THOUGHTS AT 74

I'm sensing that I may not be sensing as much as I used to. Take seeing, smelling, touching, hearing and tasting; sometimes those things don't seem as sharp as they once were, say, fifty or one year ago.

I need My Amazing-Missus more. I need her to tell me if the milk smells okay, or if the turkey, which looks a little greenish to me, tastes safe. Remember the old joke about the cannibal that took a bite of a clown and then asked his wife, "Does this taste funny to you?"

At first I thought maybe I just wasn't paying attention. According to some teachers of my school-days I have that inclination--to not pay attention. Maybe now, as then, I tend to be picky about what I find to be attention-worthy. I think I've already established that if your give-a-crapper is broken, your sense of attention-paying is afflicted as well. It's hard to pay attention to what you don't care about.

A few days ago at a holiday gathering, my youngest Grand, soon to be five, was reminiscing about a Christmas past (one of his four). "Hey, Pops, hey! Do you remember that time..." Honestly; I said that I didn't recall that. "What's wrong old man can't you remember stuff?" he said with love.

I explained to him that I have a zillion-million more memories to keep track of than he does. Then I used a sure-fire strategy to change the subject, "Hey do you want to watch Sonic or Ninja Turtles or something else enriching?"

Jeremiah and I are the chronological bookends of our family. He's the one that helps me most to stay anchored in the reality that I'm old, but that maybe I have strengths now that I didn't have when I was younger. He doesn't have to verbally remind me that I'm old. It can happen like this: "Hey, Pops, Hey, why don't you sit on the floor and we'll play Spiderman with these Legos?!" I assess the situation and imagine trying to get up from the floor in an hour or so. "How about if we pretend that I'm a creature from the planet 'Recliner' and I'm trapped in it's extra-strong gravitational pull." He seems to accept this premise. "Are you good or bad?" he asks. "The jury is still out."

Is it true that if someone is lacking in one of the senses, the others are somehow enhanced to make up the difference? I've always heard that. Is it true that if you are diminshed olfactory-wise that your sense of taste is stricken as well?

Now I'm veering off into physical science and I have no business there. Let's get back to psycho-social space, a room I have now qualms about bouncing around in.

One of my favorite movies set around Christmas and the days after is The Family Man starring Nicholas Cage and Téa Leoni. It has a feeling of old scrooge being carried back and forward in time. Cage's character "Jack" is given the opportunity to catch a glimpse of what his life might have looked like and somehow magically having the chance to make a new choice.

- Please just tell me what's happening to me in plain English...without the mumbo-jumbo.

- This is a glimpse, Jack.

- A glimpse? A glimpse of what?

- You're gonna have to figure that out for yourself and you got plenty of time.

- How much time?

- As much time as it takes, which in your case is probably gonna be considerable.

That's a few lines from the movie--sort of a teaser. It's worth watching, IMHO. (As the kids say).

While my five physical senses may not be as sharp as they once were, others are serving me well: my sense of humor, my sense of authenticity vs. B.S., my sense of what's important, my sense of faith and hope, my sense of urgency.

Here's what I mean about that last one, hoping to not sound too doom and gloomish. I mentioned Jeremiah's four Christmases of memories and my seventy-three. (I wrote about Remembering in my last post.) Obviously he has years of memories to come. Me? Not as many. Just facts. The sense of urgency though of seizing moments isn't really about limited time. It's about being extra alert, listening, seeing, hearing, tasting and touching as I never have before. Soaking up as much as I can. Wringing the cloth of every drop of opportunity. Even though I may not see as well as I once did, I know for a fact that if I take the time and give the attention I will be able to see more than I ever have. Now, whether I'll be able to remember it tomorrow... Even my nearly 5 year-old grandson knows that us old men tend to forget; but only some things. Others are indelible.

Here’s one of my favorite poems, one by Walt Whitman. Some say that old Walt was gay and that this poem was about a meeting with someone he knew intimately. For me it is about the relationship of an old man and the person he was when he was young. I often remember that person--the me of my youth. A person who had a wide-eyed, sometimes naive curiosity, drawn to creativity that brought discovery and joy.

A Glimpse: Poem by Walt Whitman

A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,

Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,

late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;

Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and

seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;

A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and

oath and smutty jest,

There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,

perhaps not a word.

