The Kids Are Alright

I have written many times in this space about my experiences with teenagers during the time I was involved in youth ministry at Grove Avenue. So many years have passed since those days there’s always the danger that I have romanticized the experience beyond recognition. We tend to do that with our memories. But yesterday I was reminded of why I loved working with teenagers so much. I received a long text from one of my favorite kids from those years. She is now a grown woman with a grown up job in another state. Before I share her words with you, a little background.

All teenagers might be created equal, but they don’t stay equal for long. Some of them, by the time I got them were disasters. Others were fragile flowers who I couldn’t imagine surviving in the real world as adults. Still others looked to me like sure things, confident, smart and engaging. In my ten years of youth ministry I met all kinds of kids, but I always seemed to have a soft spot for the ones with the rougher edges. These were the kids who asked the hardest questions, the ones who didn’t always say or do the right thing. They could be counted on to say just about anything, often inappropriate things. In other words, these were the kids who reminded me of exactly who I was at 17. This girl was one of those kids.

Each year, a group of kids would graduate out of the group and either go off to college or out into the workforce. Occasionally I would take one of them aside with a proposition that went like this:

“OK, kiddo. I want to make a deal with you. I want to give you something...but there are strings attached!!”

Then I would hand them a clean, crisp $100 bill. Their eyes would light up, but because these were unique kids, their eyes would narrow a bit...”Mister D, what are you up to??”

Then I would explain that this $100 bill was special. I wanted them to fold it neatly and hide it in their wallet and forget that it’s in there for a while. “One day,” I would say, “this $100 dollar bill is going to come in handy. There’s no telling what it might do. You might be presented with an investment opportunity, there might be an emergency that comes up where this forgotten 100 bucks will come to the rescue, the possibilities are endless. But there’s a catch....whatever you spend it on and no matter where you are when you do...you have to track me down and tell me the story.”

So, yesterday, I got this:

Hey Mister D! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about this when it happened!  I drove to the Atlanta airport and parked my car in long term parking to go home for Christmas and the whole ride on the shuttle bus, I just kept thinking I wanted to give the driver the $100 bill. I’d never had such an overwhelming feeling about it all the years I’ve had it. He was just this sweet older middle aged black man talking about barbeque and his family, nothing special or that gave an impression he was particularly in need. But I got off the shuttle, told him about how you’d given me something when I graduated and said if I ever felt compelled to give it to someone, I should. And that I’d had it for almost 7 years and never felt compelled but I did tonight, and handed him the bill. He got teary eyed and hugged me and told me I’d blessed him and we wished each other a merry Christmas and I left to get on my flight! I don’t know how it blessed him or to what extent, but I really felt the Holy Spirit compelling me for some reason I’ll probably never know. I had actually forgotten about it since moving to Georgia, and sitting on the bus all of a sudden I just thought, “you have that $100 bill in your wallet” and couldn’t stop feeling that I needed to give it to him.

When I read this note emotions started welling up in me from all over the place. I pictured this spunky kid embracing the stunned shuttle driver, two total strangers hugging in an airport parking lot, wishing each other a merry Christmas. He will tell the story of the crazy white girl who gave him a $100 dollar bill with a tear in his eye for the rest of his life. How much will that story, that memory, be worth to him?

Nowadays, in some circles, it has become fashionable to rag on Millennials. Well, I worked with two or three hundred of them more than a decade ago before anyone was throwing that word around as an epitaph. I publish this story in part because it was such a blessing to me, but also as a reminder of something I know for a fact...the kids are alright.

Dinner With My Friend

Some disjointed thoughts after a very, very long day yesterday...

- Very relieved that the huge gun rights rally at the Capital proceeded so peacefully. With such a throng of people packed into such a small place, mixed with high passion and thousands of firearms, it could easily have degenerated into a catastrophe. The fact that it didn’t speaks well not only of the attendees, but also the law enforcement men and women in charge of security. Well done.

- Left the house at 7:00am. 700 miles later, rolled back into Short Pump at 10:00pm. Along the way I was able to have dinner with these people...

That’s my friend on the left sporting the latest in Cancer-chic headwear, her husband in the middle—the rose between two thorns—and her daughter on the right. This was the first time I had actually visited her since all this started. She made homemade soup. There were barbecued ribs and a ridiculous chocolate concoction for dessert. She kept apologizing for how she looked. “I have no hair. My skin is peeling off my hands and this hoodie makes me look fat!” To which I say...balderdash. 

I was expecting the worst. After everything this woman has endured for the past five months, I was expecting a hollowed out, emaciated  shell. Instead, she greeted me at the door with her customary smile, running her mouth a mile a minute like always. Yes, she has clearly been through a war and has the scars to prove it, but it’s still her, same smile, same personality, same generosity, same unquenched optimism.

But seriously y’all ...she has got to get well soon. This morning’s jokes...

“Happy day, friend.” 

