STICKS & STONES & WORDS

IF YOU'RE GOING TO WRITE A BLOG you want to believe you have something to say, and you want to hope someone out there besides your mother will read it. Sometimes, depending on the topic you’re writing about, you want to create a sense that you might know what you’re talking about. I’m going to try that.

• I majored in journalism at The University of Tulsa.
• I’ve been to Paris.
• I love satire.
• I was once beaten up for a satirical comment.

It was fifth grade, recess on the playground at Jenks Elementary School. There was this kid that was purported to have been in fifth grade for a few years now. I quipped that, "I bet if he ever finished fifth grade he would probably be so excited that he might cut himself shaving." Word quickly spread. He was mad, out for revenge, and it would all go down at recess. Sure enough here he came. He walked up to the jungle gym I had climbed to the top of, hoping for a battle advantage. He took a long drag from his Marlboro, flipped it to the asphalt, and ground it out with his boot. A crowd gathered, like happens when there’s likely to be blood shed on the playground. Fortunately, the crowd drew the attention of the teachers “on duty”. The crowd dispersed, disappointed. After school, as I walked to the school bus, here he came around the corner. He pulled my blue, canvas-like notebook from my arms. He said, “You hurt my feelings kid. Now I’m going to hurt yours.” Then he whacked me across the head with my own notebook. I lay in the gravel stunned for a minute, then he reached down and helped me up, dusted me off and offered me a Marlboro. [At least in my fifth grade/now 64 year-old mind that’s the way I remember it.]

I know that Sticks and Stones and (maybe even 3-ring binders) can break one’s bones, but as it turns out, sometimes, Words do hurt.

I feel bad for having a laugh at Harper's expense, but what a great metaphor this is. Surely you've had times when you were having a great time and all of a sudden you find yourself tangled up in your own balloons.

For the most part, here at About Pops, I try to stay clear of hardcore politics. So what I’m aiming for here isn’t at all political commentary. It’s just me thinking out loud. Oh, and don’t you dare go away from this trying to say that I am in any way was justifying the ugly deeds of terrorists in Paris. AND, assuming anyone is still reading this (which I realize is an enormous jump to a conclusion), don’t think for a second that I am trying to equate getting beat up on the playground with the massacre at the magazine studio.

In journalism school we were taught with conviction that a free press is crucial, and I believe it. But free press or not, free speech or not, words and cartoons sometimes hurt. As I learned in the fifth grade, we are free to say whatever we want. That doesn’t mean though that we might not get hit in the head with a notebook.

I didn’t learn a lot from that day. I still love satire (I'm writing this post aren't I?). It seems we need to be secure enough in our convictions that we can laugh at ourselves. If you read my post called, Keeping Company, I chose David Letterman, Tina Fey and Amy Pohler as guests at my dinner because, although I am sometimes offended, they make me laugh.

Does humor sometimes hurt? Yes. Does it sometimes offend? Yes. Does it incite anger? Yes. Do we need to laugh? Yes.

I’m trying to reconcile our need to laugh and the fact that in the end, sometimes, Words; like Sticks and Stones, do hurt.

DISCLAIMER: If I’ve offended anyone here, I’m sorry. I hope you were at least a bit entertained. See what I mean? This is a conundrum.

Pops & Popeye

Happy Birthday Elvis. I can’t believe you would have been 80; it seems like only yesterday.

Normally I don’t dish out birthday wishes to celebrities here at About Pops. But I do normally talk about myself and getting older.

“Then,” you might say, “you must be a big fan of Elvis and his music.”

No, not really. I looked at my iTunes library. I have one Elvis recording, Here Comes Santa Claus. That was a song on a Christmas album I bought.

You see, the deal is, Elvis and I share a birthday; today, January 8.

[cue up The Beatles, "When I'm 64"]

I talked to my Mom and Dad last night. (We senior adults call and check on one another when it’s bitter cold outside.) They were recalling the night of my birth. Apparently, I just barely made it on the 8th. A few more hours and I would be saying, “Happy Birthday” to Kate Middleton, Richard Nixon, Jimmie Page and Dave Matthews. Now there’s a couple of guys whose music I have lots of.

