Perfect Attendance Lessons

It’s been awhile since I’ve put up a post here at About POPS. My promise to myself when I started this blog was that no more than a week would pass without a post. I have no excuses but this:

Do you ever have those moments when your commitment, or at least your good intentions break down, and you think, “What the heck, I’ve blown it now, so what does it matter.” You know like those times when you’re faithfully following your disciplined eating lifestyle, then you get invited to the all-you-can-eat-fried-catfish-with-hushpuppy place. “I’ll just have a salad,” you say to yourself on the way there. Then after your second plate of fried amazingness, you’ve passed the point of what-does-it-matter-now. So you stop at Dairy Princess on the way home for a chocolate dipped cone with nuts.

There’s a larger lesson for me here. I’m not trying to moralize all of this, hinting that there may be a lesson for you too. Just saying that for me…

When I was a kid, we went to Sunday School. Every Sunday. I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember it like it was yesterday: getting my copper-colored Three-Month Perfect Attendace pin. I was now a decorated little Sunday School soldier, with my eye on that silver Six-Month pin, learning not to hide my little light under a bushel (hold cupped hand over the raised index finger of the other hand, then rapidly move it).

Another six months pass. During a ceremony in the Sunday morning worship service I was awarded with my "gold" One-Year pin. The next level for us little Sunbeams was more lofty: the Two-Year Wreath that would encircle our One-Year pen.

Sometime during that second year I contracted measels or mumps or malaria, I don’t remember which. My perfect-attendance track ended. When it comes to pursuit of perfect attendance pins in the Baptist Church there may be “Amazing Grace” but there are no “excused absences.”

I probably had thoughts like, “What difference does it make now if I go to Sunday School or not?” That square on the Perfect Attendance Chart with no gold star haunted me and there was nothing I could do about it. But there were other; let’s call them motivations, to continue attending.

I’m reminded of a passage from a really good old movie called, “Kitty Foyle.” It goes like this:

Tom Foyle: From now on, you’re going to Sunday School every Sunday. Rain or shine, you’re going.
Kitty Foyle: But why, Pop?
Tom Foyle: Well, it’ll be giving you a little Christian upbringing. A sense of values.
Kitty Foyle: Oh. And then you mean I won’t ever sin or anything.
Tom Foyle: Well, it might not keep you from sinning, but by Judas Priest, it’ll keep you from getting any fun out of it.

So while there will be a few blank weeks on my Perfect Blog Post Writing Chart, know this:

I’m back baby.

BTW: the image of the little Sunday School family is from a poster project done by our oldest son, Corey. You can see the project HERE. This particular poster is called: Abby | Artifact 78 of 366 | June 10, 2011

In a book about the project, Corey writes: “I work in the church nursery from time to time and found this young family among the toys. Church toys have a pretty cushy job since they only work one day a week.”

Easy As ABC? Sometimes.

You went to school to learn girl
Things you never, never knew before
Like "I" before "E" except after "C"
And why 2 plus 2 makes 4
Now, now, now
I'm gonna teach you
Teach you, teach you
All about love girl
All about love
Sit yourself down, take a seat
All you gotta do is repeat after me

That’s right. Today’s blog post is a lesson from Old Pops, The Love Professor. For those that know their Jackson 5 lore you’ll recognize that the lyrics above are from their song “ABC”. The song continues:

Reading, writing, arithmatic
Are the branches of the learning tree
But without the roots of love everyday girl
Your education ain't complete
Tea-Tea-Teacher's gonna show you
(She's gonna show you)
How to get an "A" (na-na-na-naaaaaa)
How to spell "me", "you", add the two
Listen to me, baby
That's all you got to do

A B C
It's easy as, 1 2 3
As simple as, do re mi
A B C, 1 2 3
Baby, you and me girl

This cute little number debuted in 1970 on American Bandstand. I was a freshman in college and had no intention of taking advice on Love from an 11 year-old kid. Looking back on Michael’s answer to Love, I still don’t like his solution.

Valentine’s Day looms. Last February, I did a series of posts with unsolicited advice for guys on how to make the most of the opportunity. This year, I already The Gift taken care of, so I’m just waxing philosophical about Love.

Several years ago I read an essay on “systems”. I wish I had made a copy of it or could remember who wrote it so I could give credit, but I don’t. Basically the author’s point was that we have reduced everything to a system.

In our own bodies we have systems: the nervous system, the circulatory system, the digestive system, etc. In society we have systems: legal systems, political systems, economic systems. Even our cars have systems: the fuel system, the braking system, the electrical system, and so on.

