Going To A DANCE

Sometimes people ask (well, someone did; once), “What does the name of your blog mean, ‘About Pops’”?

It sort of has to do with a stage of life, what I call the second-coming-of-age and all that comes with it, stuff like: looming retirement, senior adulthood, your body committing mutiny. But, then there is the glorius side of it all, being a grandfather, or as I’m known to my Grand-Girls, “Pops”.

This Saturday morning is a very exciting for a Pops like me. I’m going to my first dance recital. While I am excited, I’m also a bit anxious. You see I grew up in the Southern Baptist tradition where evangelist warned that Jesus would almost certainly return during a dance at Teen Town. “Is that where you want to be when The King Comes!?” And in my 13 year-old brain I’m thinking “As opposed to…?” (More than likely I’m thinking how does he get his hair to stay all puffed up in that big hairdo?”)

Looking back, I think I wouldn’t have minded at all if Jesus had come back during a school dance. I think he would have enjoyed it. In fact, I think even the full-time evangelist would have had a good time if he could have chiseled through all the pomade keeping his pompadour in place and let his hair down.

Today’s recital stars our oldest Grand-Girl, Karlee. I think maybe there will be other little dancers there too.

Thats Karlee, on the left. Today she will be the star!

If you have a problem with me unbashedly bragging on her, in the words of Steve Martin: “Well, exxxxuuuussssee me!!!”

You see this tiny dancer is the one who made me POPS. She has patiently turned me in to a dewy-eyed, sentimental, very proud, old man.

I am so grateful that she can dance without shame. That she can know the joy, the freedom, the beauty of being a little artist. 

I could go on and on and on, but I have a dance to go to. And, if Jesus were to be ready, I think he would really enjoy this, because the children will be dancing.

Keeping Company

You’ve heard the fun, hypothetical question, “What six people, living or dead, would you invite to dinner?”

I’ve performed a lot of weddings in my day. In most of them I have used a thought from C.S. Lewis in his book, The Four Loves.

Lovers are normally face to face, absorbed in each other;
Friends, side by side, absorbed in some common interest.

I then explain the obvious—that a marriage is two people who should strive not only to be lovers, but friends to each other as well.

C.S. Lewis and his good friend, J.R.R. Tolkien and a few others hung out together; regularly. They even had a name for their little group: “The Inklings”. Lewis spoke of the importance of having a group like The Inklings in that same book, The Four Loves, calling them a “little knots of Friends who turn their backs on the ‘World’”. By that, (I think) he meant, when they are together, they honor the relationship and the time by being fully present. If he were writing that today he might say, “When you gather with your little knot of friends, KEEP YOU DANG PHONE IN YOUR POCKET.” Just guessing.

I’ve been reading a book called, The Company They Keep by Diana Pavlac Glyer. It is a book about The Inklings, and it has me thinking. What if I was in a little knot of friends? Who else would be in it? What would we talk about? Would it be worthwhile?

I realize this kind of friendship is a step beyond just asking six or so people to dinner, but to me the spirit is the same. For most people the hard part of the exercise would be limiting the number of people they would invite. For me, I know that if I invited too many, if the knot was too big, I would be lost. In fact, I would probably go to another room and just eavesdrop on the conversation.

It’s just introversion and I’m fine with it.

This year, 2015, I’m going to explore this idea of having a Knot. Will I work to actually make it happen? Probably not, but I hope at least to be bold enough to meet some new people, have some interesting conversations and learn something about myself.

Let’s start though with this game of naming the Dinner Party Six. I’m going to expand the options a little and say that it’s okay to include a fictional person or two. I mean if we can invite dead people why not make-believe ones too?

Here’s my list (at least for now), not for the Knot, but for the Dinner:

Wait. First, I want to say in all honesty that while I’m not including family members in the list, I love being at the table with my Amazing-Missus, our two sons, our daughter-in-law, and our Grand-Girls. Second, there are some that I would love to have at the table, but they are of that category of being even above my hypothetical dinner guests; you know, people like Jesus, Mary Magdalene, G.K. Chesterton, Martin Luther King, Jr., Einstein, George Gershwin, etc. (Relax, I’m not saying or even inferring these people are equal to Jesus.)

Okay, now for the list (in no certain order):

1. David Letterman (he would ask really good questions, keeping the discussion going)
2. Flannery O’Connor (because she writes lines like: “To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life and this is a softness that ends in bitterness.”)
3. Paul McCartney & John Lennon (I know, I know)
4. Tina Fey & Amy Poehler (They will split an entree)
5. Yo Yo Ma (hopefully he and John would play “Imagine” together)
6. Atticus Finch (played by Gregory Peck)

You know Atticus Finch, from the greatest fictional book ever, To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. If not, maybe, you’ve seen the movie where the role of the Atticus, the single father of two kids, is beautifully played by Gregory Peck. 

The story is told by Scout, Atticus’ daughter. Here’s an except from the book. Scout is telling of encounters she and her brother Jem had with a mean old woman named Mrs. Dubose who lived down the street. Scout’s description of her father in this passage will make it clear why I want him to have a chair at my table.

When the three of us came to the house, Atticus would sweep off his hat, wave gallantly to her and say, “Good evening, Mrs. Dubose! You look like a picture this evening.”
I never heard Atticus say like a picture of what. He would tell her the courthouse news, and would say he hoped with all his heart she’d have a good day tomorrow. He would return his hat to his head, swing me to his shoulders in her very presence, and we would go home in the twilight. It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.

So, what “six” people would you invite to dinner if you could?