I'll admit. Sometimes I enjoy the company of the memories of grade-school me, or high school graduate me, or newly married me, or first-time father me, or Pops me. It gives me a glimpse of what was, what might have been and what can be. Those old friends give perspective and are useful to us.

For example, recently, we took GrandGirl Nora to a gymnastics meet. As we drew close to the venue, she talked about being nervous. She didn't ask if I've ever been nervous before a big event, but I offered an unsolicited anecdote anyway--something I enjoy doing. I told her about my first accordian concert. I was six. Dressed in black pants, a white sportcoat, and little black bowtie. I squeezed my best version of "Three Blind Mice" out of that shiny black accordian. I returned to my seat next to my parents. Mom was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. I guess when you think about it, it is a sad song. These poor little mice were not only blind but they had just had there tails whacked off with a carver's knife by the farmer's wife. Anyway, the point of my story of empathy regarding pre-performance jitters was lost because I had to try to explain to Nora what an accordian was and why I was forced to take lessons on the thing. The good news: the story got us to the venue where she saw a teammate and her coach. Five gold medals and one silver, and all was well.

P.S.: At 74 I’m starting my 75th year. As I look at the world as it is, I have a few of those butterflies and jitters, however, I am not without hope. I have a glimpse and a sense that there is a plan bigger than all of us. “A plan for good and not for evil”. Here's a link to a post I wrote more than five years ago. It's still true for me. Maybe you'll find it helpful. CLICK HERE TO READ IT.

REMEMBER?

WHY DON’T WE CALL IT RE-MEMBERING?

I was listening to a medical doctor speak at a church. He was talking about the Lord's Supper or The Eucharist or Holy Communion or the Blessed Sacrament: the Christian rite (not "Right"). Christians believe that the rite was instituted by Jesus at the Last Supper, the night before his crucifixion, giving his disciples bread and wine, referring to the bread as "my body" and the cup of wine as "the blood of my covenant, which is poured out for many". Jesus told them to observe the rite regularly and to do it "in remembrance of me".

This medical doctor hinged his message on a key question. He set up his question with an example: when a person has an accident and loses a finger, we call that dismemberment. If we surgically reattach the finger or any dismembered appendage, why we don't call it re-membering?

Maybe we should. After all isn't that what remembering is? When we tell stories from our past, or look through old photos, or visit places we used to know, aren't we reconnecting; rejoining our present and our past.

Times like the holiday season are rife for re-membering. Indulge me. Last Friday, we visited Utica Square Shopping Center in Tulsa. Every year of my childhood included a Christmastime visit to Utica Square to see the lights, and wait in line for a chance to visit with Santa.

Most years we still make a visit there on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Here is a picture of this years visit. We're all there except Haddi and Everly who were spending the holiday with their dad. I truly missed them. A couple of notes on the photo: we should have known that the flood light shining on the nutcracker would have given a ghostly look to those in it's beam. Also, that tall building way in the background is St. John's hospital, where I was born, January 8, 1951.

My Mom saved the hospital statement from my birth, why, I don't know. Maybe as a sentimental keepsake or maybe to be able to say to the future son, "See, not only did I go through the trauma of childbirth for you but it cost us $82.00!" That's not a typo. The bill for delivery and three days in St. Johns was less than a hundred bucks. According to the Consumer Price Index calculator, $100 in 1951 is equivalent in purchasing power to about $1,214.09 today, an increase of $1,114.09 over 73 years. The dollar had an average inflation rate of 3.48% per year between 1951 and today, producing a cumulative price increase of 1,114.09%. Considering the price of having a baby these days, I was a bargain!

On our visit to Utica Square we took the whole crew to P.F. Chang's for supper. For what the meal cost, you could have had twins at St. John's in 1951. But! Strolling the sidewalks of Utica Square with the GrandKids in the warm glow of thousands of little lights, sipping hot chocolate or coffee: PRICELESS.

We stopped in at Santa's house for cookies. When he asked the boys what they wanted for Christmas, Malachi was still undecided. Jeremiah, the four-year-old, told Santa with solid confidence that he wanted a watch. Of all the years I sat on Santa's lap at Utica Square as a kid, I can never remember asking him for a watch, unless maybe it was one of those cool Dick Tracy walkie-talkie watches.