Here’s the thing about systems, when they work they’re wonderful. I’m using a system of ones and zeros, computers, wireless signals, servers, etc. to write and share this blog with the masses. It’s mind boggling to think that anyone around the world could read this if they are in the System.

Another thing about systems, sometimes they break… We have things like the postal system and the healthcare system. The thing about systems is when they do break, we can just blame the system and no one gets hurt. “Who is to blame for these problems?!” “No one really, the system failied.” Do you ever get the feeling that sometimes we create systems so we’ll have something to blame and no one is really accountable?

I’ll be conducting another wedding this Spring. Very soon now I will meet with the beautiful young couple for some “pre-marital counseling.” I hope they are not reading this because I’m going to confess that I don’t have all the answers to Love.

I am pretty sure though that I know a lot more about it than Michael Jackson did at eleven (God rest his soul). I do know that it cannot be reduced to system or a formula like ABCs and 123s.

Several years ago our marriage survived a conference we attended on how to have a successful marriage. I say “survived” because looking back, it was a system some guy had put together. He discovered he could take his show on the road and people would pay money to get the “keys” to marital bliss. And, also a coupon  for the advanced seminar where you got even more secret stuff.

Maybe I shouldn’t be too quick to judge, because actually me and My Amazing-Missus were marriage school dropouts. We ditched the last few sessions and did some Christmas shopping for our boys.

It may sound like I’m taking our 42 years of marriage for granted. I’m not, really I’m not. Nor am I saying I haven’t learned anything. I think I will tell this young couple that there are no magic formulas; there’s not a system. Sometimes it as easy as A-B-C or 1-2-3, sometimes its as complicated as H-E-L-L. Just ask my wife. I will tell them that Love is just the opposite of systematic. It is organic, it is natural, it is beautiful and it is eteneral.

Valentine's Day will be the 43rd anniversary of the day I proposed to My Amazing-Missus. I would do it again in a heart beat. I can only hope she would say, YES! But I would settle for a, “What the heck.” 

The Peacock Vow

IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF 2015. I’m throwing caution to the wind, again, and not eating black-eyed peas. However, I do feel compelled take part in some new-year traditions, to make some sort of resolution(s).

Resolution-making has a long, rich tradition. For centuries people have been setting themselves up for failure with promises to eat less, exercise more, blah, blah… According to www.usa.gov the most popular resolutions in 2015 will include: Lose weight, Volunteer to help others, Quit smoking, Get fit, Eat healthier, Manage debt, Take a trip, Drink less Alcohol, and Reduce, reuse and recycle.

But let’s go back a few hundred years, in the Medieval era, knights took the "peacock vow" at the end of the Christmas season each year to re-affirm their commitment to chivalry.[Lennox, Doug (2007). Now You Know Big Book of Answers.]

Now there’s a resolution I can get on board with: reaffirming my commitment to chivalry. It’s vague enough to make it difficult to measure success (or lack of it). It’s enigmatic enough to sound well-thought-through without knowing what the heck I’m talking about.

If Chivalry Is Dead, Don’t Blame Me

It was in the midst of my first coming-of-age that the feminist movement made chivalry obsolete, even an affront to some women. I do remember, however a time in junior high. I held a door open for a new and very pretty young teacher at our school. She said, “Thank you. It’s good to know that chivalry is not dead.”

I was very happy to be seen by her as chivalrous even though I didn’t know what chivalry was. I tried to look it up in the dictionary but I didn’t even know how to spell it. Apparently, though I was helping keep it alive and that was appreciated by some.

So what is it? The sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight, including courtesy, generosity, valor, and dexterity in arms. From my Oxford American Thesaurus for Writers, other words for chivalry include: gentlemanliness, courtesy, courteousness, politeness, graciousness, mannerliness, good manners.

Sounds to me like that’s some stuff we could use today, but is it dead?

The pronouncedly masculine virtues of chivalry came under attack on the parts of the upper-class suffragettes campaigning for gender equality in the early 20th century, and with the decline of the military ideals of duelling culture and of European aristocracies in general following the catastrophe of World War I, the ideals of chivalry became widely seen as outmoded by the mid-20th century. [Wikipedia]

I know this about myself: if nothing else, I am at least outmoded. So, I’m going to embrace the Vow of the Peacock and resolve to be more chivalrous in 2015.

Of course I will need the help of my maiden, the Amazing-Missus, in stitching me up a pennant to bear as I go forward on my quest.

