Author: thegraymaniac

As I have said before, we spent a half of a school year in 1960 at my Grandparent’s house in Blue Ridge because Mom was sick. I was enrolled in school there for almost half the year, which including the Christmas vacation for that year.
My Grandparent’s residence was a desolate place back then. It was the very last occupied house on Snake nation road at that time. A rough, ragged, rocky, muddy when it rained, and creek crossed road which took about 30 minutes to traverse from the turn off at the cemetery, to their modest gray wooded little two story house. Grandpa’s eight to ten bee hives stood like the sentinels of Stonehenge out in front of their house on top of huge flat rocks Grandpa had dragged up there on a wood sledge. I can imagine that their construction probably resembled in miniature that wonder of the English countryside, because the hill leading from the road to Grandpa’s house was extremely steep. A lot of times when it was wet and muddy my Dad had to get a strong running start from Snake nation road before he turned into Grandpa’s driveway and then as soon as he turned left, he had to gun the gas as hard as possible to try and make the curve up the hill to the tiny parking space in front of the house. Sometimes we just didn’t make it. The tires might have been a little too worn, or the mud a little too thick. We would end up having to park down below the beehives out in the high grass and grab our suitcases and trek up the hill, trying our best not to slip and fall flat on our faces.
But, this year my Mom, my brother and I were already there, and it was for Daddy alone we waited on the day before Christmas Eve. I heard his car first and went and stood out front, next to the porch. He came around the curve which was just in eyesight across the road from “Uncle Lark’s driveway. Lark Davenport’s was my Grandpa’s Uncle…his Mother’s brother and his farm sat across Long Branch creek from Grandpa’s house. The only way to get over there in a hurry was to walk the narrow little half log bridges that the two men had laid down across the fast running little creek in order to access each other’s house if the need arose. It rarely ever arose, but the logs were there just in case.
Daddy drove up the driveway and into Grandpa’s little parking space without any problems that day since it was dry…cold, but dry. It seemed like it was always cold in Blue Ridge that time of the year not matter what was happening elsewhere. We were in the “mountains” of Georgia…..the foothills of the Smokey Mountains which lay not too many miles away across the border into North Carolina.
I hugged my Dad, and my brother ran up to him and Daddy picked him up. Mom didn’t have much to say…things still very unsettled between them.
Grandma and I had been the ones to get the little Christmas tree a few days earlier. We had gone out into the woods and hiked around for quite a while, and found just a little old pine tree that looked nice. Grandma cut it down with the hatchet she had brought with her, and we took it back and Mike and I helped her decorate it. It was about the size of Charlie Brown’s little tree and Grandma had put it up on a table so that the lights could be seen…that one string of lights that she owned. There were maybe a dozen ornaments on it. It looked wonderful to me…as beautiful as any Christmas tree before or since. Grandma also hung our stocking from their mantle, on the far ends away from where the vent from the stove was. There were candy canes hanging around also, giving the old house a festive and fabulous look.
We always slept upstairs in the old house. Since the only source of heat in the house was a potbellied wood stove in the “living room” downstairs. During the cold Christmas weather we slept under 5 or six quilts upstairs. It was one of those situations where when you got warm, you didn’t move out of your “spot” If you moved over a foot, you would have to warm up that spot all over again. Most of the time you could see the fog from your breath, if you had your head out from under the covers. This was how we bedded down on Christmas Eve that year.
I never slept well on Christmas Eve. I always listened for Santa, but never quite heard him. Grandpa would always go “ho, ho ho” a couple of times, but I always knew it was him. He wasn’t fooling me. I heard the trunk of a car slam shut after we had been in bed an hour or so….then drifted off into a light sleep.
I heard Grandpa stoking up the potbelly stove about 5 am, and I waited the required 30 minutes or so until I knew the downstairs would be warm before I woke my brother up and we went running downstairs. All the grownups were already up and having coffee. Grandma already had biscuits in the oven, and we know that a delicious breakfast would soon be coming. Under the tree there were presents! In our stockings there was a plethora of oranges, apples, nuts, peppermint and other great hard candies. We could have our stockings but had to wait until after breakfast to tear into our presents.
We had three presents a piece from Santa, and one from Grandma and Grandpa. Four presents. In this day and age that would seem skimpy, but back then it seemed like more than enough. We place so much emphasis now on the number of gifts given, instead of the number of gifts given in love. There’s a big difference. I despise the TV commercial they have on nowadays with a woman called the “Gifter” whose only goal is to out give everyone else. That tells you where our society has gone.
This was the year I got a telescope, and Mike and I both got a “friction” stagecoach which shot sparks out the back when you revved it up. I also got a plastic “pinball machine” where you shot the balls up into the machine and see whether you get them to land in the highest number “slots”. I think I played that thing pretty much all day long that day. Grandma and Grandpa gave us some clothes of some kind, and I got a couple of new comic books. It was good…no, it was great.
Later on that day, the Uncles and Aunts, and numerous cousins came for dinner. Grandma’s little house was crowded to the gills. A lot of us ate dinner sitting out in the living room or even on the front porch. My cousins and I would find something to play or do after dinner. The food was nothing grand. I don’t remember if we had Turkey or roast beef. It really didn’t matter because Grandma could make anything taste good. I think later on that winter, we got iced and snowed in for over a week or so out there at the end of that old road. Grandpa had to shoot Robins for us to eat. They were delicious. When you’re hungry, I guess anything tastes good!
The air seemed to be filled with good will, good feelings and love that year. Later on, early in the spring we moved back home to Trion. Mom had gotten better, and our lives went back to normal…as normal as it could be in our family anyway. We continued to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house pretty much every Christmas after that. Even after my wife and I married in 1969, we continued to make an annual Christmas trek to “the mountains” Certainly, even now when Christmas rolls around, I think of those days. The camaraderie, the food, the love that we all had for one another. Those were great Christmases, as are the ones we have now with all of our children and grandchildren. The common factor is family…and love, and remembering what Christmas is all about, not the presents, not the food or the games. It’s all about the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Merry Christmas everyone.

