Friday, January 22, 2016

Comment about Texting: "I can’t even fathom how we have all gotten so used to being in communication with every single person at every hour of the day. We don’t even give people chances to miss us because we are constantly in the middle of a conversation with them." ~ Alexia LaFata, Editor, Elite Daily, an online magazine

Hello once again and welcome. We have crept up on this day and found it to be Friday, January 22, 2016. The other morning I was sitting at my desk and the phone rang. I was the only one here so I answered it. It was a young woman who was very upset. Her boyfriend had borrowed someone's phone and called her to tell her he had been in a pretty bad accident. Her boyfriend is a new contract employee who just started working here and he wanted us to know what had happened. She said she could tell he was very shaken and since he had borrowed a phone she had no way of getting back in touch with him. Later that morning we learned exactly what happened. He called and said he had stopped for a red light. Suddenly a lady driving 50 plus miles per hour piled into the rear end of his car. She was answering a text message and didn't notice the traffic signal. He said he was fortunate to not be seriously injured and that he would be in the next day. He said her insurance would pay for everything and that he would soon have a rental car. My point? Texting while driving is not a problem in a galaxy far far away. It's right here in our own backyard. I'm not campaigning, just sharing an experience that we all can learn from.

We had our Christmas party last Friday evening for our Sunday School Class. We are designated as the Truth Seekers Class. I feel privileged and blessed to teach this class made up of pretty much the older folks in our local congregation. We do our party in January each year and it was wonderful. At the party the wife had put together a poster with photos of our class members when they were babies or very young. The idea was to take the list and guess which baby photo belonged to which class member. There were several that were undeniable. The facial expression was consistent with that person's identity today. One little fellow, maybe 7 or 8 was pictured wearing some overalls. I knew who it was immediately. Most of the folks guessed the boy in the overalls to be me. My photo was of me when I was maybe one year old. The fellow wearing the overalls in the photo and I were talking and the subject turned to our humble upbringing. We didn't get to level of the quote from the great boxer George Foreman, "We were so poor growing up in Houston we couldn't afford the last two letters, so we just called ourselves po'." We didn't get there but we got close. The conversation reminded me of this photo from my 4th grade class in a rural community in Louisiana. The year before our world had been turned upside down when our dad passed away suddenly. We moved from Port Arthur, Texas to the country town. The transition was difficult. On my mom. On us six kids. In the 4th grade I had one of the toughest teachers in the school. She had taught my mom. He talked about wearing those overalls and how they had very little of this world's goods but they always had food and shelter. Just look at those jeans with their huge patches on the knees. Now look at my smile. Beaming. Patched knees and all. Kids are resilient. I'm thankful they are because I'm still trying to figure out where that smile came from.

I don't know the extent to which I was shaped by my dad leaving for his reward on January 2, 1954. I've pretty much worn myself out trying to know as much as I can about that particular time. I can't depend on my own recollections because they are locked away and if I have a key I have no idea where it is. I've learned that traumatic experiences do have the potential to block out memories. I was seven years old. I can remember a lot of stuff from my childhood. Not so much about my dad and his abrupt departure. I've listened to any and all radio programs that were playing on or around that date. I've read any and all publications, newspapers, ads, or any other materials in and around that date. Sadly, I come to the conclusion that in this life I will likely never be able to revisit those days with any clarity at all. By the way, Gunsmoke played on the radio the day my dad died. The episode was entitled, "The Stage Hold Up". Marshall Dillon was played by William Conrad who would later play the role of the chubby detective in the TV series Cannon. I used to try hard to figure myself out but I only work on it now when the mood hits me. I suppose talking about those jeans with the patches and looking at that smile got me going again. It's not easy folks. Being me. One thing I do know. God loves me anyway. Enough to die on a cross for me. That's something I don't have to worry about. I just have to be thankful. And, I am. Have a great Saturday and Lord's Day Sunday and I will see what comes tumbling out come next Monday. Lord willing. Amen. ....More later.

No comments: