Last night my wife and I went to see and hear something called, “Bebop & Brazil.” The young man who serves as the organist for us on Sundays produced it. He is a student at Oberlin College where he is studying organ. For this event, he sat at the piano and was joined by several of his Oberlin classmates to fire up the Jazz Machine. They played mostly Latin Jazz. Their rendition of Jobim’s “Girl from Ipanema” was spot on. The young woman who sang brought the life of Astrud Gilberto to the lyric. I was duly impressed by the skill of these musicians who are studying at Oberlin’s Conservatory. Some are studying Jazz. While others, like our own Walker Whitehouse, studies the more classical genres. The guitar player was like Dire Strait’s “Guitar George.” He knew all the chords. I was impressed with his chord phrasing and the big smile on his face. The drummer had chops. Some of the Brazilian rhythms he played were complex. Yet, he nailed them with a confidence that belied his age and experience. He and the bass player held the band together as any good rhythm section must do. While their lack of experience was evident, their commitment to their art and to the music itself was inspiring.
All I can say about the event was that it was the most fun that I’ve had in a very, very long time. The energy that these young musicians had was contagious. Their joy at being able to make music together filled the room. I was a foot tappin’, wide grinnin’ old guy.
I remember when I was their age. I had the same joy and energy that these folks had. There is something about new discoveries that accompany playing live for an audience that touches the soul. These young artists are discovering that. I could see it on their faces. I could hear it in the back and forth between the drums and the bass. The dynamics of live performance lift the spirit and brings a moment when there is nothing but you, the music, and the audience. I do truly miss that. But, I’m so grateful to these musicians for their offering. And, I am truly happy that they will continue to grow and experience the joy of art and performance.
Today is April 8, 2024. Where I live the sun is shining and there’s warmth in the air. Looking out my window I can see the daffodils bursting with glorious new color as the blooms stretch their necks to let the warm face of the sun shine on the bright, yellow faces of the flowers. As Fred Rogers would say, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” Today is also the day when Luna will pass before the face of Old Sol. I’m fortunate in that I live directly in the center of the Path of Totality. So, I will be on my patio with my special ISO approved glasses watching as this event crosses directly over my head. As I reflect on this a few things pop into my head like sparks rising from a fire and drifting into my consciousness to illuminate whatever it is that may be hiding in the nooks and crannies of my mind. This particular eclipse has a fairly lengthy lineage. About 13.8 billion years ago the Universe which we call home exploded into life. As the gasses and various atomic “stuff” that makes up everything that we can see sped at nearly the speed of life in all directions, clumps of it began to gather and coalesce. Approximately 4.6 billion years ago a hot mess spun into shape. Over the next bunch of billions of years that hot mess began to form and differentiate into balls of hot gasses and matter. These slowly cooled and formed the Solar System that we love and know. During this process the earth and the moon began their dance of joy around one another. Sometimes, as we’re spinning our beloved partner she takes her place between Old Sol and our Terra. We are truly “Leapin’ and Hoppin’” in a Moonshadow. Such things are blessings made. There are many, perhaps too many, who think that such an event is a ‘sign’ or ‘portent’ of something much more sinister and supernatural. To them I say, “Let’s talk tomorrow when everything is still the same.” For me, I am quite happy to share in this Super event that is truly Natural. Too old souls simply enjoying the music of the heavens and dancing with joy.
Well, it’s Friday morning. I finished the dishes and took Josie for a walk. She loves watching the squirrels and chipmunks. Actually, she’d like to play with them. But, that’s not a great idea. We know that spring has arrived. The ducks are back. Yeah, Josie wants to go swimming with them. They don’t seem too keen on that. It’s really wet back in the woods, so I have to wrestle with this 60 lb. dog to keep her out of the mud. She loves the water and the wet. If I let her she’d splash through the muck with a great big doggie smile. But, for my sanity and the condition of my house, we need to keep her to the trails.