When a person gets a cut, whether or tiny or large, most of the time the healing process begins and the cut starts to mend and eventually goes away.  Whether or not it leaves a scar depends upon  the severity of the wound, and if there was some type of extenuating circumstance such as infection or aggravation of the wound.  This certainly doesn’t have to be a truly physical thing, it can be figurative

I say this because I feel there has been a lot of “cutting” going on in our country and in our world over the past few years and a lot of the wounds are still not healed, or are infected.  It’s bound to leave scars, even after the healing process is over.

I look back on a lot of things I have said and done over the years, and I see where I have “cut” people.  Sometimes small cuts, sometimes pretty deep.  I have done it for spite in some instances, and sometimes it has been purely accidental.  Nevertheless, it has been done and it has been me doing it.  I have not stopped and thought, at least with few exceptions about what I was doing or saying.  Many, many other people have been doing the same.  We use all sorts of sharp objects.  Politics, religion, culture, money….oh yes definitely money.  We cut, cut, and cut and in return we get cut.  It’s a vicious cycle.

Now,  it is nearly Christmas 2017, and I wonder how much longer the cycle of hurting each other can go on.  I realize it’s gone on since the dawn of time, but I wish for nothing so much as peace.  Yet I know it’s not forthcoming.

I listen closely inside my head, inside my heart, and I can hear the words of that song written in 1955 for a group of children to sing:

“let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me”

Who else could it begin with? None of us have control over the minds and hearts of others, though many think they do.  But, if peace is to be found it has to come from within our hearts and none else’s. Somebody has to start, somebody has to be the first to say that they will be at peace with any other human being, no matter what the circumstance.  No matter what the religion or culture, or color, or gender, or political party.  No matter what.

“let there be peace on earth, a peace that was meant to be……with God as our father, brothers all are we, let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony”

If one believes in a God, or a creator as our “father” then that must mean that we are all brothers or sisters of this earth, and we must believe that eventually peace was “meant to be”

The song goes on of course to build to the crescendo which repeats the opening line:

….let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me”.