Traditions

AS I TREK DEEPER into what the hucksters call “senior adulthood,” I’m trying to avoid the pitfalls of dogmatism, stubbornness, narrow-mindedness and prejudice. I have almost always preferred Movements over Institutions.

The idea of traditions for tradition’s sake seems unnecessarily rigid and confining to me. To start from a position of “This is the way we have always done it!” thwarts creativity and discovery. A vivid memory I have of kindergarten is of a little girl who sat next to me raising her hand and saying, “Teacher, Teacher, David’s coloring outside the lines; again!”

That’s right B I am, and in fact if I had my way there would be no lines at all, then where would you be?!

Maybe it is old-age creeping in, but lately I’ve been looking for the baby I threw out with that bath water a long time ago.

“Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire."
 —Gustave Mahler

If there is a season that is loaded with traditions it is Christmastime:

• We always put the tree up on December 1.
• Where is that star that we always put on top of the tree.
• We always watch “Christmas Vacation.”
• We always open one gift on Christmas Eve.
• There is always a little egg of Silly Putty® in our stockings.

As I sat the other night and watched our Grand-Girls decorate gingerbread houses it dawned on me, my Amazing-Missus has been making these little houses for our two boys, now our Grand-Girls and hundreds of other kids to decorate for more than thirty years. We make gingerbread houses. It’s a tradition and it’s beautiful.

Last Sunday afternoon I sat with my 3 year-old Grand-Girl in my lap waiting for her first performance of The Nutcracker to begin. Next to me was our 6 year-old waiting for her fourth. The youngest was full of questions: Why is it dark in here? Where are the ballerinas? Is this song almost over?

The oldest was fully immersed in the whole Nutcracker experience. During intermission, she danced the first act in the lobby by herself, not caring who was watching. We go see The Nutcracker and after we have cookies and milk. It’s a tradition and it’s beautiful.

Maybe someday they will be too old to want to see The Nutcracker with their Pops. So while they’re off to a movie with some boy who isn't good enough for them, I’ll put Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite on the record player, and while it’s playing, I’ll remember that once we had a tradition, and it was beautiful.

See, they're not so bad after all. 

A Life, A Rhapsody

I’m not the first to draw an analogy between a life lived and a composition. One of my favorite examples is from “Mr. Holland’s Opus”, a movie I wrote about here. Mr Holland was the band director of a high school for many years. In a scene toward the end of the movie, one of his former students, Gertrude Lang is speaking at an assembly given to honor him:

“There is not a life in this room that you have not touched, and each of us is a better person because of you. We are your symphony Mr. Holland. We are the melodies and the notes of your opus. We are the music of your life.”

What a wonderful tribute. What a beautiful metaphor for a life’s story.

In 1924, George Gershwin composed “Rhapsody In Blue.” It is a classic. It was the hallmark of music scored for orchestra written in jazz forms of the 20s. A rhapsody, and particularly “Rhapsody In Blue”, is characterized by its range of emotion and tonal qualities along with a feeling of improvisation, but with a recurring theme.

A rhapsody is literally an epic poem, written in one movement, recited or played from start to finish. 

I want to tell you of a story of a boy. To me this boy’s life is a rhapsody.

This boy grew up in Lincoln Parish, north central Louisiana, in a little town called Dubach (dew-bach). It was clear to all that love and loyalty for family would be a theme of his life.

I didn’t know him as a boy, but I know from the stories I’ve heard that he made the most of every life experience and relationship. His stories are rich and humble. In fact there is a humility that everyone who knows him, knows is genuine.

There are some things I know for sure about him. He loves music. He was a musician himself. He played the clarinet. I think it’s interesting that “Rhapsody In Blue” starts with a clarinet solo, just as the rhapsody of his life does. He is a great encourager of the musical pursuits of others.

He has never been one to be the center of attention. In fact, he is one of the most selfless people I’ve ever known—always doing what he could to allow others to have their moment in the light.
He reluctantly tells stories of his service in World War II; if you ask.

Just as “Rhapsody In Blue” debuted in 1924, 90 years ago; so did this man. Happy 90th Birthday Dad!

My Dad has provided wonderful guidance and instruction for me all of my life. Some of it has taken, unfortunately some I have squandered. 

Dad never told me I should pray and read my Bible. I came to understand how valuable those things are by watching him practice those disciplines himself. If I am a good husband and a good father and a good grandfather, it is because of the example he has provided.

My Dad understands that the highest calling in life is one of service. It is another of his life’s themes. He has given so much and sacrificed so much—he and my mom both. I look back now on my first drum set and I know that they sacrificed much for me to have those. I know that for my Dad, as a Baptist preacher, to have a son playing drums in a rock and roll band, back in the day when Baptists were particularly concerned about rock music and dancing, must have been difficult. Yet somehow he managed the conflict because he wanted me to love music.

Over the last few years, I’ve watched Dad age with the same grace by which he’s always lived. His eyesight is nearly gone. One day I said something about how hard that must be, yet I never him complain. His reply was, “You know in some ways I see more now than I ever have.”

Here’s the thing about him and those beautiful attitudes of his: “Rhapsody In Blue” is a masterpiece, but only when it is played by master musicians under the direction of a master conductor. Many years ago when my Dad yielded his life to God as an instrument in the Master’s hands, it took. I swear, it’s as if it was his destiny. Thank you Dad for being faithful.

Oh, and those words of Gertrude Lang to Mr. Holland:

“There is not a life in this room that you have not touched, and each of us is a better person because of you. We are your symphony Mr. Holland. We are the melodies and the notes of your opus. We are the music of your life.”

I am honored to be a part of Mr. Fuller's Rhapsody.