Mistakes

        I mostly remember two things from my high school biology class several decades ago. One was that I was deeply in love with Arlene, a fellow sophomore who was also in the class. Alas, my love was unrequited: She broke my 15-year-old heart by asking one of my best friends to the Sadie Hawkins dance.

​The second thing is the project we did late in the school year called the Vertebrate Study. We had to write a fairly lengthy report on backboned creatures and on the day we turned it in, we were handed a test to gauge what we’d learned from our extensive, pre-internet research. I can’t tell you how many questions there were on that test because I only remember one: Birds are able to fly more easily because their bones are (blank). This was not a fact I’d turned up in my research and I had no idea how to fill in that blank, so I put some spectacularly incorrect answer. 

I will know until my dying day, however, that the bones of birds are hollow. 

​We really do learn from our mistakes. (Well, most of us do. I’m not sure Arlene did.) Our miscues have a way of lodgingfirmly in our memory.Maybe that’s why God seems to revel in using our frequently misguided efforts for good, to teach us some of life’s most important lessons. It’s so in character for him to take something we’ve done wrong and use it to make us wiser and more faithful than we were before. 

​It’s all grace.

​I’ve made, at last count, approximately a zillion mistakes way more serious than the hollow bones thing, and I have a tendency, at times, to think God must be pretty disgusted with me for all that. Lucky for me, and for all of us, he’s never thought the way I do. Maybe it’s that whole “my ways are higher than your ways” thing. His ways are certainly kinder and more patient than mine.

I can cite, for instance, some amazingly inappropriate things that have come out of my mouth at times when I’ve spoken before thinking about it. Some of these episodes are probably where the expression “cringe-worthy” originated. When I’ve consulted with my Maker about episodes like those afterward, I like to think he’s revealed to me not just the errors of my ways but how I might use a more thoughtful, considerate way to communicate in the future. I’ve rushed through events, conversations, tasks, days—all kinds of things, blundering past opportunities that might have been special moments or chances to do my best work. As I’ve thought about those times, I’d like to think that God’s shown me a slower, more present and deliberate approach to the days he’s given me now. I’ve made snap judgments about people and situations many, many times, only to discover repeatedly that this person is totally different than I thought or that something very different than I believed to be happening was really happening. Looking back, I’d like to think that God has used those moments to speak to me about a slower, more present and grounded way to go about my life.

​Spiritual writer Henri Nouwen suggests that we look at our lives with gratitude—the entirety of them. “True gratitude embraces all of life,” he says. “The good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not-so-holy. We do this because we become aware of God’s life, God’s presence in the middle of all that happens.”

​Later, he adds, “Everything that happens is part of our way to the house of the Father.”

​That’s a very redemptive perspective, something else so characteristic of our God. So, despite my life’s wrong turns, I’m working on being grateful for what God has shown me as I live them, and relying on his forgiveness for when my mistakes have caused others pain.

​I think of that sometimes when I see birds soaring by, no longer earthbound thanks to their strong, light, and hollow bones.

       

        Tom Allen

P.S. When I asked Tom to send me a photo of himself that I could put with his column the first one he sent was this…

Robert E. Lee

Yesterday, Robert E. Lee’s monument came down. For me it was a bittersweet moment. Most of my younger friends were ecstatic. Indeed, many of you can’t possibly understand my ambivalence. Much of it is generational. Some of it is the fact that when I was a young history major in college I read scores of biographies about the major players during the Civil War, Union and Confederate. I came away with a profound respect for many of them, great but flawed men. However, my feelings about many of them have changed over the years. The two portraits in the picture below once hung on a wall in my library. They no longer do for a variety of reasons. But in light of yesterday’s events, I remember now a blog I wrote just after the Unite The Right rally in Charlottesville several years ago. I have reprinted the salient passages below:

When it comes to this entire statues controversy, I am not an absolutist. Each generation should have some say in how they interpret history. Although I happen to believe that the Monument Avenue statues are astonishingly beautiful works of art, and think that they are a valid record of the fact that our city was, in fact, the former capital of the Confederacy, I also understand how they might be viewed differently by a rather large segment of the city's population. The legacy of the Antebellum south was one of human bondage, the buying and selling of human beings. This is a fact of history that for many Americans is something that can't and shouldn't be celebrated.