There is power in peace if we can find it.  I hope that on this Christmas, as in none ever before, we look more deeply and more fervently for the solutions that will bring peace to our world.

 

I think that my generation, our so called “baby boomer” generation has been awarded the privilege and had the luck to grow up during the last, best America which will ever exist.

I don’t say this as a matter of contention with other generations either before or after the boomer generation, but it’s just my considered opinion.

We were the first television generation. Except instead of CSA and Bones, we had Ed Sullivan and Bonanza. We played outside in the sun and rain. We ran and ran, playing hide and seek, freedom, pick up baseball with paper tape balls and broomsticks, tackle football with no pads, and any other active game we could conjure up, including a lot of “cowboy and Indians” (please pardon me my native American friends)

Our Moms and Dads wore us out for lying, bad homework, cussing and back talking. Most of us don’t resent it, or feel like we were abused. There was rarely a parent who didn’t know when to stop. Some abuse existed, but I don’t believe it was as bad as today’s society. We had a lot more newspapers and a lot fewer news channels. A lot more reporters, and a whole lot fewer pundits.

Elvis was alive and singing, and you got his music on something you could hold, and not something you “download” Rock and roll was born, and songs had lyrics you could understand and melodies that stuck in your head. Think about “Unchained Melody” right now and then see how long it takes you to get it out of your head. There’s a reason they still use those songs in movies.

You could go off for a day and not lock your doors. You helped your neighbor with his garden and he helped you with yours, and people shared the excess with others. You could pull your car up on the curb and do most of the work on it yourself, but if you needed a mechanic you got somebody with a pouch of tools and not a computer.

People were not afraid of sweating during the Summer, or wearing a few more clothes to keep warm during the Winter. The clothes we had also had to last us an entire school year. There were no “designer” clothes unless you considered “Levi-Strauss” to be one.

Our parents didn’t like us to waste food because “children in India” were starving. They would have been welcome to a lot of the stuff that Mom tried to make me eat, mainly the foods that fell into the “green” food group.

Most of all, we were all primarily happy. We weren’t afraid to walk to the movies or to school by ourselves. We were embarrassed to think about even kissing or holding hands with a member of the opposite sex. We knew all the cops and postmen by their first name. We weren’t afraid to roll in the dirt and get filthy, dirty and sweaty.

We dreamed of doing big things, and some of those things got done. Some of the impetus to do them got lost in the late 60’s and never got reclaimed. Its still not too late through. There is still time left for we fifties babies to do a lot of good if we will just remember that it was our purpose in life to make the world a better place for children, dogs and all other living things. Peace.

Wangdoodles and Vermicious Knids

For some reason today I thought about the line from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory where Gene Wilder as Willie Wonka tells his group of guests in his factory about the Oompa Loompas and their country and how they came to his factory: “Oh, well, then you know all about it and what a terrible country it is. Nothing but desolate wastes and fierce beasts. And the poor little Oompa Loompas were so small and helpless, they would get gobbled up right and left. A Wangdoodle would eat ten of them for breakfast and think nothing of it. And so, I said, “Come and live with me in peace and safety, away from all the Wangdoodles, and Hornswogglers, and Snozzwangers, and rotten, Vermicious Knids.”

I sometimes wish that a place like the Chocolate Factory existed, and that those of us who wanted to, could go there. “Well there’s Heaven” some people will say: “It’s a lot better than a Chocolate Factory” Well I’m not ready to go there quite yet. As the country song says: “Everybody Wants to go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die” That’s how I feel about it. (ok, that’s my limit for clichés and quotes for the day!)

The kind of place I am thinking about doesn’t exist anymore, if it ever did. As the days grow more and more dangerous during this age and in this time, there is very little a person can do to get away from the world that want’s to harm them, unless you want to move to one of the islands that the “Survivors” have abandoned, and start using their stuff and living like them.