Andrew Zimmern’s on the tube with his Delicious Destinations show. I like Andrew. I’d never eat half of what he considers edible. His other show, Bizarre Foods has some nasty looking concoctions. My wife won’t even watch it because of the stuff that Andrew calls ‘food.’ It’s not. It’s offal and it’s insects and some things that I have no clue what it is.
After I get done here I need to continue my search for some kind of part time employment. Nothing much, but something to help out with bills and such. You’d be surprised at what a Master’s degree costs!
It’s a Friday in Lent. We usually do fish on these days. Last week we decided that a veggie pizza works. So, maybe that’ll become our new Lenten go to meal. Gotta love jalapenos! Do any of you follow any kind of Lenten tradition? When I was a kid I never even heard the term ‘Lent.’ If I had I would have probably thought that it was stuff that was on your clothes when they came out of the dryer. We had Lent Rollers to take care of that.
I know that this post is a tad strange. After all that I have written lately, I needed to take a break and write about nothing at all. Clear the mental palate. Next week it’s back to the words that I need to write. It’s not really a matter of what I want to do. To share God and God’s Love is more like a vocation, a calling, that I have to follow. But, til then, enjoy the weekend. Take a walk. Breathe.
The simple answer is, “Duh, yeah!” After all, isn’t the Church pretty much founded on what is read in the Scriptures?
However, in my experience nothing is ever simple. Especially when it comes to what people hold on to as “deep and personal belief.”
Back when I was a part of the Evangelical community, we considered things like Bible study, prayer, and worship the most sacred and necessary things that anyone could do. Actually, it wasn’t a matter of what ‘could’ be done. These things MUST be practiced daily. There is a little ditty that we used to sing about “Read your Bible, pray everyday and you’ll grow, grow, grow. Neglect your Bible, forget to pray and you’ll shrink, shrink, shrink.”
Catchy, right?
We got together at least once a week, (sometimes we had one night per week Off!), to study the “Word” and pray. On Sunday morning there would be adult Sunday school. Nearly every member attended these. Beside these pretty much mandatory meetings we were expected to spend substantial time in private study and prayer during the week. We were told that if we weren’t spending at least a half-hour in prayer and that much in Bible reading or devotions we were failing in our commitment to God. For many, (most?), this resulted in shame and guilt that could become emotionally overwhelming. And, I think that the leaders knew this and encouraged it. Shame and guilt are incredibly strong motivators. They rank right up there with fear. We all know that the Church has historically operated with a large dose of fear to keep the masses in line.
I say all this because since I ran from the Evangelical fold a decade ago I think that I’ve learned a couple things that those folks could never understand.
I lead a Bible study at my church. I joined the good folks at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church about four years ago and I’ve been the Bible guy for a bit over three of those years. During this time the church has grown a lot. We have more than tripled in size. The outreach of the church has grown equally. It’s a lot of fun watching so many people joining in the work of running a church.
Great!
Awesome!
Huzzah!
With all of these cool things happening you’d think that folks would be flocking to learn about what’s in the Bible. They would be knocking down the doors of their prayer closets to meet God in prayer and meditation.
Right?
Well, not so much, really.
Let’s say, out of a hundred and twenty or so people less than 10 attend Bible study. I’d guestimate that maybe another dozen or so consistently follow any kind of Spiritual formation practices. So, for the sake of discussion, about 80% of the church are involved in things that are considered shame-worthy in most Evangelical communities.
Ok. So what?
I mentioned above that I have learned a few things since my escape from Evangelicalism. One of those things is that people are gonna ‘people.’
And that’s OK.
I see the zeal and joy of those people as they serve one another and the church and it makes my heart glad. I listen to the stories that they have to tell about their kids and grandkids and I have to smile. These are people who love. They love their families. They love their friends. They love their church family. And, they love God!
