "Keep em up ump, keep em up." Ie, I'm passionate that you blew the call, I'm an accountant by trade, but I know better'n you.

How did Austin Powers put it? YEAH, BABY!

Passion gives us momentary break away from blue, rue, woe, not enuff dough, 3 regular tires and a donut, a flunked spelling test, no pay raise on evaluation day, yada....crap.

"Put me back on hold please, I really liked that song."

Sure, love. Politics. Our kids, family. Hounds and kitties, friends, a cause, the Bible, quilting, decoupage, yada, much.

Passion lends good reason to be here, to enjoy, smile, love, breathe.

"Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends, so Oh Lord, won't you buy me, a Mercedes Benz?  That's it!" (Cackle)

Right Janis?  Passion is life, we gots to live it thataway, recognize it, appreciate it.

Put another dime in the jukebox baby.

Love, and marriage...

No, that ain't it..  sorry Peg, sorry Al.

Love and passion, Victurd

"I played high school football!"

Paul Harvey... Good day

The rest of the story...

Whenever we roll outta bed, or, in my case, waddle - if that's a word, we are everpresent in creating our own the rest of the story.

So few, really really know the rest of the (our) story.

Naturally, I think suffice to say, I personally am so thankful for those few who truly, really really know, me.

Those who might say words like "self-care", as in, take care of yourself... they wing superlatives, and, send genuine love when they say, "I disagree with you on that. "

You there, Yeah you. .. who are your "they really really know you's"?  Larry? Terry?  Pup?  Tip? Joyce, Liz? Vicki? David? Bear? Pie? Susan? Jeanne? Big'n? All'a'ya. (If I missed ya, you're in thst 'All'a'ya'!

Rewarding ain't it?

The "to the moon", "got'yer back" kind.

Today is the first day of the rest of our Lives. Or, as we MIZ-ZOU fans might rejoice after yet another KU loss, hearing Bill Self say "We're 0 and 0 now."

Who areya...

Where ya gonna go...

Whadda ya gonna do...

Are you gonna be a harbinger of love, smiles,  hugs, fun, smartass remark,.... or, an occasional sourpuss like me?

Spread the love baby!

Smile, even if your teeth are smokestained yeller like mine!

Pet a dog (their rest of the story is even shorter than ours.)

Sell a Lincoln. Huh? Just seeing if L&L is still awake!

Boost, if you see down.

Hesitate, before them words sneak out. Weigh. Think.

That's all I got today.

I'm off to work on the rest of the story, which of course begins at the john to pee.

Love peace and soul... for the rest of the story.

Good day

Victurd Harvey 

Braking news...

There's somethin' happening here.. 

No, that ain't it.  

Well, kinda sorta.

If you're old, like me. Number one, you're blessed.  Number two. (It's the coffee, BRB) I'M JOKING! RELAX!

Secondly, (how's that?) it seems our land (Remember? This land is your land, this land is my land, from California to the New York Island)... our land, has these moments, periods - where, its kinda like an old LP album, ya get to a certain point, it's bound to SKIP, SCREETCH, NONSTOP, YEEOUCH. 

EVERYONE HOLDS THEIR EARS.... OMG's happen and they ain't abbreviated...

To compensate, we all scream at the toppa our lungs.  Hell, it's no wonder, once we hit SS age, all them damn Beltone flyers show up in the mailbox, we canardly hear.

We, they. Both sides, yes, preach to the choir. It just don't work. It's like tryin' ta run but there ain't no laces in your tenny boppers. 

Sure, each side holds the their side up, but(t), once we stand up, try to start'a runnin', spoutin'-toutin', we ain't gots no belt in our pants and we literally, physically, figuratively show our ass, by cracky. A nation of plumbers, your side, my side, we're all a hollerin' but no one is roto rootering the drain.

 Calgon, take me away. Gimme a break, gimme a break, break me off a piece'a the Kit Kat bar. Two tickets to Paradise perty please. Dudeism some bowler once called it.

Not long ago I bored you with the story of my retired school Superintendent buddy... how 'Establish culture' was key to his beginning days in a new school district. TBC.

He spoke of visiting the bus barn, third day on the job... folks were'a laboring away, mechanics, drivers, supervisors, clerical staff, with smile, with music, THEN, it stopped. The damn LP started sticking, skipping, screeching, metafour...ah, metaphor....hmmnn...kinda sorta.

He went to the manager and asked, "What happened?".... "Well, you're here."

Light bulb. A week later, two dozen donuts it tow, he visited them ON BREAK, talked, laughed, learned he was'a human just like them, got to know each others families, likes, wants, dreams. The debris, grease, whateverinthehell it was in the LP album was removed.  

The Fob to culture began.

I feel it coming "Pasture Schultze" (please note the spelling) you're gonna preach aint'ya?  

Mebbe.

Braking News (please note the spelling.)

You (we too) deserve a break today, so get up and get away...

Put the lime in the coconut,  take a drive in the country.

Text your BFF a joke.

Crank a favorite tune. Visit the gravesite of a loved one. 

Swing on the porch swing. Ain't got one? Buy one. Spend a couple hours with Andy, Barney. Ope, Hoss, Ben, Lil' Joe.

Put in earbuds and whip up a meatloaf, or pecan pie.

Phone a friend. Is that your final answer?  NO.

Brake, take breaks often.  

I dunno about you, but my experience in virtually every job I've ever had, THE BEST times were when we were not on task but on break. Letting our hair down, laughing at ourselves, complimenting, confiding, asking for or giving advice (when asked for it.)

Yum. A dozen donuts. Nature's Xanax.

Temporarily "Take this job (life, skipping LP, we/they, protest this, did you see, hear that? Can you believe what so and so said? Patooey and shove it." At least while we're on break.

Vacation. Staycation. Sudoku. Hell, even Farmville.

Do sumpin, anything, occasionally,  when the record skips.

I personally am considering a girls trip. No no no. I just wanna tag along!  Aintya heard, girls just wanna have fun.

Braking News from the real Breaking News.

Don't forget the baby aspirin. 

Love, Victurd

U...U

vacUUm sucks.  Sometimes life sUUcks.  Death sUUcks even worse.

UU don't. 

Yesterday was the celebration of life for our 39 year old son. I honestly never ever lost my faith in mankind. 

Strangely, I liken this whole thing to bowling. UUs family members hurting, were in no mood to get up, take our turn back in the game of life.

I, we, don't know how our friends do it, but yoUU are, have been, the bUUmper rails for gUUiding UUs back down, ahead to, the path of life. 

From the day my, our son expired, yoUU friends, loved ones, have been incredible. Example setters.

Age 39. Way too young, of course.  Wonderful, seeing, hearing from Dru's buddies that played in the yard, on the baseball field, basketball court.. sat next to our son in school.. clocked in at work along side him.

Death sUUcks, no way around it.

We, obviously, are not at the wheel.

Your behavior, heart, tears, graciousness, hugs are exemplary for us as we all go forward.

Life, living is so, so good.

Be a vacuum. Suck up the good, ya just never know. We can steer all we want, but we're not at the wheel in regard to the timing of our destination. As we go forward, empty the collected ugly we find enroute into the trash.. then jump back up there 'tween the bumper rails of goodness.

We thank you for your love.

UU, are remarkable.

For your buddy to read at funeral pretty please..

This is Dru's father.  I think I can speak for his mother and I in that we have been gratefully overwhelmed by the kindness, phone calls, texts,  emails, messages, cards, letters, hugs, shoulders to lean on, offers of "if you need anything" and generosity of all.. friends, loved ones, etc.  Thank you, thank you, very much. A special shout out to the Ladies Golf League at the Club of Marimack - you're awesome.

We, as parents, recently joined a club no one in the World wants to belong to.  A few of you knew Dru pretty well, some of you a little bit, and certain there are some here who maybe just kinda knew Dru, so let's go back.  

July 3rd, 1985, Dru arrived to this World just in time for The World Series.

Biased, but cute little guy. Before he could even talk, if we did something he didn't like, he made a sound like the buzzer at the end of a basketball game - so, we started asking him "What does the buzzer at the end of a basketball game sound like?" And he'd comply with the noise.