 I am conflicted even as I write this. For over my shoulder on the wall behind me are two portraits hung in my library, one of Robert E. Lee and the other of Thomas Stonewall Jackson. I studied each of these men extensively in college and found them to both be fascinating men, complex, and tortured, whose lives were shot through with great tension and contradictions. Jackson, perhaps the finest  tactician in the history of this country, also nearly was kicked out of his Lexington Presbyterian church for teaching a class full of slave children how to read. The ironies were overwhelming. But, I came away from all of that study with a profound respect for each man's character. So their portraits hang in my library. For some of you reading this, you might be nodding in agreement. Others might be scratching your heads. I get it. I understand the tension, and the disagreements that flow from different readings of history.

But, here's the thing. What would I do if I knew that a family of African Americans were coming over for dinner? And suppose that this particular family had just lost a child at the hands of a white supremicist mob. What would I do with the portraits? You know what? I think I would remove them before they showed up. Not because I no longer cared about Lee or Jackson, but because I care much more about the tender feelings of my friends than I could ever care about a couple of dead generals. This is the essence of my position on statues. Let's all be a little less entrenched in our own positions, and more in tune with the point of view of people who might view them in a different light.

I suppose my bottom line is that I’m glad the Civil War turned out the way it did. Robert E. Lee made the choice to defend his home state of Virginia rather than honor the vow he took upon graduating from West Point as an officer in the United States Army, a decision that caused him a great deal of soul-searching anguish. But, ultimately he made the wrong decision. While his primary motivation may have been a sense of devotion to Virginia, his armies also were defending the institution of slavery, a crime against humanity that no amount of post-war rehabilitation can erase. Had he prevailed, thousands of African-Americans would have been kept in human bondage for years longer than they were. Ultimately, this is the verdict of history, one for which I am grateful.

So, where are these two portraits now? In the attic. The thirteen biographies of Lee, Jackson, Grant, JEB Stuart and Sherman are still in my library, but the portraits are not. They are still worth reading about, but the time for enshrinement has passed.

Father/Daughter Conversations

My daughter and I sometimes have strange text conversations. There are many reasons for this, but one of them is the fact that I am a writer and she is something of an expert in the fine art of understanding the English language…not to mention a fine editor. Consequently, a few days ago this happened:

Me: Hey, I found a list of some of the best words of all time. What do you think?

Bamboozled

Flabbergasted

Discombobulated 

Shenanigans

Cattywampus

Lollygag

Malarkey

Kerfuffle

Brouhaha 

Nincompoop

Skedaddle

Pumpernickel 

Kaitlin: ….Rutabaga

Me: And I would add asshattery, balderdash and knickknackery.

Kaitlin…Hullabaloo

Me: Rhubarb…I think that a day should not pass without using at least five of these words in a sentence.

Kaitlin: Agreed. We may bamboozle people with our shenanigans, but there’s no time for lollygagging!

Me: Enough with this discombobulated asshattery! If that rhubarb pie doesn’t come out of the oven pretty soon, there may very well be a brouhaha amongst the guests!

Kaitlin:…macadamia is another good one, and pomegranate.

Me: How about tomfoolery and pollyanish?

Kaitlin:…Flippertigibbet

Me: Wait…isn’t that Flibbertigibbet?

Kaitlin: Quite right!

Me: Not really sure what that even means.

Kaitlin:…Will-o-the-wisp… something you fiddle with, I think. No, actually it is a frivolous, chatty person.

Me: Now we know then…I’ve always been partial to the word Haphazard. Any word with a P AND a Z has to be on this list.

Kaitlin: Look up Batty-Fang—one of Jon’s favorites. 

Me: You should compile this list for your students and challenge them to write a 200 word essay using all of them!!  Yes. Batty-Fang…what Donald Trump did to the Republican Party.