Depiction of chivalric ideals in Romanticism, Stitching the Standard is a painting by British artist Edmund Leighton. It depicts a nameless damsel on the battlements of a medieval castle making the finishing touches to a standard or pennant with a black eagle on a gold background, preparing for a knight to go to war. In a time of peace the woman has taken her needlework into the daylight away from the bustle of the castle.

I Used To Be Pretty

Several years ago, a friend and I would have breakfast most every morning at a little joint known for their good breakfasts. As a rule, we sat at the same table, ordered the same thing from the same waitress: a young Vietnamese girl named Kim.

Because I really like to know people’s stories, I would ask Kim about hers. She came to the USA, as many have, to study. Her story was particularly interesting to me because she came from North Vietnam. Her father was a professor and taught for a time in Moscow.

Anyway… we went from the usual customer/waitperson conversation like, “Want the usual?” “Yes, please.” to a wonderful friendship. Kim came to our house where I tried to fix comfort food for her. I went to the Asian market with a recipe for pho that I found on the internet. Two elderly asian women, detecting my ignorance, helped me find the right ingredients and gave me instructions—none of which I could understand. Kim appreciated the effort; I think. She suggested that the next time we should have burgers, and we did.

The friendship grew. It grew to the point that when we collaborated with some other friends to start a house-church, Kim joined us. She asked if she could invite a few friends and I told her, yes, that’s what this is about.

So the next Sunday she showed up with friends. I was surprised; not that she had actually brought friends, but to see that her friends were an older, anomalous couple named Page and Dicksy. This was great because we were a pretty eccentric bunch anyway.  We were age diverse, culturally diverse, socio-economically diverse, politically diverse and so on.

As it turned out, all of these weird ingredients came together to make a pretty good stew. I didn’t know though, just how powerful this little tribe was until just lately.

I’ve watched them bring compassion, knowledge, expertise, gifts, talents, time, determination and sheer willpower to bear in a situation that desperately needed a solution.

I wish I could tell you all about Page and Dicksy, but for now, you need to know this: they were basically only-children and had no children of their own. For the most part, our little band of believers became their clan.

I wish I could tell you all about the players in this saga; people, that life and God have equipped in ways that have made them a Dream Team for times such as these.

Recently, Page passed away. Dicksy instantly became alone and essentially homeless.

(Oh, believe me it is a story.) The Dream Team stepped in, became Dicksy’s family, planned, funded and conducted Page’s funeral. They found Dicksy a home in a retirement living center and set her up very nicely indeed.

Photo by Molly Hennesy. Taken at Fort Reno, Oklahoma.

They continued to visit her and care for her which was no easy duty. Dicksy’s mother as it turns out, was apparently a colorful character in her own right, at one time married to a country music pioneer. On her deathbed she charged Dicksy with the responsibility of caring for all her worldly treasures. Dicksy took that very, very, very seriously. In her new little retirement home she continued to worry and fret about her stuff. Always the stuff.

Isn’t it funny how treasures become stuff, that becomes junk, that becomes crap, that becomes dust.

Following her husband’s death, a couple of things happened: one, Dicksey became a liberated woman; again (it was not the first time though, that she had become liberated. I’ve seen the pictures). For those of us that knew her, she always wore a wig, a very unflattering one. As soon as Page passed, she took off the wig and threw it away. “I never liked that old thing. Page wanted me to wear it because it made me look younger.”

I’m no expert on grief, but weirdly enough the guy that wrote the book on grief—literally, is the leader of our little band. As an observer, it seemed to me that for Dicksy there was a mix of grief, obsession over her stuff, and fretting, that all combined, bringing her to a sort of defeat.

My Amazing-Missus, who has truly been amazing by being herself in all of this, was with Dicksy when she had her 89th birthday, just a few days after Page’s death. By this time Dicksy had been moved to a rehabilitation unit. A physical therapist came to her room. Arlene told the young man, “Today is Miss Dicksy’s birthday.” “Happy Birthday,” he said.

Dicksy’s reply to him was, “I used to be pretty.” In a few days she was dead.

Her funeral is tomorrow. Once again the Dream Team is busy taking care of details, planning what will be a beautiful memorial service. Afterward, we will gather and remember Page and Dicksy. We’ll laugh at the craziness. And we’ll marvel at the Providence of God. And hopefully we will understand, a little more deeply, that to God: we are all still pretty.

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Earlier I mentioned that our leader, Doug Manning literally wrote the book on grief. This is the book I’m speaking of. I highly recommend it.