"An Old, Grey, Black Gentleman

I dealt with a customer some time back. His type always makes me think of that old Tom T. Hall song, "Watermelon Wine."

He was definitely an "old, grey, black gentleman". A very pleasant and quiet fellow. He smiled and we transacted our business in a very amiable manner.

The thought has crossed my mind before and it did so once again. I wouldn't want to live in a country where a good, decent man isn't treated with the common courtesy he deserves just because of the color of his skin.

Prejudice is as old as mankind and as lethal a poison as the venom of the most deadly viper. It's killed more people than all other diseases combined.

God could've made us all the same. We could all be the same size, color and have the same beliefs and likes and dislikes. God didn't intend for us to love one another because we are just alike. Any selfish person loves those who are like him. He wants us to love one another in spite of our differences. It takes a God-inspired love to love those who are different.

Matthew 5:
44But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;

45That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.

46For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same?

47And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so?

48Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.

You Presume to Know Me?

I had a phone conversation, recently, with a man for whom I have a lot of respect. He's a retired Marine and Vietnam veteran. My kind of guy!

I don't really know him personally. I've done some business with him and, frankly, that's about the extent of our relationship. He's a big, leather-neck, tough, stereo-typical, whiskey drinking Marine. Yet, I can say, I find him likable.

Still, when I ended the call, I was both disappointed and offended. No, I can't say was actually surprised, though.

He was checking on a delivery he's supposed to have today and was, understandably, bothered that it seemed to be taking longer than we thought it would. I apologized, called the delivery guys and told him that they were just running behind.

The bad part was when he told me that he wouldn't have been sitting on his butt for four hours if someone had given him a...G.D. phone call to let him know they were running so late. (Yes, he used the words...not the letters.)

Well, my tone went cold and I assured him that I didn't know until then myself how late they were, but apologized again for his trouble. I really didn't say much or try to warm things over at that point and we just, sort of, hung up the phones.

I'm not really saying that I'm surprised that he would take the Lord's name in vain; I'm only saying that I'm a little surprised that he acted so familiar with me. Why would he be so presumptuous as to think that that wouldn't offend me or was it simply that he really didn't care? (I actually don't think he was trying to "hurt my feelings.")

Occasionally, I meet someone who doesn't even seem to notice the dirty words coming out their mouths. They're just carrying on conversation. They probably don't mean to be impertinent, they just haven't ever given it much thought or, at least, not in many years.

It makes me laugh with scorn at the people who try to explain that "G.D." is not really cussing because they spell it with a little "g" or don't really mean "God" or a myriad of other pathetic, lame excuses that they dredge up to try and excuse their own lack of self-control, piety and respect for our Maker. I'm sure God understands...not!

I've been in the military and worked in factories and it's not like I have heard or used bad language before. I actually hear myself when one slips out and I try to remember to ask forgiveness. Still, there are some words I won't use and some lines I won't cross.

Anyway, maybe it's because he's a Yankee or a retired Marine that it might never have occurred to him that some people are sincerely and understandably offended when hearing God's name mis-used.

There was a time when men, especially in the South, at least watched their language around strangers, kids and ladies. Regrettably, those days are mostly gone.

Missing You?

Do we really miss the ones we love when they finally shuffle off this mortal coil? How long before their passing, did they stop being a part of our lives?

I have an uncle whom I love and see every month or so. He's eighty-four and facing a myriad of illnesses. It pains me to say it, but his time on earth, perhaps like mine, is coming to an end. He's my dad's baby brother and a veteran of World War II. He is the last of his generation in our family and when he is gone, another link to our ancestors will have passed with him. (Not to mention, he's a really great guy and it's a pleasure to be around him.)

There is, or at least, should be, a direct relationship between the amount of grief we feel over the loss of a loved one and the amount of time spent with that loved one. When we are broken hearted at the death of family members and acquaintances, is our life truly changed? I don't necessarily question if the grief we feel is real over our loss, but is the loss real?

