Cottonwood

 Back on May the first of this year I started writing a story about a man who is found naked and unconscious in a ditch near Waynesboro, Virginia on August 14th 1939. He is taken to a hospital in Charlottesville where he remains unconscious for two weeks, finally waking up on September 1st, the day that German tanks are pouring into Poland marking the beginning of WWII. When he wakes up he has no memory of who he is, what year it is or where he is.

At the time I had no idea what would happen to this character. All I had on May the first was this setup. Two days ago I finished the story, 100,000 words later. It turned out to be my sixth novel. It is also the sixth time I have started telling a story on the slimmest pretext of an idea only to have the idea mutate into a novel. I have no idea how this happens. It is seldom planned—“I think I’ll begin writing a novel today”—they always take me 8-9 months to complete and they are always crazy fun to write. And…when I finish them I battle two competing emotions. Relief and sadness. I will miss these people.

Not to give anything away but, it turns out that the man in the ditch got there by way of a time travel mishap from the year 2078. Although he has no memory he is endowed with a variety of abilities that serve him well in his new environment and a few which baffle him. The story is basically the story of how he finds his way building a life for himself and the people he encounters along the way, some who he grows to love and others who have come to “take him back”.

Now I’ve started the process of going back to page one to proofread and make some changes that a few of my designated readers have suggested. Then sometime next year I will attempt to get it published. What’s the title, you ask? I’m not sure. Working title has been John Doe, but I’m thinking about calling it either Cottonwood or The Cottonwood Tree.

I’ll keep you posted.

Our Week With Silas

 Let me set the scene before I get into this particular post since it might provide context and give Pam and me at least the slimmest cover from accusations of being helicopter grandparents.

The week of Thanksgiving was to be a cozy event featuring all seven members of the family being together with Silas, and notably the little guy’s first Thanksgiving. As many of you know all of our plans were torpedoed by a raging stomach bug that ran roughshod through the Manchester household in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. To make matters worse, this was followed by colds that afflicted all three of them. In the midst of the angst felt by everyone on account of such a lost opportunity for memory making Pam made the off the cuff suggestion to Kaitlin that maybe we could come down the following week and look after Silas while they went back to work, keeping him out of the Petri dish convention that is the day care industry. Notice that Pam didn’t first run this idea by me to see if I was on board with the idea for the perfectly understandable reason that she knew that I would say “YES”.

So, we piled in the car and went down to Columbia, South Carolina last Sunday morning and arrived back home Saturday afternoon. As soon as we pulled out of their driveway Pam looks at me and said, “Its December 6th and I have not bought one single Christmas present.” She thought that since she was retired this Christmas would be a leisurely frolic through Christmas websites as she did her shopping on her laptop in her pajamas while sipping hot cocoa, unencumbered by the pressure and constraints of the calendar. But those fanciful dreams were before the arrival of Silas Nathaniel Manchester. 

Our week with them was no picnic. Being in charge of a six month old baby experiencing sleep difficulties ie…when he should sleep he disagrees after the first 30 minutes…is not for the faint of heart. Moreover, listening to a baby crying for ten minutes while they attempt to fall asleep makes you feel like a monster, deliberately withholding love and comfort from the sweetest little human on Planet Earth. But, other than his aversion to taking naps—something I should point out he will love when he gets to be his Pops’ age—he was about as perfect a six month old as was ever born on God’s green earth.

The schedule was relentless. He wakes up in the morning. We get his parents out the door to work. We give him bottle #1. He destroys it like he hasn’t eaten in a week. We change his diaper. We play with him for 2 hours at a variety of very cool play-stations strewn throughout their home which before his arrival was already smallish, but now resembles an obstacle course designed by Willy Wonka. There’s a standing play circle, two activity centers that feature various dazzling attractions hanging just out of reach—a diabolical scheme which I don’t fully comprehend but the little guy is intrigued. Then there’s story time where Pam and I read him a selection of truly wonderful books for little ones, many of which feature animals making noises. These books never grow old for him or us. 

Then its time to pick out his outfit of the day since up to this point he is still in his adorable pajamas from last night that Pam can’t bring herself to remove since it was one that she bought for him. But, we finally find a stunning new Carter’s special that was all the rage on the Gerber catwalks last fall, one which my wife could not possibly resist buying back when he was two days old. He looks like a million bucks and I make a mental note to see if Carter’s is a publicly traded company. 