Age 7, I think it was...MASSIVE snowstorm in Liberty, MO. 10? 12? Inches?

"Mom? Dad?. Can you take me to Jesse's?" (His cousin, 5 blocks to 291, cross the four lane highway, another 4 blocks to Jesse's.)  "NO, of course we can't.

Question, request was asked it's kid normal 7, 12 times, each met with NO.

"I'm going out to play then." We, eyeballing 4 others on sleds, building snowmen, yada, "OK."

Checked a bit later. All good. 

Not even 20 minutes later, phone rang.. a mostly frantic sister inlaw on the other end (the one that lives 5 blocks to 291, four lanes across the highway, another 4 blocks) "DRU JUST SHOWED UP AT OUR DOOR!" It's a wonder we weren't hauled in for child endangerment.

That, is kinda a microcosm of my, our son's life.

Summer, age 9. Third day after the school year ended, broke his right wrist. For a sports crazy baseball loving right hander, devastation. By week two, he was shooting free throws lefthanded WAY BETTER than his naturally lefthanded father ever did.

The next year, coming home after work only to be met at the door of 305 Lee Drive by a cute little blond kid, ball bat and glove in hand.

Our son was a foot or so shorter, at that age, than his buddies. We went. Bucket after bucket of fly balls, ground balls, batting practice. I'm talking SMTWTFS.

We'd go, hit a ton of fly balls to this little bitty dude in the outfield. Due to that size, and the height of the fly, sometimes folks would stop and watch in amazement, as time after time the little guy measured the depth, height, right or left, and it would fall gracefully in his glove. Sure, proud poppa, but, just telling it like it is, it was fun to watch.

A favorite memory is of us, his travel league 7th grade basketball team, and we had FINALLY made it to the championship game of a tournament. Eleven of us, nine kids all sizes and color, another dad, and I, right before the game, crammed into whatever the 6 seat clunker it was I was driving at the time - and drove around and around and around the middle school parking lot with Queen's "We Are the Champions" totally cranked. Happy. It was happy, FUN.

We lost the game, but I think can tell ya 11 people who will never forget that.

Dru loved much.  Cheese.  Cheese pizza.  Chicken. Movies.  Playstation 2. History.  Swam like a fish. Got darker than the Coppertone lady in the Summer.

I hasten to list his best buds for fear of missing some, so apologies if I do.... Jay, Mel, DC, Teoppalious, Jesse Reece, Rodney, Jess Bogner, Clifton, Jason Chrisp, Albert, Logan, Jeff Tubbs... and of course his brother and his cousins.

Back To School Night, 1st grade.  We got home, he looked at me disgustedly and said "You're the oldest dad in my class!"  I wish he had learned his financial acumen from his mom, but, he surely got it from me.  For example, he'd cash his paycheck, "Take me to McDonalds please"....a Triple Cheeseburger, Large Fry and a Large Dr. Pepper later, we're at $15.87.  As the week wound down and payday was a couple days out......."How bout you hook me up with that McDonald's app buy one get one sausage biscuit?"

Dru loved fun. I think he learned fun from his Granny Rose Marie.  Teasing. Bantering.  Daughter Aubrie was "Rosey", Bella was lovingly 'Chunk Dog', and Kendal (and I) were not fans, but he called us each "Fat boy".  I was also Shay, OG and Pops.

He was a neat freak.  The husband who did all the cleaning, sweeping, mopping, dishes.  Every job he ever had, he was the hardest worker among 'em.  He possessed incredible strength for his size

Fiercely loyal, he displayed via tattoo the names of his departed Aunts Nancy and Vanda, Uncle Buddy and Granny Rose on his body.  He loved his mom like crazy, she earned a spot in ink and she's still here. Payday, he would take his check to the bank... come back to the car.. "I've gotta stop and get something for mom." Mother/son relationship. What better?

His heart was huge for critters.  As recent as a week or so ago, he smiled, looked at me and asked "Whaddaya think JC (a cat we owned 20+ years ago) is doing now?...How 'bout Figgy?"