While I'm re-membering Christmases past, I have vivid memories of carefully researching and curating my wishlist. It usually started with the arrival of the Sears Christmas catalog around Thanksgiving time. Then, in the breaking days of December, the actual visit to Sears. Walking past a guy with a red bucket, ringing a bell, through the vast doors, there was the candy counter, brightly lit, the smells of chocolate and roasting nuts wafting through the store. On to the "Big Toy Box", which is what the marketing department at Sears called the toy department. I could watch the setup of running Lionel trains for hours. One year I got my own. Carefully putting that cantankerous track together, hooking up the transformer, and finally; movement and the smell of electrical current. Apparently re-membering includes, sights and sounds and smells too.

One of my favorite smells of the holidays was visiting OTASCO with my Dad. OTASCO, by the way, stood for Oklahoma Tire and Supply Company. The smell was a combination of new tires, fan belts, petroleum products and popcorn. At Christmastime, OTASCO had a great toy department. A Google search found me a catalog cover from back in the day. It's all there in a single drawing: Old St. Nick enjoying a cookie the little lad left for him. And, it looks like he's getting everything on his list: a teddy bear, a new wagon, a TV, a blender and a circular saw.

Listen! Did someone just say, "Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!"? Remember that book?

Don't worry. In the home of my childhood and that of My Amazing-Missus, in the childhood home of our two sons and in the home's of our GrandKids we remember the reason for the season. And we re-member with truth and light by telling The Nativity Story again and again. We hold on to the promise and commit ourselves to the pursuit of those words that seem so elusive: Peace on Earth!

Merry Christmas everyone from Pops, My Amazing-Missus and the whole crew. To all those who are spending Christmas without someone who was once with them, we pray that somehow the season and The Story will provide rich opportunities to re-member.

PARDON ME

SOMETIMES we get what we don't deserve. Sometimes we don't get what we deserve. We all do. Me, you, Hunter Biden, Donald Trump, all of us in varying degrees and means. I have a few thoughts on "pardons".

Let's start here. I'm a son and I'm a father. I'm using those credentials to have an opinion. Although I've never been president of anything, much less the U.S. of A., that hasn't stopped me from opinionating.

Should Joe Biden as president have pardoned a guy named Hunter Biden? No. (in my humble opinion). Should the president even have the power of pardons. Again, IMHO, no. If our political leaders were of sound character, humility and in possession of a strong, solid sense of accountability, then maybe: Yes. But...

Should Joe Biden as father to Hunter have offered a pardon. Yes. And I really believe that is what is behind this. As the father of two sons I would do anything and everything I could for them. Let's take an empathetic look. Joe had three children with his first wife--a girl and two boys. Tragically, a car accident took the life of his wife and daughter. Though badly injured the boys survived. Joe was not in the car. As a young adult, Beau died from brain cancer. Of the three, only Hunter is living today. Does the fact that Joe has lived with years of heartache give him a license to go overboard for the remaining son? For whatever reasons, Hunter has made a of mess of his life. Should he get what he deserves? Of course.

As a son growing up in the home of a grace-full father I received multiple pardons. Not the presidential ones of course, but the even better ones--the ones given from the unconditional love of a father. Were there consequences for my actions? Indeed there were. The father-pardon didn't remove the punishment. Like that time I was part of an organized crime ring in seventh grade. A plan had been hatched to steal pop from the Pepsi delivery truck at the grocery store during lunch break at school. Even though I was only an accessory to the crime I got swats at school, swats at home, and was forced to surrender my allowance for several weeks to pay back the Pepsi corporation for the stolen soda pop.

Maybe Joe could have said to Hunter, "Son, as your father I believe in you and I forgive you. But I will not as president use the power of a pardon as preferential treatment to serve my own good; even though my predecessor/successor has and will, time and time again."

Hunter should have told his dad upon hearing of his consideration of giving a presidential pardon, "Dad you've done enough for me. Your forgiveness is sufficient. Your belief in finding a seed of goodness still within me is enough. Don't bring the fire of criticism down on yourself for me. As my dad you're already giving me what I don't deserve."

It's that season again. The one where we celebrate the ultimate giver of pardons, where we remember the one who got what He didn't deserve so that we might have what we don't deserve.

“And the WORD became flesh and lived among us.”

— The Gospel of John

ON VOTING

OPINIONS ARE LIKE BELLY BUTTONS--everyone has one. [With the exceptions of Adam and maybe Eve whose pre-birth states didn't need an umbilical cord as far as I know.]