We are not all made the same. We all have different personalities, talents, and gifts that we bring to the table. Not all are going to be so-called “Spiritual Giants” or biblical scholars. It’s enough that we all agree that love is the greatest common practice that we all share. I am more than content with the way things are at St. B’s. We are a family that is growing in faith and love. When we love, we grow, grow, grow……
Yesterday was Boxing Day in the U.K. It was also the first day of Kwanzaa. And, St. Stephen’s Day and the Second Day of Christmas. (I hope that your true love sent you those 2 Turtledoves and a Partridge in a Pear Tree!) Last week was the Winter Solstice. That’s the holiday that so many who lived in Northern Europe, especially, held dear. It was the day when the darkness that was encroaching on the world was stopped. The day when Light began to ascend and conquer that darkness. It was the day when Hope was renewed.
Light has been a symbol used by most people throughout history to denote Hope. A symbol is simply a word, a sign, or an object that represents something else, like an idea or a relationship. For many of our ancient forebears, light was the symbol par excellence of hope and life. The sun gave its light and heat to the world so that people would not starve. They would, again this year, be able to sow and reap. The rains would come and the earth would give its abundance.
It’s no wonder, then, that people also began to use the symbol of light for things that were unseen.
The darkness that fell over humans in subjection to cruel tyrants followed the Light to freedom.
People could be “enlightened” to understand the dark sayings and secrets of the Cosmos.
The darkness of the Shadow of Death could be put to flight by the Light.
During the Dark season we also celebrate another Light.
The writer of the Gospel According to Luke records the words of the father of John the Baptist:
Because of God’s tender mercy,
the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
and to guide us to the path of peace.
In the Gospel According to John we get a look at the fulfillment of those words. John wrote concerning the Baptist:
There came a man sent from God, whose name was John.
He came as a witness, to testify about the Light, so that all might believe through him.
He was not the Light, but he came to testify about the Light.
There was the true Light which, coming into the world, enlightens every man.
John revealed Who the symbol of Light represented. This Light was the Son of God. He was the Light coming into the world. A world that was full of darkness. And, John wrote, “Thedarkness did not overcome it.”
John’s Gospel uses different techniques in order to make his point. In some places he uses irony. In others there is foreshadowing. In this particular verse he uses double entendre. That is, a word or phrase that has one obvious meaning, yet also has other meanings that can change how a statement may be understood. In this case, the word translated above as “overcome” can also mean to understand or comprehend. So, the same verse may be translated, “Thedarkness did not comprehend it.”
Both of those statements are true. Both foreshadow events in John’s Gospel. Both speak to us today.
There is truly darkness that shrouds the world. Don’t believe me? Watch the news. Injustice; hatred; greed; murder; war; hunger; disease. These have been with humanity ever since we made that first choice to take what we wanted from others and leave their corpses in the sun to rot.
Granted, throughout our history there have also been those who would sacrifice themselves for the good of others.
Two extremes. Dark Light
There is Hope, though.
Driving from Arizona I experienced something truly breathtaking. I left Flagstaff early. It was well before sunrise. Driving east I watched as the ink-black sky began to lighten. Stars began to blink out and go to sleep for the day. With each mile the black night darkness turned to gray, then to dark shades of blue. Suddenly, I saw streaks of rose and pink creating a marbling against the azure sky! The sky continued to lighten until a small crescent of orange peeked over the horizon. Rays of fire spread across the sky chasing the darkness and overcoming it. What a glorious sight!
But, it was only dawn. Noon had not yet come.
I had driven from utter dark, through twilight, and into the dawn.
This, too, is a symbol if we pay attention.
On Saturday we celebrated the Incarnation of the Light. A child born and sleeping in a manger. Such a wonderful Hope. Yet, it is not yet noon. We have only Hope that the full light will come and completely dispel the darkness. We have only Hope that the full light will also enlighten us with grace and understanding so that the darkness that dwells within us might also be dispelled.
The Light is here, right now. And, the Light is yet to come. That is the reality of the world.
May we embrace the Light that Is so that we may walk from the darkness, through the twilight, and, perhaps, find ourselves fully illuminated.