A lot of people have tried to create their own “safe haven” Jim Jones, and his followers. David Koresh tried. A lot of people try to start their own Valhalla, and somehow it always seems to fail. I wonder why? Is humanity and human nature so geared to be combative and hateful to other humans who don’t “fit in” that no matter what we do here on this earth, we are doomed to fail when it comes to loving and protecting those who are different? You would like to think that wasn’t so, but tell me a time and a place where there has ever been a “Chocolate Factory” for the Oompa Loompas?

Sadly, I can’t think of any. I know that all religions promise us a place like that of one kind or another. Heaven, Nirvana, you name it. We have been promised it from them all. But that’s ONLY due to us after we die. I sometimes wonder about the theory some “preachers” espouse that people are living their “hell” while they are here on earth. Some people do I think,… of their own accord.

I know there are many, many joyful things that we have while we are here. Most of the time, we don’t really see them or appreciate them while we are experiencing them, and it’s only through the glasses of “nostalgia” and memory that we look back and think about what we should have done, or might have done to make things better, or to enjoy things more. That’s probably why I reach back into the past so much through my writing. Maybe I didn’t get it right the first time! Damn I wish I had another chance sometimes!

But sometimes when really bad and horrific things happen to good people you HAVE to wonder why. Senseless murders, children molested, wars and killings of innocents. Good people having to suffer with horrible, painful diseases. Where was THEIR safe haven? Life just never ceases to puzzle me when it comes to things like that. Why do these things happen? What can the purpose of this possibly be?

I guess it’s all in what you seek while you are here. I think none of us, from the Pope to the Dali Llama really knows, with absolute certainty what is waiting for us.

I kind of hope I open my eyes and I am walking into this big Chocolate Factory where everything is made of candy and………………

Peace and Joy!

Society as we know it is bound to be in for some big changes in the near future. For all we know, they may already be occurring.

For some inexplicable reason, the brilliant minds of mankind, and their ability to expand technology, has always outstripped the capacity of the “General populace” to cope with the social ramifications of the new technologies. Most of us are able to use them, but we do not fully comprehend “what makes things tick” This had lead us into the trap of thinking WE control technology instead of vice versa. I have a chilling hunch that this will come back to be a nightmare for us at some point in the future. Science fiction authors already have imagined it.

Suppose there comes a day when there is a computer program which is sufficiently advanced that it can replicate itself, or worse yet which “guards” itself from being changed or manipulated by humans. Suppose there are robotics which are sufficiently advanced that super “brains” can be programmed into them. Then suppose they “decide” at some point they don’t require biological organisms anymore. Crazy science fiction? Perhaps. I personally think there needs to be a lot more research into the ethics of “artificial intelligence” We need to think a lot more about what we are doing in this area before we do it.

In the Jetsons cartoon, the Jetson family had “Rosie” the robot maid to do their bidding. I would hate for that role to be reversed. I know it sounds crazy, but the basis for an AI society is already in place. Since such intelligence would have no emotions or emotional attachment to their human creators, whose to say what would happen. My Father in law was one of the very first people to do AI research in the 60’s, and he was very leery of its roll in human society.

Technology is great, but what price will we eventually be paying for it if we do not use OUR brains now to look several moves ahead on the chessboard towards an end game. Are we intelligent enough even now to stop ourselves from being steamrolled?

I’m a good chess player, but the computer beats me every time when it’s set on “normal” The smartest Jeapordy champions of all time were annihilated by a computer brain. We all sit back and post on Facebook, and we then get some sleep. Computers never sleep, they run 24-7. Computer programs are created to solve problems. I for one hope they don’t solve the problem of how to take care of themselves without needing humans.
Thanks Matt Bowers for getting my brain going on this. It’s definitely a conundrum.

At one time I dreamed of being famous. Singing for a livin’ maybe, singing my own songs. Making the big money.

My wife knew who Garth Brooks was when we sat a couple of tables away from him and his first wife Sandy at a NSAI award ceremony dinner in 1989. He won an award that night…a very humble guy as I remember. He’s done pretty well since then.