I'm assuming you chose freely to visit this page and read these words for what they might be worth. This is just a statement of my opinion and perspective. It might bear little to no resemblence to your own. That's okay with me and I hope it is with you.

If you're ready to continue: here we go.

I live in Oklahoma, a very "red" state politically speaking, and from one report I read, ranks 49th out of the 50 U.S. states in turnout of registered voters. Arkansas being the worst in this category.

Why? I don't know. Based on conversations I've had with folks about this imminent election, here are a couple of possibilities:

1. I'm not voting because I don't like either candidate.

2. Why vote in Oklahoma? We all know the republicans are going to win.

I wish every registered voter would vote. My thoughts:

a.) It is such a privilege. It's the only way we have an opportunity to weigh in on those who govern and how we are governed. Even if our candidate has a snowball's chance in Oklahoma in July, we still have siezed our right to have a say.

b.) You get to do whatever you want in that voting booth and no one will know. You can be a bit rebellious and transgressive. In our voting place we get to hide away in a sort of cardboard box, fill in the square by the name of anyone our heart and mind and spirit and conscience leads us to, and it's nobody's business.

c.) You get that little "I Voted" sticker, and maybe, if you want to, in a few months or so, you can say, "Don't blame me! I didn't vote for that fool!"

Now, despite the wonderfully secretive nature of voting listed as letter "b" above, I'm going to reveal the name of the candidate I will NOT be voting for (and thus making public the candidate I've chosen.) But first...

IF YOU COULD SEE INSIDE MY HEART AND SOUL you would hopefully find ZERO desire to get all political in a divisive, antagonistic way. The last thing I want to do is hurt or rile up, or, God please forbid: alienate.

Taking that risk, I feel like I need to write down my concerns and convictions, for some kind of record, in the unlikely chance that my grandkids or great grandkids might someday wonder where old Pops stood on the state of things in the diminishing days of 2024.

I've written some of this stuff in private journals. And, back when I was more stupid and cocky (around 2016ish) I made the occasional, regretful social media post--enough to have learned to avoid that path as if it was strewn with snakes, ticks, poisin vines, hidden pits and conspiracy theorists. Apparently I'm a slow learner.

My political leanings haven't changed much over the years. At times my zeal has run hotter and deeper but for the most part I've always found myself left of most of my family, friends and coworkers. Not bragging or regretting. Just saying.

I think my philosophies/worldview were shaped early. Literally, from infancy, the Jesus I was taught to know and love, to seek and to follow, was one who always sought to humanize others, one who paid attention to those whose stories weren't necessarily in the main body of the narrative but out in the margins. When he was introduced as the Prince of Peace, I took that literally. When I memorized the words, "For God SO loved The World that He gave..." I came to understand the breadth, the intensity, and eternity of that love. Certainly, with any "rebelliousness" that may have been a part of my first coming-of-age, I hope I was trying to "work out my salvation with fear and trembling." (Philippians 2:12). Still am. I didn't find peaceful protests, questioning authorities, suspicion of institutions and all that to be incongruent with Christ-following: just the opposite in fact. Still do.

Best I remember, there were a few significant worldview shaping events for me during that time. Here's a timeline:

• January 8, 1969: My 18th birthday. Registered with the Selective Service System: received my "draft card".

• January 20, 1969: Marched in the Inaugural Parade of Richard Nixon in Washington D.C. Saw behind the scenes the rage and animosity for him and the Vietnam war.

• May 1969: Graduated from Will Rogers High School in Tulsa.

• Fall 1969: Began classes at Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee. I majored in music to get a scholarship but my heart was in journalism and socio-political science.

• October 15, 1969: "Nationwide Moratorium to End The War in Vietnam". Helped to organize our campus' participation in the massiave demonstration, which included a rally and the wearing of black arm bands. It was a big deal to us then.

• May 4, 1970: Kent State University murders. Four students were killed by Ohio National Guardsmen. Participated in a night of mourning for those students with an overnight demonstration on the campus oval.

• Summer of 1970: I spent a good chunk of the summer traveling across Europe, playing drums in a band. An eye-opening, mind-blowing summer for sure.

• Fall 1970: Transferred to Tulsa University majoring in journalism. Became more politically active, seeking to find a way to do something besides protest the war. I was particularly interested alternatives to Richard Nixon and changing the voting age from 21 to 18. Both of these were anti-war positions. The rationale: many young men were too young to vote but were subject to the draft and forced to fight in the war. Without a vote there was no way to influence the people sending them off to risk their lives. Posters and chants in protest events declared, "Old enough to fight, old enough to vote!"