Thankfully, he grew up in a household, in an extended family where there was no fear of using the word love, and man did he, we use it.  He also, would be silently sitting with me, or any loved one... a hand would reach our shoulder and three love pats, saying without saying, would happen. With great frequency, unprompted, he'd pass out "I love you"s.

He had some 'very soon to do' bucket list items that didn't come to fruition.  A night at the Elms.  Getting a hotel room with a pool, yummy hot breakfast for he and his three kids in Topeka.  He wanted to start going to the First Baptist Church in Liberty

Most most most of all............. He loved his children.  I found a note he'd penned recently, addressed to them, he had intended to deliver...........

"Aubrie Rose  (and Kendal and Bella)...

I love you with all my heart and soul. The day you were born, I held you with one hand.  December 30, 2010, it was 63 degrees out!  My favorite day of all time!  You were so small but still so beautiful.  You were Daddy's girl from Day One.  Your first day of kindergarten, you didn't want me to put you down. You made friends fast. You were a Girl Scout, I was SO proud!  Then, your brother Kendal comes along, 

A house divided?  No!  You, Mom, Kendal, Dad, one big loving family. You and Kendal have been buds, then, Ms. Bella comes along and we made 3.

Kendal, you dance your cute little booty off!  Us three would play soccer everyday the weather allowed. Bella really just bounced around on the swings.  Kendal you've come a long ways, from kickball to soccer.  Plus, you're dope on X-Box.  I love you guy, with all my heart.

Bella, my heart angel world.  We communicate without even talking.  You just get it.  

All three of you will run the World!  Just remember that Dad loves you and gave you all he had.

Love, Daddy.

Bottomline, there was a wonderful gleam in his eye each and every time he got to see any of his kids.

That bucket list was, at least temporarily interrupted on March 17th, 2025, St. Patty's Day.

That day, Dru left to go UP THERE.  So many to go, see, visit.  Buddy, Nancy, Vanda... Grandpa Bill, Granny Rose, Grandpa Bud.. first stop though was to his Grandma Velma.  It was her birthday.

We love and miss you Dru.

Love is in the air...

There was undoubtedly a time, folks like Wayne Gretzky, Stan Musial, Barry Sanders, Dolly Parton, Keanu Reeves, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, many, were beset with, "I've never done this before", ie, started their 'craft' the very first time, assuredly, doubt set in...

Wonderful coaches remind, "you think Brett always batted .300?  We're you aware there was a time, MJ had never dunked?  McCartney's voice used to crack?"

I'm certain it was certain to those around them.  They provided belief, a shoulder to lean on, coupled with care, concern.

I have friends, that unfortunately have lost a child.  I never ever knew what to say to them, if anything.

Not all that long ago, a gal I had dated, had cancer and her demise, soon, was a certainty.  In fact, she texted me, something like, "I'd love to see you... they've started a morphine drip."

Selfishly, I guess, I thought of me. What do I say?  What if I cry? I truly though, didn't want to upset her.

I leaned on my coworker who doubles as a preacher.

"What do I say?"  Doesn't matter, he answered.  "What if I cry?"  That's ok, just being there is all that matters.

I admit to being worried about 'today' in our land.  I belong to college and professional sport's team fan forums, local Liberty ones and sometimes, just FB in general online. A single topic happens- it doesn't take 5, 6 comments before hatred, mudslinging, name calling sets in. I very much admit to 'conflict upsets me.'

It's everpresent today in all walks, topics, locally,  nationally, on our roadways, at kid's games, even in grocery checkout aisles.

There is not much good, at least as we walk the planet, with death.

"I've never done this before."

Three of my very best friends have, and their words to me, our family, have been beautiful.

My worry of our town, nation, every day life - has lessened.

This is day 3.  I, we, have had so many incredibly kind, loving, hugging, comforting texts, phone calls, DM's, personal meets in public, and those have helped me at least, to know I can do this. (And I know my family, ex, feel the same way.)

Your love, kindness, concern, prayer, has given me purpose to simply get out of bed.

There is no doubt any longer our world is wonderful, as always.

