Flippin’ The F

REMEMBER YOUR FIRST COMING OF AGE? That time that’s pretty much filled with excitement and terror and rites of passage. Remember puberty, your voice finally changing, and all those Firsts?

In a feeble attempt to establish credibility, let me point out that I have a degree in sociology with a focus on adolescence, and 30 or so years of working with teenagers. I also have 44 years of experience trying to realize that I’m not a teenager anymore.

One of my old textbooks, Arnold van Gennep’s book, The Rites of Passage, he explains, “I propose to call the rites of separation from a previous world, preliminal rites; those executed during the transitional stage liminal (or threshold rites); and the ceremonies of incorporation into the new world postliminal rites.”

For example, around 14 or so, we begin to long ardently for independence—our own transportation—to come and go as we please. Call this “the rite of separation from a previous world.”

None to soon we get a driver’s manual, probably the most diligently studied textbook in school history and we take Driver’s Ed: “transitional stage liminal (or threshold rites).”

Finally the day comes that we get our license and Dad hands us the keys: “the ceremonies of incorporation into the new world postliminal rites.”

If you’re a faithful reader of About Pops, you know that one of my favorite story genres is bildungsroman (coming-of-age stories). You also know that I like to talk about the age of nearing retirement as my second-coming-age. If you’re bored and want to read more about that, here are links to a couple of posts I’ve made on the subject.

LIFE AS STORY
AGE IS A NUMBER

While I am not yet retired, and in fact, I can’t even see retirement from where I am, still I can see I’m in the that preliminal rites stage of separation from a previous world.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a great job and I get to work with some amazingly creative and energetic young adults, but I do look forward to the weekends and Monday morning often comes to soon. Maybe it’s Nature’s way of preparing me for the time when I will not get up and go to work M-F. Maybe I’m entering the threshold rites stage.

Last Friday morning I was going through the morning ritual: make my toast for peanut butter and strawberry fruit-only spread, start the coffee, take my daily tablespoon of olive oil, and so on.

I commented to My Amazing-Missus, “I LOVE flippin’ the F.”

“I beg your pardon?” she lovingly replied.

All of my peers these days take a cocktail of pills: baby aspirin, fish oil capsule, multi-vitamin, vitamin D, and assorted other pills for heart health, arthritis, etc. We all put them in a little box divided by the days of the week. On the lid of each section is the letter of the appropriate day. When I get to flip the lid on the F I know I get to wear jeans to work and that the weekend looms.

The second-coming-of-age isn’t as exciting as the first, but it is something. Someday instead of getting a driver’s license I’ll get a metaphorical Gold Watch. I wonder if after the “ceremony” it will be as fun to flip the S, the M, the T, the W, the other T, and the other S has it has been to flip the F?

Traditions

AS I TREK DEEPER into what the hucksters call “senior adulthood,” I’m trying to avoid the pitfalls of dogmatism, stubbornness, narrow-mindedness and prejudice. I have almost always preferred Movements over Institutions.

The idea of traditions for tradition’s sake seems unnecessarily rigid and confining to me. To start from a position of “This is the way we have always done it!” thwarts creativity and discovery. A vivid memory I have of kindergarten is of a little girl who sat next to me raising her hand and saying, “Teacher, Teacher, David’s coloring outside the lines; again!”

That’s right B I am, and in fact if I had my way there would be no lines at all, then where would you be?!

Maybe it is old-age creeping in, but lately I’ve been looking for the baby I threw out with that bath water a long time ago.

“Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire."
 —Gustave Mahler

If there is a season that is loaded with traditions it is Christmastime:

• We always put the tree up on December 1.
• Where is that star that we always put on top of the tree.
• We always watch “Christmas Vacation.”
• We always open one gift on Christmas Eve.
• There is always a little egg of Silly Putty® in our stockings.