Last night I got a notification on my phone. These aren’t really unusual. I’m sure that all of us have received some kind of notification. There are weather alerts and overdraft notices. (Hopefully, not too many of those!) We get them when possible spam calls are silenced and notices telling us who is actually calling or texting.
Well, this particular notification was one that I would have never considered. Especially, since I have been rather quiet in this space. But… apparently my blog got its 10,000th all-time view!
Yippee!! Yahoo!! Yay!!
Maybe it’s the Universe telling me that I should get back in the fray and fill the World Wide Web with my thought-jewels and my inimitable wisdom. Lord knows that there is plenty of room out there in the Æther for more crap. So, why not add more?
Is this an alert to anyone paying attention that there will, most definitely be more stuph appearing at this URL? Oh, Hellz no!
But, maybe…just, maybe, there will be something.
I mean, I gotta get something out there to start reeling in the next 10,000 views!
Yesterday was nice. My wife and I took the day for a long drive. We found our way past detours and along county roads until we arrived in Loudonville, OH. Loudonville is a small town of around 3,000 people. It seems that the main industry is tourism. Every half mile or so there is another sign for this campground or those cabins. There are, perhaps, more canoe liveries per capita than any other place in the country. People, especially young people, travel from all over the area to canoe, tube, kayak, or raft down the Mohican River. We went, besides for the ride, to check out a place that rents tree houses. My wife and daughter are big fans of anything HGTV. Apparently, one of the features on that network is some guy who builds tree houses that contain all of the amenities of home. He built 2 of the tree houses at this particular place. So, of course, we had to check it out! (yawn…) It’s not that I don’t like the idea of taking a mini-vacation and staying in a tree house. Especially one that compares favorably to any hotel room. It’s that I really, really don’t like anything about HGTV or any of those home improvement networks. I mean, like, really. After we saw those and decided that we will probably try to get down there for a stay this fall, we turned the nose of the car East. We drove along State Rt. 39 through the fertile farming country of Ashland, Wayne, and Holmes counties. Passing the towns of Nashville and Millersburg we came to what is commonly called “Amish Country.” There we stopped and bought some cheese. (Of course, that’s a necessary stop anytime we’re there. The cheese in the area is outstanding!) Eventually, we came to the little burg of Walnut Creek. There is a restaurant there that we try to stop at whenever we go down there. As with most businesses in that area, there is a bookstand near the checkout. The stand contains all kinds of books about the faith of the Mennonites and the Amish of the area. If you want to learn about Amish prayers or read about the faith adventures of some hero of the faith, well, this is your chance. For me, however, yesterday shined a spotlight on something that has been on my mind lately. If you’ve followed some of what I’ve shared on this blog recently, you know that I have been studying and sharing the First Letter that Paul wrote to the Church at Corinth. One of the issues that Paul purposed to address in the letter was that of divisions and factions that had driven a wedge between the members of the young church. For Paul, this was unacceptable. His desire for all of the churches that he related to was for unity and to see them built up in the faith. Schisms and fractures were ‘fleshly’ things that could not be tolerated in Spirit-filled relationships. The reason I bring this up is, as we drove throughout this very conservative and religious area there were dozens and dozens of churches of various denominations and confessions. There were, of course, the ubiquitous United Methodists. They appear like dandelions in my yard. They’re everywhere! The Mennonite and the ‘Amish Mennonite’ churches may also be found aplenty. There are Church of the Brethren, not to be confused with the Brethren Church, there are Presbyterians, and a myriad of non-denominational churched. These range in size from little storefront churches to the gargantuan campus of Grace Church in Wooster. As I reflected on this, I was seized by sadness. Not because Jesus was not proclaimed in a way that I could personally relate to. Nor, because I have any huge problem with any of these groups. No. I was saddened because of the number of different groups. Each represented to me a division, a schism, a ‘my way or the highway’ reaction that has broken the body of Christ. I understand that the image of that body necessitates differences. After all, not all can be an eye or an ear or a big toe. There are different gifts that are important for the health and growth of the Body. But, this denominationalism and factionalism is something entirely different. While some may agree on, let’s say, Piety like the Methodists and Nazarenes and most of those anabaptist churches I mentioned, there are distinctions that allow members of One to say to members of Another, “Well, WE do it this way!” Or, “We believe that Communion should be this way or that.” Or, “we baptize THIS way! Your way is not right!” That’s not evidence of a single Body with many gifts. That’s more like several different bodies. I know. I’m splitting hairs and being a crotchety old man. But, that doesn’t make my take on this any easier.