Who says fathers and daughters don’t have anything substantial to talk about these days??

It’s All About the Throw Pillows…

4:45 AM is a dreadful time of day to wake up. It’s just a bit too early to give up on the idea of drifting back to sleep, yet close enough to your normal wake up time to consider getting up. So, a decision needs to be made. Unfortunately, no one does their best decision making at 4:45 AM. I glance over at Pam and she is enjoying the deep, peaceful sleep of the just. I crawl out of bed, give Lucy a scratch and head downstairs…where I hardly recognize the place. That’s because over the past couple of days, Pam has done a thing.

I believe that I am like most other men in that I could live in a house for two or three decades without ever feeling the urge to…redecorate. If I like the furniture, what on earth would possibly make me not like it? As far as the color scheme goes, I have no opinion one way or the other. I mean, once you hang curtains I feel like they are there for life unless they catch on fire or something, right? But Pam tells me that styles change and that our decor is dated. Our color scheme has outlived its useful life. She is tired of red. I am relieved to learn that our furniture will not have to be replaced since it is a neutral color. But, everything else will. Out with the decade-long reign of red. It has been determined that blue is now the thing. Everything must now be blue…and in our house, there is a lot of everything. Rugs, curtains, bath towels, kitchen towels, pillows, runners, throws and art work all must now conform to the new regime. She left the house two days ago with the credit card. By last night we had accumulated enough points for a trip to Aruba.

The deed is done. Well, nearly done. We still haven’t found art work for the wall behind the sofa. I’m told it is a crucial detail of the project because it will tie everything together. I’m sure this is true and I nod my head as if I completely understand.The problem is, this new artwork will replace my favorite wall hanging in the entire house…

As I recall, this was my only contribution to the last decoration scheme. I love it so much. There’s a Casablanca vibe and the umbrella’s color was perfect. However, it just won’t do any longer. It had a great run though. I’m thinking I will move it upstairs to the TV room. There’s no way I’m putting it in the attic or donating it to Hope Thrift. Plus, if you knew how long it took me to get that whole thing hung perfectly straight you will understand my reluctance to take it down.

But, I must say now that Pam has put all of the new blue stuff in place, it looks amazing. It really is like a new space, all freshly reimagined. It would never have occurred to me that it needed reimagining. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why men like me should always marry women like Pam.

No More COVID Jokes

I’ve learned something the hard way recently. I’ve learned that if you attempt to make a COVID-related joke on Facebook, the comment section turns into a contentious back and forth of name calling, anecdotal evidence which proves nothing, ad hominem attacks and lots of profanity. In other words…The Housewives of Beverly Hills. And while that might be great fun for some of you, I find it tedious, pointless and boring. So, no more virus jokes from me, which is just as well since most COVID jokes are…tasteless.

Here’s the thing, its not like there aren’t some really great COVID jokes out there, but if I post one, someone will inevitably chime in with, “Funny, but actually…”

For example, I could say…What’s the difference between COVID-19 and Romeo and Juliet? One’s the coronavirus and other is a Verona crisis. To which someone would reply, “But, to get the vaccine or to not get the vaccine, that is the question.”

Or I could go with… Back in my day, you would cough to cover up a fart. Now, with COVID-19, you fart to cover up a cough. But if I did someone would point out that the farter in question needed to be wearing a mask!

Of course I could just go with quarantine jokes instead, but they would be problematic too. I could say, “My Mom used to tell me that I would never amount to anything just laying around on the sofa all day. But look at me now, Ma! I’m freaking saving the world!” Or how about, “After years of wanting to thoroughly clean my house but lacking the time, this week I discovered that wasn’t the reason.” Or even, “The World Health Organization announced that dogs cannot contract COVID-19. Dogs previously held in quarantine can now be released. To be clear…WHO let the dogs out.” But if I did, someone out there wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to point out that the World Health Organization is a tool of the Trilateral Commission or something. So, since half of humor is reading the room, I have decided to take a step back from anymore COVID-themed humor.