I had a song on hold for Charlie Daniels once, but he eventually passed on it. Same story with Patty Lovelace. Good..but not quite good enough. It became too hard to work full time and ride to Nashville once a week. Easier to just “pass” on it.

Back in the days of cassette tapes, and trying to get publishers and artists to listen, an outsider getting in was a million to one shot. All of them had friends, and relatives and drinking buddies. They got the first shots, hell you can’t blame the guys in high places for that…I’d have done the same thing.

There was no Soundcloud back then, no internet communities, no American Idol, or Voice. It all boiled down to politics and friendships. Being a nobody from nowhere Georgia was hardly a good resume.

I loved it back then, but barely even pick up a guitar anymore. I moved on past that, and I’m just as happy, maybe happier than I woulda been. It takes some skill, a little talent, but most of all luck. Being in the right place at the right time. I don’t know about the first two even, but I know I was never in the right place at the right time.

It became clearly evident to me the day I got stuck on an elevator at the Nashville Hilton. There was a big songwriter hoo ha going on at the time, but I got stuck on the elevator by myself for an hour and a half. I wondered why some big name producer or artist couldn’t have been on there too. I’m sure I had a cassette tape in my pocket at the time!

I really think it’s my job to try and give out a few “little” joys when I can. It’s my job to be Dad and Papa, and be here for my wife. All the the things I have now, though they are not material possessions, mean much more than I can say. I may act like a grumpy old man a lot, but I think that’s just cause I don’t get enough sleep!

I probably would have never gotten the happiness I feel if I had been “famous” I would have undoubtedly been too busy trying to make people who didn’t love me happy instead. I don’t think that would have been such a good trade off. I honestly believe we end up being where we are meant to be, doing the things we should be doing. Let’s all just try to do good, and we will be a success no matter what.

In my past, in the days when I was growing up, one encouraging word from the right person could make my day…. maybe my entire week.

If my Dad told me I had done a good job on something….anything really, I redoubled my effort to do an even better job the next time.

I had the most difficult time learning to tie my shoes. I can remember, because I was almost six before I could tie them well. Dad never got mad, just kept encouraging me to try again. “You’ll get it” he said. And I finally did.

I had a lot of problems with some relatively simple motor skill tasks. I was smart in other ways. I could read before I started school, and I was always good at doing adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing in my head. I could figure percentages of things especially well…..but I had trouble keeping my pants zipped. Go figure.

It could be the concussion I suffered riding my tricycle down our brick steps when I was four. I busted my head open, was bloody as hell, and got knocked out. It took 12 stitches to close the wound, and I told Dr. Allen to “keep his shit’n hands off me,” while he was doing the stitching. “Where’d he learn that language?” He asked “From his Mom”. Said Dad.

It could be the severe high fever (106 degrees) that I had right before my third birthday, which caused my eyes to cross so severely, you could barely see the blue. They stayed that way for a year, then gradually uncrossed. I don’t remember it, but I’m sure my brain was about fried.

But I got over those things. I was encouraged to improve. So I did.

I used to love to take broom handles and hit rocks from my Grandpa’s dirt road driveway, out into ol’ Uncle Lark Davenport’s corn field. That field was all rocks and no dirt anyway, so he never cared. I spent many, many hours whacking rocks. I was an awkward and backward 12 year old the year..the last year, I was eligible to play little league. I was embarrassed to try out, but two great men in the community encouraged my efforts, and all of the hours I had spent whacking little rocks with a skinny stick paid off as I found I could really rip a baseball with a baseball bat. Made the Allstars that year.

I wanted to write my Freshman year in High School, but was afraid I couldn’t do it well enough. Mrs. Wingfield, who was the English teacher and editor of the school paper read some of my poetry, and encouraged me to enroll in journalism class. I ended up writing quite a few articles, and a lot of poetry. I was just looking through my old scrapbook of “inches” I wrote for the paper the other day. I thought of Ms. Jesse’s encouragement, and how she believed in me. She was a great teacher.

