Oats 'n' Beans

MY FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE was at a Baptist university in Oklahoma. I won’t mention the name of it because my son teaches there now, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass him or the school. As a PK (preacher’s kid), I might have had a bag or two of wild oats to sew, and the freedom of being away at college seemed to be fallow ground. Thankfully though, my choices didn’t result in excommunication, disownment, shunning, or arrest.

Well, as it turns out, there are appartently a few oats left in my bag. I sowed a few this morning.

As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up in a Southern Baptist tradition. And while at times it seemed that fun in any form was frowned upon, I value those times. If the old axiom, “Boys will be boys,” is true, then it is also true that Baptist Boys will be too.

One of my first nights at the Baptist university, I heard a student come in to the dorm late one night singing at the top of his lungs, “I was sinking deep in sin. Wheeeee!” It dawned on me: you get a bunch of preacher’s kids, deacon’s kids, and missionary’s kids together, you might just have a bumper wild oat crop.

While the “sins” of my 60s are less daring and thrilling than those in the 60s, they are there nonetheless. Thankfully they are still forgiven—at least by God; hopefully also by those who have been hurt by my selfishness.

So today’s oats were sewn over a cup of coffee. Starbucks Coffee. I know, I know. Here’s the deal though: I will not let paranoid, fundamentalists shame me for drinking the only adult beverage I can enjoy guilt free.

Coffee is too important to American Christianity to slow its flow in any way. You want to see a church split and a pastor fired, try removing the coffee pot from the fellowship hall. You know that glimpse we get in the Bible of Jesus at the wedding feast? The only thing that would make Baptists love that story more is if Jesus had turned the water into a hot, never-ending urn of Folger’s coffee.

So, call me a rebel if you must, but I will dring deep from my dark roast Starbucks. I will drink it from a white cup or I will dring it from a red cup. I will drink it black and I will drink it up. I will not feel guilt, I will not feel shame, I will not boycot the Starbucks name. I totally agree it cost to much, but I don’t spend much on treats and such. So here’s to you my christian friend. Let’s raise our red cups, amen? Amen!

Going Up or Down?

IN ONE OF THE BUILDINGS where I work there is an elevator. The building has two floors. For some reason the control panel on the inside of the elevator has a button that says “1” and a button that says “2”. It really bothers me. It is a choice that promises options, but there is only one way you can go, up or down, depending on what floor you are on. Why not just have one button that says, “Go”!

I feel suddenly old. This feeling (reality) was brought on by an event that has made age more apparent to me than any passing birthday ever has. I signed up for Medicare.

I didn’t want to do it. I plan to work for several more years and have health coverage at work, but Big Brother sent me an ominous warning that if I didn’t sign up NOW, I “c(w)ould” be penalized with higher premiums for the rest of my days here on earth.

There was a questionnaire. Best I can remember the questions went something like this. I’m paraphrasing because I don’t actually remember the questions. I was under a dark and ominous cloud as I was reading it. The answers seemed to be like the buttons on our elevator—promising options but really only having one choice.

___YES: You freely admit to your government that you are elderly?
___YES: You understand that you have no choice but to nuzzle up to the teet of Uncle Sam’s big ol’ sow (mother pig)?
___YES: Aren’t you glad now you paid all those taxes?
___YES: You do realize and acknowledge that the actual dollars you and your employers have coughed up over the years are actually vapor, your government may or may not have saved your money on your behalf?
___YES: You understand that the Republicans could kill the fatted sow (mother pig) with the next election if the Democrats don’t drain her dry first.

Maybe I’m sounding a little bitter and cynical. Get over it. I’m old. It’s my right. Satire is fun, isn’t it? Or is it (satire)?

Welcome To The Island

Remember when Jack Nicholson asked Tom Cruise, “You want answers?” To which Tom replied, “I want the truth!”

Then Jack told Tom, “You can’t handle the truth!!”