After the new outfit is in place its time for his first nap of the day. In this tricky exercise we are aided in no small way by modern technology. First there is this clever night light/noise machine which turns on and off with a mere wave of the hand. Then, of course, there’s the surveillance camera above the crib that sends live pictures and sound to our cell phones (and God knows where else). That way not only can we hear him crying, we get to have the fully immersive experience of watching him in agony. I am told that this represents progress.

Anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and 45 minutes later, he wakes up and gives us a ridiculously irresistible smile…and it starts all over again until mercifully between 5:00 and 6:00 in the evening his parents get home from work to find me trapped on the floor playing with little man since I have no choice because I can’t get up without assistance and Pam is busy making dinner! We had five days of this. Was it hard? Yes. Does it sound exhausting? Sure. But it was also quite surprisingly energizing. In five short days I wrote the last three entire chapters of the novel I’ve been working on since May the first. Somewhere between sleep training, diapers, and teaching Silas to throw left handed, I had enough creative energy to write the hardest 12,000 words of the story.

At this point I should say that Silas’ parents are killing it. Everything is brand new for them and they are rolling with the punches like seasoned vets. When they look at him you can see it in their eyes, this deep and abiding love. They overwhelm him with this love because it’s the only thing that feels equal to the moment.

Before we left I told my daughter that there was no place Pam and I could have been, nothing that we could have been doing this week that was more important than this. I meant every word.

Feels Like Christmas

 We got here around 5:15 yesterday afternoon. Pam had called Kaitlin over Thanksgiving suggesting that maybe all of them could stand a break from daycare for a week. Would she be ok with us coming down and keeping Silas for a week, cooking dinner for them and allowing him to fully recover from his cold before going back to daycare? It took her around five seconds to say, Yes please!

So, here we are. We hadn’t seen him in a month. He’s gotten so big and can do so many more things. At first his response to us was tentative, like maybe we looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place us. But it didn’t take long before he was smiling and being adorable. Last night I got to read him books right before he went to bed. I was sitting in the rocking chair in his room and Pam was kneeling down beside him. As I read he kept looking at Pam and then twisting his head around to look up at me as if to say, Lolli and Pops are both here reading to me! How great is this?

Kaitlin and Jon left for work around an hour ago. It’s just the three of us now. Pam is putting him down for his morning nap. Every time I look at him my heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

We will be here for a week. By the time we head home on Saturday we will both be worn out. But somehow having this whole week with him feels like Christmas. 

Missing The Little One

 We didn’t get to see him. But I wore everyone out showing them pictures of the boy. Christmas is coming and hopefully nobody will get sick and have to stay home in Columbia. Even though it was a wonderful day together with my big beautiful family, I missed him so much. And yes, of course I missed his Mom and Dad too. 

Preventative maintenance

 On the surface this Thanksgiving is a big disappointment. Pam and I had been looking forward to it for weeks, all of our kids would be here and it would be our first Thanksgiving as grandparents. I planned on spending most of my time playing with him, reading to him, watching him sleep etc etc..But then we got the news that Little Silas had gotten his first cold about the same time that his Mom and Dad came down with a stomach bug. The timing could not have been more sinister. So the whole first Thanksgiving thing isn’t going to happen.

But, life goes on and Thanksgiving is a time to celebrate the blessings of life and by any measure I have much to celebrate. Patrick and Sarah arrived this past Sunday evening and we have thoroughly enjoyed their company all week. Their Golden, Frisco, has been his customarily delightful self. Lucy has loved having guests. As I write this they are downstairs preparing three different varieties of baklava to bring to Linda’s house tomorrow where my side of the family will be together for the afternoon.

This is my first Thanksgiving Day as a retiree, which reminds me of yet another reason I have to be grateful. I was rehearsing all of my many blessings the other day on the drive to my doctor’s office for my annual check-up, its usually the way I hype myself up for what I have always considered a morbid exercise. “Hello Mr. Dunnevant. Hop up on that bed and let’s see how much damage you’ve managed to do to yourself since this time last year!

This was my first “Medicare Wellness Exam”. I was not prepared for all of the mental aquity questions—Can you recite the months of the year in reverse order? What year is it? Have you contemplated suicide in the past six months?

Me: No…but these questions are making me consider it.

Anyway, all was well except for the fact that my doctor was not impressed with my plan for living a long and healthy life in retirement—My plan is to stop going to doctors because thats where all the sick people are. Her reaction to this logic was very similar to Pam’s, and she proceeded to chastise me for neglecting things like dental appointments, colonoscopies and whatnot. She gave me a list of four different doctors I needed to schedule appointments with ASAP. Then she said something like…Mr. Dunnevant, are you listening to me? While you’re at it, maybe you should get a hearing test! My doctor is kinda badass which makes her a lot easier to tolerate.

So, I did as I was told and set all the required appointments. Pam was 100% on my doctor’s side, explaining that these appointments were the equivalent of normal upkeep on a house or a car. This is preventative maintenance, Honey. 

Of course it is. Makes total sense. Or…it might also be a sinister shakedown conspiracy hatched by a consortium of local physicians to boost their revenue so they can buy their sixth vacation home.

Just kidding about that last part…sorta

Last Words

 About two weeks ago I wrote a scene in the novel I’ve been working on since May that has stayed with me ever since. It involved a character who was dying and had the rare opportunity that few dying people have—to gather the kids around and pass along final thoughts. Ever since I wrote it I’ve thought about what on Earth I would say if I were afforded such a forum. What a daunting task, one final chance to give them something infinitely meaningful. For the rest of their lives they would say to each other, “You remember what Dad told us at the end?”

The hardest part of this project would be deciding which of the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime would be included. I’ve learned many things that while helpful to me weren’t exactly life changing. I wouldn’t want to waste my final words on inconsequential things. There are also things I’ve learned that my kids learned long before I ever did. Of course there’s always the chance that in the moment you might go on and on about something that you are convinced is beneficial but might end up being terrible advice. So, the whole bedside blessing thing is fraught with peril.

My character killed it, by the way…left them moved and inspired. I’m not sure I could do as well because…well, because I’m not a fictional character. Nevertheless I have spent quite a bit of time thinking about this and have distilled those thoughts down to just a few, unrelated thoughts as follows:

“I believe there are three types of people in the world, those who always think that they are capable of greater things than they actually are, those who always think they aren’t good enough to do great things, and those who never even think about great things.”

I would rather you be the first type of person, always attempting, always reaching for great things. But whatever you do, don’t be the person who never thinks about grand things. That’s an unexamined, unchallenged life.

Now, I know what some of you might be thinking..isn’t that setting them up for disappointment? After all, not everyone is great. My answer to that objection is simple. What’s so horrible about disappointment? Some of the best things I’ve ever accomplished in my life grew out of the soil of failure and disappointment. And, what is this “everyone isn’t great” balderdash? The trouble with that mindset is that it is based on a flawed concept of greatness. Its the Tom Brady, Elon Musk brand of greatest which is always measured with numbers.

How do I define greatness? Let me tell you by giving you some examples from my own life.

Even though I worked 30 hours a week for the four and a half years it took me to graduate from University of Richmond I still graduated with a debt that it took ten years to pay off which I did in full and on time. Does that qualify as great? I think so.

I married a woman who was much more than merely beautiful, she was raised right by parents who taught her about love, kindness and generosity. We have stayed married through good and bad for the past 41 years. Great? I think so.

We managed to bring two humans into this world, struggled mightily not only to provide for them but to protect them from harm while trying desperately to teach them right from wrong. They are now grown adults who have built beautiful lives for themselves and have never once embarrassed us. I believe this to be my greatest single achievement.

For me this is where the “greatness” ends. I’m not sure anything else qualifies. Yes, I built a business from scratch and had a reasonably successful career. That was good fortune, not greatness. Yes, I’ve written this reasonably entertaining blog for 14 years along with a bunch of other short stories and novels. That doesn’t qualify as “greatness”. That’s just a really fun and fulfilling hobby.

“Never stop learning. Always pursue improvement. Never wave off bad behavior in yourself as something you were born with. Bullshit. I was born with an aggressive, naturally occurring bluntness that morphed into rudeness by the time I was a working adult. I had to learn the kindness and thoughtfulness that seemed to come naturally to people like my wife. It took work and learning how to apologize. The fruits of the spirit in my faith are traits that have to be practiced and even if it is a lifelong project it will be worth the struggle.”