Its just as well. With COVID jokes it takes two or three days before most people even know they got it.

Trying Times for Optimists

We’ve been at this for 18 months now, this COVID thing. I can hardly remember what life was like before. The virus seems to have changed everything, serving as the catalyst for the ascension of madness in our world. It is the single greatest dividing point in society, having vanquished even Donald Trump, who actually got booed for suggesting that people get vaccinated at one of his recent rallies. The United States of America has jumped the shark.

Here’s how it goes. Normal, well educated people come to wildly opposing conclusions about…literally everything having to do with COVID-19. Someone posts a chart that says that 95% of current hospitalizations for COVID-19 are of the unvaccinated. Someone else then claims that the chart is rigged by lying doctors and hospitals who are making up the admissions data out of ulterior motives like money or pressure from their superiors. So the rest of us are left to try and decide who we chose to believe…the chart or the alleged crooked doctors and hospital administrators. If we side with the chart we are assumed to be liberty-hating authoritarians. If we believe that the vast majority of public health officials across the country are all in on some kind of giant information conspiracy we are left with the obvious conclusion that we are living in the last days. When a conspiracy comes along powerful enough to persuade the nation’s doctors—a notoriously prickly and independent lot—to falsify admissions records in masse, can anything stop it??

Wearing a mask helps stop the spread of the virus.

No it doesn’t. It is simply a tool to enslave us.

The vaccine is enormously effective in not only preventing getting the virus, but also lessening the severity of the symptoms if you do get it.

No. The vaccine is worthless and could possibly contain microbes designed to manipulate the brain, making us more susceptible to mind control.

Wearing a mask is an act of selflessness and a form of respect for the most vulnerable around us.

No. Wearing a mask is a virtue signaling pose by people who want to feel morally superior to everyone else.

It is virtually impossible to find a common ground between these two schools of thought. Where would the point of agreement come between these two world views? I can’t imagine where…and this is why I have never been so discouraged about the state of public discourse in my 63 years.

I am at heart an optimist. When I contemplate the future I tend to think of innovation, progress, and opportunity. It is my belief that the arc of history bends decidedly towards those three things. I mean, 100 years ago the number one cause of death in America was diarrhea, people. The progress we have made in quality of life measures is astonishing and unprecedented. So, I have great reason for optimism. But it is becoming more difficult with each passing day to imagine how the great COVID-divide gets bridged…that doesn’t involve an awful lot of death.

Grinding

I cannot tell you guys just how annoying it is getting old. Some days I feel as good as I have ever felt. Then there are days like today. I am about to head out the door for a morning run. This despite a persistently sore hip that feels as if it might pop out of joint at the slightest provocation. To add insult to injury, about 30 minutes ago I was standing at the kitchen counter waiting for my coffee to brew when I made the mistake of opening a cabinet to retrieve my mug. The mug in question was on the second shelf, consequently it required me to reach up and to the right. This simple movement resulted in an uncomfortable pull in my back between the shoulder blades. I felt a slight pop, and now I have a wonderful new painful pulled muscle to deal with. However, the news is not all bad. My morning trip to the bathroom went off without incident.

Some of you might be thinking (along with my wife) why exactly I am heading out for a 5 miler at such an ungodly hour if I have a bad hip? This is a fair question which has many answers, none of which are satisfying (especially to my wife). First of all, putting in 15-20 miles of road work a week is the only thing insuring that I don’t weigh 300 pounds. Second of all, I do some of my best thinking when I’m dripping in sweat. And lastly…I’m stubborn, a trait I inherited from my sainted mother. When confronted with sore muscles or any number of other humiliations of aging you can either pull back or you can grind through it. You pull back enough and you wake up one day covered in wrinkles, angry at the world and shouting at kids to get off your lawn. If you grind through the pain and humiliation, you at least give yourself a fighting chance.

So, I chose to grind.

But, I always bring my cell phone with me so if I pull up lame I can text Pam to come pick me up!!