No complaints though. The King and I share the 8th with some pretty cool people and at least one nut-job. I’ll let you guess which one (or more): Stephen Hawking, R. Kelly, Noah Cyrus, Kim Jong-un, and Soupy Sales, just to name a few.

Birthdays are one of those contemplative days for me. You know—looking back and thinking about the days ahead. As happens, well-meaning people, and people selling books, tend to offer insight on days like this. This is from the WWW:

Capricorns born on January 8 seek to balance worldly concerns with an expression of their soul-needs. Although they strive for a pragmatic approach to life, they have a superstitious nature. They are gifted yet may be riddled with self-doubts. These problems are exacerbated by the fact that they have difficulty expressing their feelings through words.

Friends and Lovers
Because of their basic distrust of others' motives, it is hard for January 8 people to make friends. If trust is breached, the friendship is likely to end. They have a powerful love nature. They are romantics who demand total devotion. Even if they are not especially attractive they can cast a spell, drawing lovers to them with ease.

Children and Family
Even when they do not feel bound to family members, people born on January 8 are generous to them. They may have had a strict upbringing from which they lapsed in adulthood, creating guilt and dishonor. They make doting parents, anxious to give their children material as well as spiritual riches.

It’s like someone’s been reading my journals. I’m tempted to click the link and spend “$19.95 for the full report”.

On second thought: for what?! At 64, when it comes to stuff intended to make me more self-enlightened, I’m with Popeye, “I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam.”

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?

The Peacock Vow

IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF 2015. I’m throwing caution to the wind, again, and not eating black-eyed peas. However, I do feel compelled take part in some new-year traditions, to make some sort of resolution(s).

Resolution-making has a long, rich tradition. For centuries people have been setting themselves up for failure with promises to eat less, exercise more, blah, blah… According to www.usa.gov the most popular resolutions in 2015 will include: Lose weight, Volunteer to help others, Quit smoking, Get fit, Eat healthier, Manage debt, Take a trip, Drink less Alcohol, and Reduce, reuse and recycle.

But let’s go back a few hundred years, in the Medieval era, knights took the "peacock vow" at the end of the Christmas season each year to re-affirm their commitment to chivalry.[Lennox, Doug (2007). Now You Know Big Book of Answers.]

Now there’s a resolution I can get on board with: reaffirming my commitment to chivalry. It’s vague enough to make it difficult to measure success (or lack of it). It’s enigmatic enough to sound well-thought-through without knowing what the heck I’m talking about.

If Chivalry Is Dead, Don’t Blame Me

It was in the midst of my first coming-of-age that the feminist movement made chivalry obsolete, even an affront to some women. I do remember, however a time in junior high. I held a door open for a new and very pretty young teacher at our school. She said, “Thank you. It’s good to know that chivalry is not dead.”

I was very happy to be seen by her as chivalrous even though I didn’t know what chivalry was. I tried to look it up in the dictionary but I didn’t even know how to spell it. Apparently, though I was helping keep it alive and that was appreciated by some.

So what is it? The sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight, including courtesy, generosity, valor, and dexterity in arms. From my Oxford American Thesaurus for Writers, other words for chivalry include: gentlemanliness, courtesy, courteousness, politeness, graciousness, mannerliness, good manners.

Sounds to me like that’s some stuff we could use today, but is it dead?

The pronouncedly masculine virtues of chivalry came under attack on the parts of the upper-class suffragettes campaigning for gender equality in the early 20th century, and with the decline of the military ideals of duelling culture and of European aristocracies in general following the catastrophe of World War I, the ideals of chivalry became widely seen as outmoded by the mid-20th century. [Wikipedia]

I know this about myself: if nothing else, I am at least outmoded. So, I’m going to embrace the Vow of the Peacock and resolve to be more chivalrous in 2015.

Of course I will need the help of my maiden, the Amazing-Missus, in stitching me up a pennant to bear as I go forward on my quest.

Depiction of chivalric ideals in Romanticism, Stitching the Standard is a painting by British artist Edmund Leighton. It depicts a nameless damsel on the battlements of a medieval castle making the finishing touches to a standard or pennant with a black eagle on a gold background, preparing for a knight to go to war. In a time of peace the woman has taken her needlework into the daylight away from the bustle of the castle.