This one comes with a caveat. As a Christian I benefit from a liberal dose of grace in my pursuit of improvement.

“Finally, I would say…if there’s one passage of scripture that it would behoove you to memorize and apply to your life its this one found in Ephesians 4:32:

“Be kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”

I have nothing to add to this truth.

So, that’s what I’ve come up with over the last two weeks of pondering this “last words” thing. Unlike my character, whose blessing was beautifully rendered with grace and brevity, I would probably have expired halfway through this screed. 

Hopefully I’ll have many, many years to work on it.

Always, forever learning….

A Question For the Church

 About 25 years ago I was approached by a minister at my church who had a proposal for me to consider. He said that he thought I would make a great Sunday School teacher for a class of rambunctious 9th grade boys. I looked at him like he had two heads and tried not to laugh. To his credit he was honest with me about the challenges that this particular group of delinquents would present since they had run off their two previous teachers. I then offered what I believed to be a mic drop, conversation ender—Gary, you’ve got the wrong guy. I really don’t like teenagers.

Gary didn’t bat an eye. His response was…That’s ok. Would you at least take a couple days to pray about it? And if you don’t have any love for teenagers, just ask God to give you some.

I told him I would—with no intention of actually praying about it—because that’s what you do when a really nice guy asks you to. The problem was that after that conversation I couldn’t get the thing out of my mind. So, against my better judgment, I prayed about it.

To make a long and pretty cool story short, That conversation led to a ten year run of working with teenagers and another four years with college students at my church, one of the most gratifying experiences of my life. So, what’s the point of telling you all this? Its simple.

Be careful what you pray for.

I went from a guy who couldn’t stand humans in the 13-19 year old range to a guy who began to understand them, and have tremendous empathy for them…almost overnight. It was truly a miraculous thing. Now…to be transparent here, as soon as my 14 year run was over I kinda went back to not being crazy about them again, although at least now I don’t dislike them. It’s hard to explain.

But I’ve been thinking about this experience a lot lately because of something that’s been bothering me for the past five years or so. No matter how I try to word this, it will run the risk of landing poorly with many of the people who read this blog, but when I look around me these days I see a giant empty space in the church where love used to be.

I have always been in the habit of asking myself difficult questions. I always question my motives and attitudes about things, trying to find dishonesty and hypocrisy. When I do I often find plenty of both. I don’t make this admission glibly…it is a serious defect in my character that needs constant work.

So, one of the questions I wish the church would ask itself is this: What are we known for? In other words, when people outside the church think about us, what would they say is our defining characteristic?

Jesus gives us the answer in John chapter13 verses 34-35 when he says:

A new commandment I give unto you, That you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, If you have love one to another.

Many of you are members of churches where love is often on display. My church is full of very loving people who demonstrate their love in countless ways. Are we perfect in this regard? Absolutely not. We all have weak spots, people who are difficult to love. But to belong to a church where people love you is a tremendous blessing.

But is this what the church is known for? Any fair minded person would have to admit that no, this is not the first word that pops into most people’s minds when the topic of church comes up. I would suggest that we are mostly known for:

- judgment

- politics

- scandal

- What we’re against

If one were to travel back in time, say 150 years or so, and ask this same question—What is the church known for—You might have gotten answers like these:

- founding universities 

- building hospitals 

- establishing the YMCA and the Salvation Army

This is not to say that the church in other eras was without serious issues. Many churches were staunch supporters of slavery, in other times many churches were more supportive of Bull Conner than Martin Luther King. The church, made up as it is of flawed human beings is never an accurate reflection of the teachings of our founder. Far from it, but I believe that today might be the farthest that we have strayed from the words of Jesus found in the Gospel of John.

This is also not some kind of milk toast call for watering down the clear commands of scripture when it comes to how we live our lives. Yes, there are things that the church needs to stand against and unapologetically so. But it is possible to love people even when you don’t love everything they do. Jesus loved us in spite of our rebellion and disobedience, despite our self centered pursuits. Surely, we can learn to love people who don’t agree with us, right? If a 42 year old man who couldn't stand teenagers could be given a deep and abiding love for them just because he asked God for it, anything is possible.

Right?