I observed a daughter in a family, who lived within a half day's drive of her parents, fall to pieces at the loss of both. She hadn't actually seen her mother in perhaps a decade and, twenty years later, demonstrated the same anguish at the loss of her father. Notably, she had not seen her father face to face since the funeral of her mother. So, the only time she spent with them over a period of a couple of decades, was the time spent with them in a box.

I'm not saying her sorrow was fake. After all, these people raised and fed and, dare I say, loved her and her siblings. Still, the drama on display at the obsequies of her parents was augmented, in my opinion, by a desire to be seen and pitied as well as, in her particular case, narcotics.

I have kinsmen, that if I see them darken my door, I'll know the end is very, very near. I'm not saying that they don't care about me, it's just that they won't "miss me." I mean, really, how can you truly miss someone you see once a year...or less?

This is not a pity party. I am thinking of, among other people, my sainted mother who sat alone so many days without so much as a phone call from those who bawled their eyes out at her funeral. I'm not saying they didn't care. I'm only saying they didn't care enough to pick up the phone and call her for ten minutes; I'm saying they didn't care enough to get into their cars and go through the trouble to make the drive to her home for a visit. (They would show up in a team about once a year to "get their time card punched," though, so they could, I suppose, say they actually showed their faces.)

Yes, we are all very busy and have jobs, children and church and more to attend to, I know. Still, it would behoove us to remember that what goes around, comes around. One day, if the good Lord lets us live, we all will be old and sick. Will we expect our family to be more loyal to their elderly than we were to ours?

I know there are exceptions to every rule. A man who dedicates his life to the military or mission field is certainly serving a higher purpose. Their sacrifice and dedication to God and their country prevent them from giving time to their loved ones that they might have otherwise.

I'm terribly ashamed to admit it, but a large part of the reason I feel so strongly about this is because I'm haunted by the memory of those who I "almost' went to see or those I "intended" to visit, but I let time and circumstances get the better of me and, suddenly, they were gone. I, quite literally, "missed" them.

It's a true and faithful saying: "We should give our flowers to people while they're alive." When they are dead, they can't enjoy them.

Sure, we can't be with those we love constantly and we do have a lot of irons in the fire. Still, if you never invest your time in those you say you love, don't be such a big hypocrite and act as if your world has come to an end as their world, in actuality, does. You might fool a few fools like you, but those who were there with the deceased during their living years won't be fooled at all.

A New Decade?

Here we go again!

Ten years ago, I listened to the yahoos on the networks talk about how we were not only ringing in a new decade, but a new millennium in 2000. Then, when the year 2001 rolled around, they unobtrusively mentioned that 2001 year was the beginning of the new decade and the new millennium.

Sheesh! What a bunch of liars!

Either they are so ignorant that they don't know when a decade begins and ends or they are so dishonest that they don't care. I, for one, believe it's the latter.

Ten years ago, a attended the midnight celebration that our local municipality presented to bring in the "new millennium." In other words, the year 2000. I knew better, but they advertised that it would be the first and last such commemoration, so I decided it might be fun...and it was. It was just wrong.

You might say, "Who cares?" Well, you should only care if you are concerned the least bit about math or the truth. Your average high school grad can barely count to ten as it is and those who presumably know something, prove that they really don't know anything. All they know is how to be part of the "in crowd."

They think it's some how cool to say that the new millennium begins with a zero. I suppose it is catchier to make merchandise the the extra zero. In other words, follow the money.

It's no wonder kids these days can't make change for a dollar without a calculator. They're taught by the media and many of they're teachers that there are nine pennies in a dime and nine years in a decade.

In other words, where is the penny that represents zero and the year that represents year zero. It goes like this: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine....ten. Ten is the last number in a group of ten and not the first number in the next group of ten.

Sheesh! I'm no Einstein and I figured that one out for myself!