As I sat the other night and watched our Grand-Girls decorate gingerbread houses it dawned on me, my Amazing-Missus has been making these little houses for our two boys, now our Grand-Girls and hundreds of other kids to decorate for more than thirty years. We make gingerbread houses. It’s a tradition and it’s beautiful.

Last Sunday afternoon I sat with my 3 year-old Grand-Girl in my lap waiting for her first performance of The Nutcracker to begin. Next to me was our 6 year-old waiting for her fourth. The youngest was full of questions: Why is it dark in here? Where are the ballerinas? Is this song almost over?

The oldest was fully immersed in the whole Nutcracker experience. During intermission, she danced the first act in the lobby by herself, not caring who was watching. We go see The Nutcracker and after we have cookies and milk. It’s a tradition and it’s beautiful.

Maybe someday they will be too old to want to see The Nutcracker with their Pops. So while they’re off to a movie with some boy who isn't good enough for them, I’ll put Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite on the record player, and while it’s playing, I’ll remember that once we had a tradition, and it was beautiful.

See, they're not so bad after all. 

While We Wait

A few years back I gathered quotes, texts and a few of my own thoughts together in a sort of Advent countdown. It was published in Curator Magazine.

I wrote it so the word count of each entry reduces by one word as the countdown progresses.

Today the magazine tweeted the link to the piece. Thank you Curator.

Leaning

Where words fail, music speaks.
—Hans Christian Andersen

You know those times when you’ve been napping deeply and your mind sort of starts to wake up before your body does? In fact, it’s almost as if you are outside of yourself in a state that allows you to be aware of your dreams and at the same time what is really happening.

A few weeks ago, I was trying to wake from a nap and my mind (with the help of cough medication) was holding me down. The TV was playing in the background. I could hear the old hymn, “Leaning of the Everlasting Arms”. I wondered if this was IT--If I was slipping across some threshold.

The hymn arrangement was beautiful. It was being played as a meditation on an awe-inspiring truth rather than something like a Sousa march, the way Southern Baptists sing it.

Finally, I awoke sufficiently to realize the song was playing as a part of an advertisement for Guinness beer. WHAT?!

Let’s get something straight right here. This little essay is not about condemning or condoning anything. So, with that said…

I know this, we all need to lean sometimes and the best place to lean is on the Everlasting Arms. I know this too: sometimes those everlasting arms take on human form: family, friends, each other.

No doubt; sometimes in the corner bar, people lean on things that will ultimately fail them. No doubt; sometimes in the corner church, people lean on religion that will ultimately fail them.

God created us as people who need people; as people who need to lean.

Whether at church or the neighborhood pub, think of how true the words to this little song about a place called “Cheers” are.

Making your way in the world today 
Takes everything you've got; 
Taking a break from all your worries 
Sure would help a lot. 
Wouldn't you like to get away? 

Sometimes you want to go 

Where everybody knows your name, 
and they're always glad you came. 
You wanna be where you can see, 
our troubles are all the same 
You wanna be where everybody knows 
Your name.

Leaning on the Everlasting Arms was written by Anthony J. Showalter in the late 1800s, inspired by Deuteronomy 33:27: "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms".

I have no idea what Mr. Showalter would have thought of his tune being used in a Guinness ad. Maybe he knew of Mr. Guinness and wouldn’t have minded. Sometimes we make assumptions you know. Sometimes we pre-judge. Here’s an interesting article about Guinness himself:

Click to read: The Story of God and Guinness in Relevant Magazine

This “Empty Chair” ad, I’ve watched it several times now. I’m not even sure it’s really about Guinness beer. I think it’s about leaning, and if it is, I can’t think of a better song than the one written by Mr. Showalter.

Certainly if there is an Honorable Mention for "Best Leaning Song Ever" if would have to go to the classic by Bill Withers:

Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain, we all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there's always tomorrow

Lean on me when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need somebody to lean on

Please, swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you won't let show

You just call on me, brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on
I just might have a problem that you'll understand
We all need somebody to lean on

CLICK HERE to watch “The Empty Chair”.