Without a doubt, this has been the most difficult writing project of my life, and the one I have savored the most. It’s nice to live long enough to be nostalgic, but sometimes it hurts. I was startled by the potency of these memories and almost abandoned this project seventy-six times. Along came Ramona who said I could do it, prayed for me each day, and served me lip-smacking lasagna whenever I asked. Behind every good man is a surprised woman. Thanks for your companionship these twenty-five years. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, minus the time I compared your soup to cardboard. I’ve said it before: If I knew it would have been this good, I’d have asked you to marry me in third grade.
My editor, Steffany Woolsey, was so encouraging that I have already requested that she and her husband reside next to us in the nursing home beginning in 2041.
The staff at Multnomah was way too kind to me. I sure hope they keep it up.
Thanks to my faithful soldiers of prayer. And the hundreds who filled out my Middle Ages survey. To those who included their names: Your secrets are safe with me.
My high school English teacher, Mr. Al Bienert, looked past my glaring faults and encouraged me. I doubt I’d be writing were it not for him. Al passed away the day I completed this manuscript. He took me to hockey games when I was a student, thus being the only teacher in world history who wanted to spend time with me outside the classroom and therefore my favorite. Mr. Bienert taught me that it’s okay to be a kid all your life. I miss him.
I am enormously grateful to my siblings for journeying through this book with me. Only once or twice did we squabble over methods, and once or twice they were right.
God has allowed me to surpass my legal limit in friends, each of whom used more of their shoulders than their mouths during the last few years. I am blessed to know each one, and humbled by several when we golf.
Thanks also to my children, two guys and a girl who travel with me, pray with me, and allow me to write about them. Perhaps they keep thinking I’ll strike it rich. With kids like these, I already have. Come home anytime. Moms making lasagna.
All praise and honor to my Savior Jesus Christ, who loved me and gave Himself for me. A lifetime is far too short to sing Your praise.