I remember… Memory is a funny thing. It lives somewhere in the mind alongside colors and taste and imagination. When I was a kid, my friends and I would spend hours drawing flying saucers. In the early 1960s science fiction was a growing genre that was sprinkled like so much fairy dust on our growing and developing little gray cells. We drew them just like they were portrayed on T.V. and in the movies. One long, narrow oval with a small dome on top. Think of the original “The Day the Earth Stood Still.” How cool was Gort! We all wanted him as a friend. “Mom! Can I stay up and watch T.V.?” “No, Honey. It’s time for bed.” “Gort! Go get her!” Oh, yeah, I coulda used a buddy like that!
That’s how memory works. Our minds are imprinted with information from every minute of every hour of every day of our lives. All of that information is retrievable. But, none of it can help us to actually relive that time. We cannot go back to that place. The colors and smells and Feelings we experienced are backed-up on hard drives of flesh that reside within a thin layer of bone and fluid.
We like to think that memory is 20/20. That those images and other sensory data that was stored within the folds of our minds is infallible is one of the fallacies that those same minds produce. No one’s memory is infallible. I think that even people with perfect recall, those who have what’s called a ‘photographic’ or long-term eidetic memory may see images or recall data. But, the ability to truly relive any given moment in time by remembering it doesn’t really exist. At least not for us mere mortals.
If true and complete memory does not exist, what about something like Nostalgia?
We all have moments when we glance back into our history and feel a touch, a longing for the ‘Good Ol’ Days.’ Don’t deny it! You do, too! For a lot of folks these feelings create warm and fuzzy feelings. That’s what nostalgia does. Particularly, when society and culture are in flux. I think back to my youth in the 60s when Civil Rights, the Viet Nam war,and Feminism were in the news cycle daily. My Dad and his friends longed for the days of Eisenhower when houses with white picket fences surrounded gardens of bright flowers and there was an apple pie cooling on the kitchen window. It so much better then! There wasn’t any of this demonstrating or riots or uppity Women.
Nostalgia.
One scholar, Svetlana Boym, quoted in https://thewayofimprovement.com/2020/07/22/nostalgia-for-a-past-that-never-existed/ wrote, “inevitably reappears as a defense mechanism in a time of accelerated rhythms of life and historical upheavals.” With that in mind, we can think of Nostalgia kind of as a fear response to progress. Progress = Change and Change = ??? I think that we human critters are by nature afraid of change. At least, it takes an effort to make a leap and embrace it.
Why mention all of this? Yesterday I wrote a rather scathing piece about White Evangelicalism and politics. Both groups that I accused of being in bed together are steeped in, c’mon you can guess! Yep! Nostalgia!
I don’t want to over-simplify a very complex issue involving feelings and memories and life experience. However, if we even Could turn back time and flip all of those calendar pages back, we wouldn’t find that idyllic streetscape with all of the flowers and birds and dogs yapping gaily around us. We wouldn’t find Mr. & Mrs. Cleaver in their suit and dress with impeccable hair. We would find reality. A place where bullies roamed the schoolyard and bosses assaulted their secretaries. We would find grit in our eyes from the nearby coal-fired power plants and the newspapers and T.V. news would reveal the dark underbelly of business and politics.
There is no going back.