From being on your end, not knowing what to say. Fear of saying the wrong thing, we all know how difficult that is.

You must've already spoken to my preacher buddy Mike.  "Doesn't matter what you say, it's OK to cry, just being there is what matters."

You've truly been incredible, each and every one.

I can forsee down the road, when silence sets in, that could be the tough time(s). I have such admiration for those of you who have been through and are still going through this.

We are all different and I read, briefly, about what to say, not say and there is no mandated concensus 

I've always loved when folks bring up my parents..  my sister... and into the future, hopefully my son.

Thank you, thank you, truly, thank you. Love is in the air.

We, as a nation, are, have been, always will be, great.

Never... Little Buddy.. and so much more..

Never.. we all learn, is too long, at least upon this physical planet.  

We've all lost..  parents,  siblings, loved ones of all kinds, friends, coworkers, classmates, yada.

They pass.  Never. Never see em again. Sucks. So much to say, no ears available to listen.

July 3rd, 1985, I was a probationary employee (new hire, "ya can't miss work") for Eastern Airlines.

A phone call had been made, my 'Lead' drives up, somewhat frantically, "Jump in Vic, you gotta go, I'll take you to the employee lot."

"Her water broke."

I knew that one.  19 miles from the employee parking lot to 924 South Main in 11 minutes, or thereabouts.

I landed at home, jumped from my almost new Luv truck, as if I'd had a 5 hour energy drink, a Red Bull and six cups of Java.

But.  But, she was seated comfortably in the living room with neighbor Ellen.

"For Godsakes, LET'S GO!" Said I, the one with absolutely no Phillips screwdriver,  lefty loosy, righty tightie handy skills.  I DID NOT, want to have to stop on the sidea I-35 and attempt to be a midwife.

"Calm down Victor, we'll be ok."

Were.

Until, we checked into NKC Hospital, it was ascertained the umbilical cord was wrapped around our son's neck, Emergency C-Section, and I felt so sorry for HER. ...she shook as if she'd gone out in the sub zero yard with no coat on.  Couldn't blame her.

Victor.   This is getting pretty long..   Hey, it's OK and I understand if you wanna go, but I could write for a solid year and this blog wouldn't be as long as it should be. (today, anyways)

"Mr Schultze? Would you like to observe the surgery?" I'm skeemish.  By now, we thankfully had a fun, fantastic anesthesiologist who'd comforted mom, reduced the gale force tremors to baby shivers.  "No thanks, I'm not sure I could stand seeing my wife cut into like that."

40 minutes, maybe an hour fifteen, I dunno.. a nurse sneaks up behind me... has this little handsome, bundled  like a burrito infant (handsome as, One, he's my damn kid, I'm biased, and Two, 'C-babies' don't face (literally) the trauma of going thru the birth Canal only to come out resembling a traffic cone. She says "Would you like to carry your son to the nursery,"

MOMENTS IN LIFE YOU WILL NEVER FORGET, that, was a huge one, and I never will forget.

Because I obviously enjoy writing, I started a journal that day on my son's life.  Spiral notebook.

The days of "lay him on the blanket there" were cinchy, but there are only so many 'coos' one can write before mundane happens. 

As the first couple three years happened, I penned, twas going ok until I realized the "please don't do that's" outnumbered the "Atta boys."

I stopped the journal.

Age 7, I think it was...MASSIVE snowstorm in Liberty, MO. 10? 12? Inches?

"Mom? Dad?. Can you take me to Jesse's?" (His cousin, 5 blocks to 291, cross the highway, another 4 blocks to Jesse's.  "NO, of course we can't.

Question, request was asked it's normal 7, 12 times, each met with No.

"I'm going out to play then."  We eyeballing 4 others on sleds, building snowmen, yada, "OK."

Checked a bit later.  All good. 

Not even 20 minutes later, phone rang.. a mostly frantic sister inlaw on the other end (the one that lives 5 blocks to 291, cross the highway, another 4 blocks)  "DRU JUST SHOWED UP AT OUR DOOR!" It's a wonder we weren't hauled in for child endangerment.