• July 1, 1970: A Lottery was held for men facing the draft in 1971. This determined the order in which men born in 1951 were called to report for induction into the military. My birthdate was Number 116.

• June 30, 1971: The 26th Amendment was finally ratified changing the minimum voting age to 18, the same age that young men were required to register for the draft. I would now be able to actually vote for the candidates I had been campaigning for, including George McGovern, who despite my vote and campaigning lost in a landslide to the very crooked Richard Nixon.

• Winter 1971: I received notice to report to the draft board for processing and a physical. My number had come up. My enmity for Nixon and power-greedy politicans boiled and I veered further left. Fortunately, the war became more and more unpopular and started winding down. That bus trip from Tulsa to Oklahoma City for a physical was as close as I would get to Vietnam.

• Early 1972: Let's put it this way. My passions were evolving. I had become involved in the "Jesus Movement", a sort of hippie version of discipleship. I was the drummer in a band playing a new genre of music called Christian Rock; some would say an oxymoron. But what had really grabbed my heart was a young lady who is, fifty-two years later, still My Amazing Missus.

So here we are now, the autumn of 2024, and I want to, for some unknown reason, be on record with my voting intentions. This would be a good time to click back to Facebook or to solving a Wordle puzzle, if you haven't gotten bored and done so already.

I will not vote for Donald Trump.

Here's a condensed version of my rationale. He's old. Actually older than Bill Clinton, but a little younger than Jimmy Carter. He's clearly unhinged. He's clearly overweight. As an old (but younger than him) and chunky guy myself, I know a thing or two.

My main motivation for not voting for him though is that he is a despicable person and the antithesis of what I know to be a good leader. My career has afforded me opportunities to hear from some of the best experts in leadership: Ken Blanchard, John Maxwell, Seth Godin, Jack Welch, Daniel Goleman, Stephen R. Covey, Patrick Lencioni, Daniel H. Pink, Marcus Buckingham, Susan Cain, and Jim Collins, just to mention a few. I've read countless books on the subject. It all boils down to a few traits that are common in our ideal of good leadership: Accountability, Empathy, Authenticity, Focus and Vision, Positivity, Stability, The Ability to Build Strong Teams, etc. Trump exemplifies none of these. Consider the elements of Emotional Intelligence in the writings of Daniel Goleman:

Self-awareness – the ability to know one's emotions, strengths, weaknesses, drives, values, and goals and recognize their impact on others while using gut feelings to guide decisions.

Self-regulation – involves controlling or redirecting one's disruptive emotions and impulses and adapting to changing circumstances.

Social skill – managing relationships to get along with others.

Empathy – considering other people's feelings especially when making decisions.

Motivation – being aware of what motivates them.

Trumps obvious traits are selfishness, narcissim, hate, misogyny, racism, lack of respect for marriage and family, no regard for the sanctity of human life, he makes a mockery of faith; from his own mouth, Trump: "Why do I have to repent or ask for forgiveness if I am not making mistakes?"

Lastly, he's a man who calls himself a "very, stable genius," but is so self-unaware. Like the old line goes, he could commit suicide by leaping from his ego to his I.Q.

So many let him off the hook: "That's just the way he is." "He doesn't mean a lot of what he says." "He just says out loud what a lot of us are thinking."

Here's my fear. If we make someone like Trump our leader, then others believe that his becomes the model of strong, effective leadership. Why would we hold up the worst among us as an example of leadership, much less humanity?

The counterpoint is usually:

• "He's the lessor or two evils." To which I mumble to myself, "He's his own brand of evil."

• “I don't like him, but I like his policies.” Surely we can find ways to impact policies AND maintain some semblence of civility, patriotism and democracy.

Let's listen to those who were "in the room(s) where it happened," those who were up close and personal to Trump. Mike Pence his own VP, who is not supporting him. All of the key leaders in his first term have endorsed his opponent, not because they agree with her on every policy point, but for the good of our country.

The last word comes from Liz Cheney: “If people are uncertain, if people are thinking, ‘Well, you know, I’m a conservative, I don’t know that I can support Vice President Harris,’ I would say, ‘I don’t know if anybody is more conservative than I am,’ I understand the most conservative value there is: to defend the Constitution.”