Of course this was just a movie; a movie called A Few Good Men. But do you ever wonder if we really can handle the truth? How about reality? Doesn’t it all just seem to real sometimes?

I’ve fully admitted in writing, in virtual ink here on this blog, more than a time or two, that I can be prone to daydreaming, being lost in creative thinking. That sounds so much better than “living in a fantasy world.”

“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.”

— Edgar Allan Poe

Psychologists have names for those who lose touch with reality. But I wonder sometimes if, as a people collectively, you know,  we are blurring the lines between fantasy and reality a little much.

Here’s a poor example: Back when I was a kid, my heros (professional athletes) played for one team their whole career—Mantle, Maris, Berra, Spahn, Unitas, Griese, Sayers…

Jerry Seinfeld does this amazing comedy bit about the weirdness of this, pointing out that we don’t really cheer for the players anymore, we cheer for the uniforms. Here, watch this.

Now though it’s even worse. We don’t even cheer for the laundry, the team brand. Now we have “fantasy” teams.

According to the Fantasy Sports Trade Association (Yes, the FSTA), there are now 33 million people playing fantasy football each year. 

Research provided by Ipsos found that Americans spend an estimated $800 million annually on all fantasy sports media products. What is harder to quantify is the amount of money gambled in the process. — Forbes magazine.

And it’s not just fantasy sports, but how about that whole thing called “reality TV shows”. Reality, really!?

“Sunday Night Football” play-by-play icon Al Michaels has a solid theory about why so many people still tune in to football, despite the NFL being plagued with public scandals like seemingly never before: “The only real reality television is live sports.”

I feel better now.

Of course escapism isn’t new. We’ve always, all of us, enjoyed a bit of fantasy. I hate to be the one to break the news, but Mother Goose wasn’t a real mother or a real goose. The Three Pigs? The only real thing about this one is the lesson that can be learned—brick is better.

The top three fantasy movies are The Lord of The Rings movies. I enjoyed those a lot, but here are a few of my favorites on the IDMB 100 Top Fantasy Movies:

• Groundhog Day
• The Tree of Life
• Stranger Than Fiction
• About Time
• Monty Python and The Holy Grail
• The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe
• The Wizard of Oz
• Field of Dreams
• The Family Man

"A fantasy is an idea with no basis in reality and is basically your imagination unrestricted by reality."

"Reality is the state of things as they exist. It’s what you see, hear, and experience."

What’s the danger in an occasional escape from reality? I guess you can take it too far. Isn’t that always the way? Turns out there is something called FPP. Of course there is.

Fantasy prone personality (FPP) is a disposition or personality trait in which a person experiences a lifelong extensive and deep involvement in fantasy. This disposition is an attempt, at least in part, to better describe “overactive imagination” or “living in a dream world”. An individual with this trait (termed a fantasizer) may have difficulty differentiating between fantasy and reality and may experience hallucinations, as well as self-suggested psychosomatic symptoms. Closely related psychological constructs include daydreaming, absorption and eidetic memory. —Wikipedia

Here’s the thing: there is something between fantasy and reality and we have to be comfortable with that. You see, I’m not so sure that a hardcore, no compromise realist, can ever be open to a spiritual worldview. For example, I am a follower of one who turned water to wine, and fed a huge crowd with a few loaves and a few small fish. I believe those things really happened, but Freud would say I’m crazy for believing so.

Tell the truth: Can you handle the truth? Or, are you too grounded in “reality”?

Fashion For Old Guys

SOMETIMES I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH AGE-APPROPRIATENESS. I HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE.

It’s hard being age-appropriate, you know? It’s a moving target. It’s hard in every area of life. But, it’s easy when you’re young. As a kid you go to an amusement park, there’s no wondering if a roller-coaster is age appropriate, there’s a cartoon character sign with his hand raised saying, “You must be this tall to ride this ride!” Everything from toys, to puzzles, to Pampers, to food is labeled for age-appropriateness.