I could go on, but I guess my point is clear. All the things I ever succeeded at even moderately were the result of being encouraged. Trying to make me do something I don’t want to do, especially if someone is coming from a bullying attitude, or an attitude of “my way or the highway” just makes me buck up like a mule. I have even shut down in past years with people who insist they were dictators, and their word had to be obeyed or else. I once walked out of a meeting with a “boss” like that, walked to my car, and turned it on and drove home. The guy called me and begged me to come back…because I was running his factory one handed. I didn’t.

I’ve walked out of college classes on the first or second day (and some halfway through the course) because the professors were discouragers instead of encouragers. I did not need them, or their negativity in my life.

Of course some of these actions have cost me….some of them were foolhardy. But I didn’t stop to think at the time.

I don’t encourage anyone to be like me. To be like I was. I got lucky and married a sane wife with good sense, who balances out my impetuous nature with her common sense.

I’ve helped her raise three wonderful and successful children. I hope I encouraged them more often than I discouraged them. They certainly grew up with one slightly off center, brain impaired Dad.

I think nowadays we as a country, as a world…need to encourage our children and little ones. Let’s tell them that there’s nothing….nothing, that they cannot accomplish. And if we tell them, and they truly believe us, perhaps they will save this world and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity.

If I don’t see you, or talk to you before then, have a Merry Christmas..Happy holiday, nice days off, or…..whatever you want!

I am here.  All I have to do here is to live within the limitations of the body which I have been fortunate enough to possess.  I have to live within the limitations of eons of evolution here on this globe.  The limitations which gravity imposes.  The limitations which the atmosphere and the chemicals on this globe impose.  The limitations which the evolution of my human brain impose.  I am here, but I must live with those limitations.  I must live within the confines of these things which my human body imposes.

The human body exists, the brain develops and we learn.  We are limited in our learning by our senses from which our emotions develop. We are then guided by our emotions.  Our emotions guide our brain into believing that there is existence beyond the lives we possess here on this speck of dust in the Universe, which we know as Earth.

I have come to believe my emotions, and believe that there is something beyond my existence here, which will take place after I die.

“I want to go home” my Daddy told me once not long before he died.  “To heaven?” I asked him.  “No” he said.  “I want to go home”  I didn’t understand him then.  I simply told him that I loved him.  He told me he loved me.  But, I have not forgotten that he wanted to go home when he was old and sick and tired.

When his brain was showing him things the rest of us could not see. Things which we told him were not real, but which were totally real to him.

There is that something within us which at some point or another in this human life, makes us wish for home.  It is no religion which dictates that, I think.  I think the only religion is love.  Everything else which calls itself a religion and says it is built around love, only creates hatred.  Look at it all, and you will see that what I say is true.  There is true love within all religions, isolated and rare

We cannot go to a place of home when we leave here which is in anyway connected to this human body, or to this earthly existence which we know so well.  When we go to the place where all other life before us has gone once they are through here, it will be home.  I do not know what it will be like.  I do not know what it is, but it will be home.

And we will all be together.  Or, as together as we can be.

Does anyone else ever feel it? Even when you are sitting in your own house in your favorite chair, it sometimes sneaks up on you. You may feel comfortable, got your slippers and your robe on, and then you just get a feeling that you’re in a strange place…you are not home. You’re at your house, but you are not…home.

I get that feelings sometimes, and it’s a strange thing. I go outside and look up at the stars sometimes and I wonder, why am I here and not there? I saw a gorgeous, unbelievably beautiful panorama photo of the night sky that someone had taken with a special HD camera. As far as the eye could see into the photo, were the little specks of distant stars. Millions and millions of them. I felt out of place just sitting here in my chair and looking into that photo on my computer screen. What is out there? Is there a heaven out there somewhere? Are there millions of other worlds out there which are “Earth like” with life on them? The scope of my existence sitting here looking at that became so tiny…so insignificant. How does it really matter what I am doing here on this little speck of dust? Is this really my home, or is my home somewhere out there?