Period.
Society and culture move forward to some as yet unknown vista.
With the support of family, friends, benevolence, and most of all Love we must look past the Past and, together, embrace God’s future.
Call it Information Overload. Call it stuck in the News Cycle. Call it George. Whatever it’s called, it has caused my brain to be constipated.
Eyes have not seen; Ears have not heard all of the crap floating around in the air. Well, maybe that’s not entirely accurate. After all, there is truly nothing new Under the Sun.
But, all at once? I find that I must bore a hole in the back of my brain in order to let some of that stuff that’s clogging up the neural pathways to leak out. I had a Bag-O-Poop stuck to my belly to catch and dispose of the waste. Now, I need one of those to stick to my head to catch the crap that I must allow to escape.
To wear a mask, or to NOT wear a mask. That is the question.
Do Black Lives REALLY Matter?
How many verifiable lies have flowed from the halls of power today?
The Russians did WHAT?!?
How many people died in the last 24 hours from Covid?
Are those our local police? Or, is the the local Militia?
Who to trust; who to listen to?
Am I stuck in an echo chamber in which the same ideas that I hold simply bounce and rebound around the walls until I am lulled into a stupor, a complacency that renders me useless?
At what point must I scream, ENOUGH?!?!?
I don’t know. Truly, I don’t.
So many thoughts about Justice and what it might look like in our culture.
Where in the World is Carmen Sandia….Wait… No, Where in the World is God? Has the Holy Spirit gone to Jamaica for a vacation and a sip of rum? Where are the people who claim to follow Jesus? You know, the ones who have stood up at the altar with tears streaming down their faces calling out and professing their personal fealty to the King of kings?
All is silent.
All is calm.
Except for my soul.
It twists and turns trying to see the promised redemption of the Cosmos. It cries out to Yahweh in hopes of an answer; a whisper of hope.
It is beyond my strength to sit and do nothing, though. For me that would be to seriously Miss the Mark and fall short of the Glory that God prepared for all of us to share in. But, I must admit that I am tired. My brain is saturated. I don’t know where or how to start to release all that is pent up within those Little Gray Cells. Perhaps, this is a start. Just maybe simply sitting and throwing words up in the air to see where they may fall will begin a cascade of something meaningful.
I’m not really sure when it all began. I suppose part of it was when my elementary school teachers started telling my Mother the myth of my under-achieving abilities. “He’s not living up to his potential,” they all agreed. Yet, none of them could seem to tell us what that potential was. It was an elusive Olympus that created a legend of gold flowing from my mind only to be flushed away as so much waste after too many baked beans. Legends die hard, though. You see, even though the adult experts in my life told the myth, the results told a different tale. If I was indeed squandering this God-Given Gift, then why was I still in the upper 98th percentile on all their guiding metrics? Why did those quarterly reports of every student’s academic worth constantly contain the only vowel allowed? I could coast and still bring the gold. Yet, I was never able to make the Powers happy.
I did have one or two teachers throughout who thought that they could play the game better than I could. One, in particular, thought that by giving me and incomplete in his class would awaken the hidden genius within. So, even though I scored the highest of anyone he had ever taught on the season-ending Final Exam, he made good on that with a great big “I.” So, I figured, I’ll show him. I signed up for his class the following year. And, proceeded to receive another “I” for Idiot. Not even that stopped me. I graduated well above average in my class in spite of doing only about half of the work. Maybe they pitied kids like me.
Part of my issue, well maybe, more than part, was my inability to respect authority. I was a rebel from the beginning. I viewed most rules as mere suggestions. They were not meant to be bent or broken. They were simply beneath my consideration. Especially, the ones that made on sense other than, “because I told you so.” This attitude could have cost me dearly. But, I also developed an ability to speak the language. My dad had a sign at his desk where he worked that read, “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, then Baffle them with Bullshit.” I found that I was able to do both. Not a great combination for someone with a larger than life sense of Self.