Even the movies tell you if you need “PG” Parental-Guidance, or whether it is “R” rated, which basically means, “If your parents are too stupid to tell you you can’t see this movie, we will.” It may be time for a reworking of the movie rating system. I’m recommending a couple of new ratings: SA and CCR, which means if you’re a Senior Adult or a Conservative Christian Republican, you might want to pass on this one. Even for me, sometimes, today’s movies shock my sensibilities, and my standards are pretty low. I’m not a fan of graphic violence, super-hero-special-effects, and casual f-bombing for f-bombing’s sake, or movies starring Matthew McConaughey (It’s not personal, Matt).

For today’s post, I want to focus on one area of tricky age-appropriateness: How To Dress.

I believe I mentioned that I have a good excuse for struggling in this area; besides the fact that I’m an aging, softish, white guy, and we all struggle with this (or we just don’t care anymore). While I was still in my own adolescence/teen years/first coming-of-age, I started working with teens, first, at a junior high school in a counseling program as practicum for a college course. From there, I started in “youth ministry”—working with teens in a church setting. I continued that into my 50s and my second-coming-of-age.

So if we were to meet, and if I were to do something age-inappropriate, keep in mind, it’s not that I’m necessarily emotionally immature, just generationally confused. To this day I am much more comfortable hanging out with young people than I am with people my own age. I’m sure retired high school teachers and coaches can relate (unless you hated kids, which seems to be the case for a few teachers and coaches).

All of this contemplating age-appropriateness started when a sweetheart of a girl from the old youth group days sent me a link to an article about a reinvention of the famous and enduring Chuck Taylor Converse All-Star sneakers. She said something to the effect of: “I could see you wearing these.” I replied something like: “Heck yes! I need a pair.”

But then it dawned on me, should I be wearing Chucks, or is it time for the Rockports and Hush Puppies?

And, not just shoes. What about sock color, or socks at all? Should any man past puberty wear a tank top in public or anywhere other than a basketball court, regardless of physique, or one’s personal, unrealistic view of one’s own?

At this point in my life, only a couple of wardrobe issues are settled for me: boxers over briefs, and this: I just don’t feel comfortable in polo shirts. I do have one. I wear it to this place where I play my semi-annual golf game. They require it. That’s a problem because a lot of the old guys I know that look pretty dapper most of the time seem to do the polo shirt thing so well, most of the year. Somehow when I put on a polo and khakis, I feel like I should be selling TVs at Best Buy.

For many years I have been at my most comfortable in blue jeans, a long-sleeved shirt (sleeves rolled up) and loafers (no socks) in spring, summer and early-autumn. Once the frost is on the pumpkin, the sleeves roll down or I pull over a sweater and switch to socks and chuka boots. Why I’m worrying about clothes choice is beyond me. Why our obsessions?

I guess I still care to the point that I don’t want to look like an old-guy cliche. You know; hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, sandals with socks. Here’s the thing, a lot of guys pull that off very well. It’s like they are so comfortable in their own skin that whatever they wear on that skin seems very authentic.

I also don’t want to appear to be struggling to hang on to some desperate sense of youthfullness. It’s not my fault that chuka boots have come back in to style (I think). I’m not some metrosexual wannabe.

Mostly though, I don’t want to embarrass my grand-girls. When I get home from a fun day out with them, and I look in the mirror and see that on my t-shirt that reads: “Medicare: Bring It On”, is a stain from the yogurt we had at Orange Leaf, and a smudge of grease from the pizza we had at Chuck E. Cheese, will I be embarrassed or will all that just be reminders of a wonder-full day?

At least my feet won’t hurt, because the new Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars I’ve been wearing have extra cusioning and arch  support. Thank you Paula Moore Gresham for the tip and for believing I can pull it off.

So, to all you grandkids and wives out there: any advice for us old guys? Keep this in mind: one thing I know for sure, I don’t want to look like one of those guys whose wife laid his clothes out for him.