I am Charlie Brown

I think maybe it’s because my birthday coincides with the first syndicated appearance of Charlie Brown in the newspapers back on October 21, 1950. I have always been like “good ol’ Charlie Brown” even before I knew who he was. It could be that or either just the luck of the Irish (or the Scotch-Irish in my case) but when I was young, every time the gang in our neighborhood got together to choose up sides for baseball or football, I always started to get a knawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just knew that no matter what happened, I would be the last one chosen for the team.

It wasn’t that I was that bad a player, because I wasn’t. There were just a lot of decisions which entered into who was chosen and who wasn’t. Rickey was chosen first because he was the fastest. Mikey was chosen early because he was small and quick and could maneuver well. Mike B. was chose early because of his HUGE size. Hiram was chosen, because he was the meanest and nobody wanted to choose the meanest guy last. Stanley was the friendliest so he got picked. So, by the time the last choice came around, it was me who was left. The last boy to be chosen.

I was mediocre at most things. In baseball, I was probably the best hitter though. I later won a lot of games for my team in Little League, although I was the last kid picked by a coach for his team. I steered away from baseball and football in High School and went with “individual” sports like golf and tennis, where I did well.

I’m not sure what the problem has always been. Maybe I don’t smile enough. I sure never kissed up to anyone just to be chosen, I considered that below my dignity. Guess it’s just part of that Scotch Irish heritage thing again, where my ancestors never bent their knees to the English. I am sure quite a few of my ancestors got a chopping or a hanging because they wouldn’t bend quickly enough.

FREEDOMMMMM…….Hmm,..guess I watched “Braveheart” one too many times.

I was big, but not the biggest, fast but not the fastest, quick but not the quickest. For sure I was never the meanest. Definitely not the friendliest. Maybe the quirkiest. Yep, for sure that.

But I guess the main thing is that it really never bothered me that much back then to BE the one chosen last. It bothered all the other guys, and if they were the last one picked they would raise all kinds of hell, and get their feelings hurt. I never did. It bothered me some, but all I really wanted to do was be a member of the team, and I always got to do that even if I was the last one, so what did it matter really? The proof of your worth comes after the choosing not during it. So, I guess that’s another reason why I was always the last one chosen. I took it calmly. I was always the mediator and rarely the instigator. It must be because I’m a Libra. That causes me to believe in a certain balance. Or maybe because I believe God made us all the same on the inside.

As I have gone on through growing up and into my adult life, it has become more difficult to be the last one chosen. I still exhibit most of the same qualities I did as a kid. I am smart, but not the smartest. Quick to learn, but not quite the quickest. I work hard, but there are probably some people out there who work harder. I am consistent in my beliefs about how people should be treated, but I am still not mean. I believe in treating other people like I want to be treated. I still don’t smile that often, and I am terrible at telling jokes. Most jokes require that you belittle someone or something, and I am just not going to do it. I don’t like talking about myself and what I have accomplished, or failed to accomplish for that matter. I just still believe in that balance. I believe in being calm and waiting for all the decisions to be made and for all the choices to be exercised.
I believe that fairness should be Universal and not just reserved for the richest, the strongest, the most advantageously placed politically, the meanest, nor due to any other quality that might be construed as giving a person the appearance of forbearance or special treatment. I despise favoritism. Fair is fair. People know what is fair and what isn’t. It is an innate quality that is placed within each of us a birth. The only difference is that some humans believe in “being” fair, and some don’t.

So, many days in many ways I still wait to be chosen. I have a good record in life, not outstanding but good, and always trying to be fair and fight injustice. Just like back in my baseball playing days I have had a good average and have always helped the teams I have been on. I would love to be chosen first sometime in life, BUT even if I am still the LAST one chosen I will continue to do my best to be above average. Even if things don’t turn out to be exactly fair in THIS life, I think that the Universal “balancer” will square things up one of these days. It may be a while yet, but it is one thing that IS inevitable.