But, that wasn’t really an accurate assessment.
I was, (and Am), extremely insecure. I developed the persona of a rebel thinker mostly because no one else at that point in my life had staked out that patch of real estate. I could hold my own with anyone who thought that they could actually reason with me. The ones that I had problems with were the people who wore their Bullshit Monitors. They didn’t speak my language at all. So, we developed a kind of mutual understanding. I wouldn’t BS them; they wouldn’t kick my ass. That worked pretty well.
As I grew older I met others who were far more human than me. I was just a little shit who could talk his way out of a beating. These others, who stood head and shoulders above me in awareness, were aloof to all of the petty crap that I tended to wallow around in. These were the ones who had read about the “Bay of Pigs,” and who knew about Jerry Reuben and Abby Hoffman. They were the intellectuals who were “woke” long before that term meant something other than what we all did in the mornings. They were the people who understood what that first “Moratorium” was about.
I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how to get a girl to like me. I joined a band when I was 12. I was the rhythm guitarist. Which in my mind meant, Second Fiddle. For someone who had achieved greatness in his own mind, that was simply not going to fly. So, I left that band and through myself into playing the instrument. I strapped on my guitar when I walked in the house after school and it didn’t come off until I went to bed. I practice 8 hours every day and more on weekends. I played the grooves off of Jimi Hendrix, Steppenwolf, Led Zepplin, and James Gang. This was the first time in my life that I actually gave myself wholly to any endeavor. Eventually, my work paid off as I became a bonafide lead guitar player who could jam for hours with anyone. I had worked into a niche where I refused to learn other players’ solos. That was their voice. I developed my own. Improvisation ultimately led me to listen to other players. Phil Keaggy from a local band called Glass Harp opened my mind to the limitless possibilities of the instrument. Al DiMeola, Joe Pass, Herb Ellis, Steve Howe, and other players ushered me into the world of Harmonic Melody and piano style. Vast horizons of the Ether became accessible.
Yet, I was always what my dad called the “Also Ran.” You know, Johnny came in first place. Mike also ran.
Here I was, destined for greatness. I mean, just ask my third grade teach and my Mom! But, I got a job, joined the union, and put a sign on my desk in 1980, “Vote Republican for a Change.”
What happened?
One day I was watching as Sirhan Sirhan assassinated Bobby, James Earl Ray murdered Martin, and Chicago erupted while Mayor Richard J. Daly sat at the Democratic National Convention with his arms crossed not realizing that the world was giving birth to something new.
In all honesty, I was a thirteen year old kid whose dad muttered something about, “about time someone did something about that N——r” when MLK was cut off from the living. I didn’t understand any more than Daly what was happening. Hell, I just played the songs! I didn’t really listen to the lyrics. Even as young people fell on the grass and concrete of Kent State a few years later, I was more concerned about learning CSNY’s “Ohio” than about the message that Neil was shouting to us. “Wake up!” he was saying. “What key is this,” is all that I heard.
So, I guess it wasn’t at all unnatural for me to join the crowd of Republicans in the 80s. After all, the revolution never really got off the ground. Woodstock was the last hurrah of a tribe of coddled, over-indulged white kids who found out all too quickly that what was said in “Cabaret” was all too true; ‘Money makes the world go around.’
Maybe that deep sleep overcame many of us. We “grew fat and got lazy” as John Kay accused us. I don’t know for sure what kind of haze enveloped my mind. It certainly wasn’t Purple. I lost many years bowing to a god that was less than even my own ability to underthink and underachieve. It took crisis to put a fire under my ass. I walked into that fire and got burned. The scars are still visible. And, to my ever living shame, burned those whom I love. But, that’s another story for another time.
I believe that I’m opening my eyes a bit. The sun is shining through the windows of my heart and bring warmth. It’s also illuminating the dust and cobwebs that have accumulated in a rather lackluster lifetime. But, there are also some gems set in gold lying about that shine with brightness of burgeoning hope.