 

Shameless Plug Time

  “Everyone knows him as a good man, proud father, loving husband, and successful businessman. But when Jack Rigsby’s wife is brutally murdered in the parking lot of a convenience store his life descends into an abyss of guilt and grief, made worse by the discovery that her killer has a connection to a secret from his past. Saving Jack is a story of betrayal, secrets, grief and the limits of forgiveness.”

 

This...is happening. It’s at the printer. Haven’t figured out the e-book thing yet, but the paperbacks are on the way. If you want one, let me know. $10

The Astros and Sign Stealing

This past week was the week that baseball lost its collective mind. The hammer came down on the Houston Astros for sign stealing during the 2017 World Series. Their GM and Manager both got fired along with two other big league managers implicated in the scandal. For Major League Baseball this is a big deal, the biggest scandal since the steroid debacle fifteen years ago. First, a tutorial:

So, the Astros brass figured out a way to steal signs by watching a monitor back in the clubhouse of the opposing catcher giving the pitcher signs for what to pitch. As soon as the guys figured out the sequence of signs they would bang on a trash can in the hallway between the clubhouse and the dugout loudly enough for the batter to hear. My understand is the only thing that was communicated by the trash can banging was whether the pitch was a fastball or an off speed pitch, but just that information would be invaluable for a big league hitter. Which is why baseball players have been stealing signs since Christ was a corporal. What makes this sign stealing different, I suppose, is the level of technological sophistication. Especially after an unproven rumor began circulating that several Astros hitters were wearing small devices under their uniforms that buzzed before each pitch to alert them to what was coming. What a mess.

Here’s my take on all of this. Baseball, despite its reputation as an unchanging game mired in its history and traditions, actually has changed quite a lot during the 50 years or so that I have been a deranged fan. In the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, when I fell in love with the game, players tried to steal signs all the time. Some were more successful than others, but sign stealing was ubiquitous. Whenever a runner would reach second base he would peer in to try to decipher what signs the opposing catcher was sending the pitcher and then by some facial expression or hand gesture try to relay that info to his teammate in the batter’s box. Smarter pitchers and catchers changed their signs frequently during games to combat this thievery. Other pitchers, like Bob Gipson or Don Drysdale, if they suspected a player was attempting to steal signs would simply aim a 90 miles per hour fastball at the offending player’s ear hole...and that would take care of that. Back then, if sign stealing got “out of hand” the players themselves would put a stop to it by setting players up...putting down a sign for a curve ball, then busting the guy high and tight with heat, knocking the poor guy on his ass. Today, that sort of thing is frowned upon in the big leagues. You throw a pitch anywhere near a guy’s head and you get a warning from the umpire. The next one brings your ejection. Sometimes even curve balls that drift too far inside make modern players want to fight. It’s a different game.

But, having said all that, the Astros did cross a line. The lengths they went to, the technology they set up, all the subterfuge seemed excessive. So, I support the firings of the Astros brass. But, at the same time, I know that probably over half the teams in baseball steal signs, maybe not as expertly as the Astros, but they steal signs nonetheless. And these punishments will not end sign stealing in baseball. Every business, at the highest levels always seeks out edges. Everybody looks for an advantage over the competition. It’s part of how human beings are hardwired. So, part of me rolls my eyes when I hear all these baseball fans taking to their fainting couches over this...I’m shocked, shocked to discover cheating in baseball!!! Please people. Give me a break!

Terror in Texas

Bloodthirsty Squirrel Leaves 2 Hospitalized, Neighbors Hiding Out During Daytime

I saw this screaming headline on Drudge this morning and immediately felt sweet vindication. Many of you have rolled your collective eyes at my determination to rid my property of these tree rats. Doug, you all said, they’re adorable...God’s creatures, learn to coexist in harmony with them, you all said. Well, this is what happens to you when you start playing nice with these killers.

“When I stepped outside the door he leaped on me and bit my arm, I pulled him off, threw him to the ground, and tried to get in the house,” said French-Amezquita. “I couldn’t get in the house because he came back, he bit this leg.”

My heart goes out to poor Mrs. French-Amezquita. But reading through this sad story I came across this statement:

“Residents have contacted both animal control and the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department but were told that until someone traps the squirrel they cannot remove it.”

Excuse me? This isn’t Connecticut or Massachusetts we’re talking about here, this is freaking Don’t Mess With Texas!! The only option these fine people have of ridding themself of this outrageous menace is to trap the thing? Wait...WHAT?? I am told that there are 750,000 legally registered firearms in the State of Texas, making Texas the most heavily armed state in the Union. It would seem to me that someone in the Bridgeland Shores neighborhood of Houston needs to grow a pair, march over to Mrs. French-Amezquita’s place with a a shotgun and a box of shells and rain down some hell-fire justice on this marauding killer. Order needs to be restored in Bridgeland Shores. People need to be able to walk outside onto their decks without fear of being attacked. I mean, what in Sam Hill is the 2nd Amendment for if not this??

Ralph Northern’s Gun Ban

My opinion of Ralph Northern is well known to readers of this blog. I consider old blackface an embarrassment to the Commonwealth, a virtue signaling moron and a pandering idiot. But right now he is getting ripped for doing the right thing by people who should know better.