That, is kinda a microcosm of my, our son's life.

We are ALL human, he too. He admittedly pushed the envelope upon occasion, he could be a hardhead, that (hang on a sec...'knock-knock-knock'), yup, could possibly be due to heredity.

Summer, age 9. Third day after the school year ended, broke his right wrist. For a sports crazy baseball loving right hander, devastation. By week two, he was shooting free throws lefthanded WAY BETTER than his naturally lefthanded father ever did.

The next year. I was a teacher/coach ("Oh the games people play now", specifically PE teachers), anyways, I'd come home after 8 hours of jump-the-brook, hill dill and 2 hours of football or basketball practice, only to be met at the door of 305 Lee Drive by a cute little blond shit, ball bat and glove in hand.

My son was a foot or so shorter, at that age, than his buddies. I blame his mom, petite as could be and pretty as hell as could be.

We went. Bucket after bucket of fly balls, ground balls, batting practice. I'm talking SMTWTFS.

I could hit the ball damn high,  not far, but damn high. Due to his size, and the height of the fly, sometimes folks would stop and watch in amazement, as time after time the little shit measured the depth, height,  right or left, and it would fall gracefully in his glove. 

One of my favorite memories is of us, our little travel league 7th grade basketball team, had FINALLY made it to the championship game of a tournament. Eleven of us, nine kids all sizes and color, another dad, and I, right before the game, jumped in whatever the clunker it was I was driving at the time - and drove around and around and around the middle school parking lot with Queen's "We Are the Champions" totally cranked. Happy. It was happy, FUN.

Victor, you guys win? No, we got our butt's kicked (we were maybe not even the 4th best team there) but I can tell ya 11 people who will never forget that.

Our son Dru would go on to work many years for the Downtown Community Improvement District, providing security, maintenance and beautification to his sector of town.  It was similar to the USPS "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" with a little less pay. He was proud  and annually he would gain a nifty Christmas bonus for perfect attendance. 

He fathered, a maybe partially biased grandfather would say, three of the most beautiful kids EVER!

Happy times, sad times, times of struggle. Every once in awhile he could struggle with patience so we'd give him a little of ours.

He had a very good sense of humor, called his father 'Shay...  Pops.... OG... and his favorite, Fat Boy'.

HE LOVED HIS CHILDREN LIKE CRAZY.

The last couple of years he lived with me.  He hasn't driven in almost 20 years, so.....

Daily, after I picked him up from his job at FedEx, we'd go on a looooong 'spin', talk about family, sports or life in general. We each looked forward to it.

We loved going to smaller towns, Smithville, Kearney, Weston, Oak Grove, Grain Valley, Lathrop, Cameron, Platte City, etc., and, we'd go Downtown on weekends, and retrace his steps there.

We had our favorites.. he Loved going to downtown Excelsior Springs (and I did too). My favorite was easily the airport where we'd park in the cargo area and watch planes land and takeoff.

My, our son Dru, had a series of strokes a week ago. Strokes, like much, are sadly hereditary too. He was on the road to improvement, walking laps around the hospital floor - and he was one day from going to a therapy facility for 12 days of speech, occupational and physical therapy.

I was enroute to the Hospital yesterday (Long John Silver 3 piece chicken, fries, Doctor Pepper in hand, per request) when my phone rang.  The Doctor, in his rounds, found him unresponsive.  More strokes, no brain activity.

Dru Worth Schultze, born July 3rd, 1985, passed away yesterday at 5:17pm, March 17, 2025, on his Grandma Velma's birthday.

He was a giver. Wanted to take me to lunch on payday..  bag of candy, where his dad would hoard, protect his, not Dru, he'd open it it, offer up, then eat some.

Hopefully that's hereditary too as he was an organ donor.

I will miss..  "WhatsUp Fat boy?"..  "You OK?"... and Fer sure the gleam in his eyes when he saw one of his kids. Him.

One nickname was Boot, because from early age on he had such a cute little Booty!

Never is a long time here on Earth and it happens so quick (many, many years too quick in this case.)

Love, like it might be the last time you'll see someone, Victor