Yesterday, the Governor declared that guns would be banned on the grounds of the State Capital for the duration of a planned gun rights rally to be held there next Monday. The ban will be lifted the following day. He has declared a state of emergency for the day of the rally. He claims that the State Police have received credible threats of violence for the upcoming event which prompted the move. Gun rights advocates have been hyperventilating on social media ever since declaring this the beginning of the end for America. Time out.

Two years ago, a similar gathering of citizens in Charlottesville ended in death and violence. The city government was ravaged for its lack of planning and foresight. Now, with that horrible memory no doubt on his mind, he seems concerned with avoiding another Charlottesville. Accordingly, he has not only moved to ban guns but also anything else that could serve as a weapon like baseball bats, sticks, shields and clubs. Social media has become inundated with far right militia groups vowing to attend (many from out of state). The governor is not canceling the rally, but he is trying to remove the potential for violence. If he does possess credible threats of violence and does nothing to try to stop it, these same people ripping him for the ban would crucify him for inaction. In light of the current raised level of passion and intensity in our politics, it seems to me to be a justified precaution, a prudent preemptive action to protect the safety of all the protesters. It’s a 24 hour ban on weapons on the grounds of the State Capital during a gun rights rally in 2020, but to hear the gun rights crowd tell it, Ralph Northern is the new Joe Stalin, preparing his shock troops for door to door confiscation. Listen, just because our Governor is a dork doesn’t mean that every single thing he does is an assault on liberty.

I am not naive. I fully understand where the Governor stands on gun rights. He and his Party are in favor of restrictions on the second amendment that I don’t believe are constitutional. But that’s not what this is. This is a Governor being cautious about a pending rally that might be attended by members of militia groups with reputations for violence. Now, he claims to be in possession of evidence of credible threats of such violence. What if he is lying? Suppose his “evidence” is bogus and he is merely using it as an excuse to curb the rights of citizens, even if it is for only 24 hours? That would be different. But I haven’t arrived yet at the place where I must ascribe nefarious motives to every move a politician who I don’t particularly care for makes. I assume that if he says the State Police has credible threats...they have credible threats. In which case he is doing what any Governor would and should do.

Even old Blackface, like a broken clock, can be right at least twice a day.

Spinning Plates and Juggling Chainsaws

Today is January the 15th, two weeks into the new year and I’m already feeling overwhelmed. A little like this guy...

...minus the tattoos. 

Multi-tasking is the thing. Everyone of us is asked to multi-task all the time. The ability to do more than one thing at a time, competently, is a basic requirement of adult life. It’s nothing new, this multi-tasking thing. My mother called it “having a lot of irons in the fire.” Of course, women have been multi-tasking since the dawn of time. They can make lunches for three kids, cook breakfast, make a grocery list, lay out clothes for everyone, drink coffee, line up a car pool, put on mascara, and finish up a lesson plan for 30 first graders all before 7:30 in the morning. Men can multi-task too, but we tend to complain about it more...like this blog writer.

Here’s the thing, I have always had multiple plates spinning simultaneously in my head. Kinda like this guy...

I could be working up a proposal for a client, setting appointments, paying bills, arguing with a colleague, and reading the box scores all at the same time without missing a beat. I can still do all these things. But when I do them all at the same time, more often than not, the proposal for my client features a spirited discussion of why it is that my stupid colleague thinks that the National’s starting pitcher shouldn’t have been yanked from last night’s game after only 116 pitches and oh by the way, my cable bill is past due. These days I am forced to spend money on expensive apps that help me remember stuff. Although they are worth every penny, they aren’t foolproof. Just the other day I noticed on my phone log that a client had called 24 hours ago. There wasn’t a red check mark beside her name indicating that I had returned her call. I pride myself in always returning client calls same day, so I briefly panicked. Did I return her call? I honestly couldn’t remember! I had no choice but to call her and make sure:

Me: Hello Peggy. Listen, I hate to do this but...did I call you back yesterday?

Peggy: (cackling laughter) Doug! What? Do you have Alzheimer’s?? Of course you did! You answered my question and I took your advice.

Me: (nervous laughter) ...ha...well that’s a relief!

Then it all came back to me. I remembered the call and the conversation. All is well.

Yesterday afternoon within a matter of ten minutes, I answered three telephone calls from clients asking three different questions about three totally different things, all of which required an answer within the next hour. After hanging up the phone my cell buzzed at me with an urgent email from my accountant reminding me that I had to file a form I had never previously been required to file before the end of the week. Then I received a text from a friend with disturbing medical news concerning a mutual friend. Then a report from another friend about a doctor’s appointment gone bad. Then my phone buzzed: “Doug, your 2:00 appointment is here.” No, I hadn’t forgotten that I had a 2:00 appointment, but how in God’s name could it possibly be 2:00 already??!! I quickly tidied up, sat the client’s file on my desk and confidently strolled out to the lobby, the very picture of professional calm. Inside I’m thinking...How many days until Maine?