Normally I'm Not a Litterbug But . . .

Part of the issue that recent day was the wind. I’m not a big fan of the cold but I’m an even bigger non-fan of the wind. It was huffing and puffing and blowing cold air swirls all around me. I stepped out of my truck and glanced at my To Do list on a yellow Post-it note as I walked down the sidewalk. Suddenly and without warning, a blustery puff of whirling dervish viciously snatched the Post-it note from my grasp and forced it to dance aimlessly through the morning sky. To paraphrase, basically my note became litter. And I’m less of a fan of litter than I am ice cold wind gusts. Therefore, at that moment, I was faced with a dilemma. Would I chase this soda cracker sized scrap of paper or simply wave it goodbye and grant it liberty and freedom. My mind raced back to those embarrassing occasions when I’ve driven along in my truck and trash flies out of the back and into the road ahead of oncoming traffic. When that happens I want to stop my truck in the middle of the road, block all the traffic, grab a megaphone and announce to everyone, “Hey, can I help it if inconsiderate people take it upon themselves to toss pieces of trash in the back of my truck all the time without me knowing? I wash my hands of this.” And then there’s that Indian in the commercial. I guess I should say Native American now. Us old-timers remember the whole deal where the noble chief is looking out over the land he settled and is forced to bear witness to all the trash that’s been scattered to and fro. I can still see that tear rolling down his cheek and to this day the thought of it bothers me. So on that blustery, cold day, I had a choice. Pursue and detain or abstain and liberate. Quickly I counted the costs. The note had long since darted to the opposite side of a road busily supported by zooming traffic. Was one little scrap worth my personal safety and potential well-being? I wasn’t completely sure of its exact whereabouts. I gave chase for a moment or two but in the end decided that my Native American friend would surely understand in this instance. Besides, other than me, who would know anyway? It was like a lot of things we hope nobody else will ever notice. Like when you forget to wear a belt or your socks don’t match. Or when you’ve got something peeking out of the corner of one of your nostrils. Or when you get tongue-tied and accidentally say a bad word. That sorta thing. Just as my guilt was subsiding I turned and saw a car slowing and the passenger’s side window being lowered. A woman from my church hollered, “Hey, go pick up that piece of trash you Litterbug!” She then broke out in laughter as my already red face evolved into a shade of purple. So much for nobody noticing. I knew, Church Lady knew, and somewhere in the distance, I think the chief knew. But I refuse to lose any sleep over a sticky note. I’ve decided it was the wind’s fault. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Playing Second Fiddle on the Third Page is Fine With Me

Joey the Clown circa 1970 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you’re reading this in the newspaper, there’s a good chance this column is not on the front page of this section. Sometimes it is, sometimes it’s not. I’m certainly not complaining- simply making an observation. So if indeed you’re reading this column in the newspaper, flip to the front page now and check out Pam Stone’s column. Funny stuff. Welcome back. On those occasions when Pam Stone has something to say, she gets the front page and I end up somewhere between the engagements and the church announcements. I have noticed that Mrs. Stone’s picture is larger than mine (and much more attractive) and I’m guessing she has more space to write if she wants it. And I’m cool with that. She’s a professional. I’m a self-proclaimed hopeless amateur. She has name recognition. Hardly anybody can even pronounce my last name. She appeared on the television show “Coach” from 1989 to 1997. I appeared for 1.7 seconds in a taping of “Joey the Clown” when my kindergarten class visited the set back in 1970. Pam’s show raced to the top of the prime time ratings for eight years. Joey came on at 7 a.m. on Saturday mornings and got cancelled within days of my appearance. Okay, you may recall that I also appeared on “Midnight Special” in 1980 when Olivia Newton-John sang to me for a few seconds. True, but I’m guessing most everybody was looking at Olivia instead of me so I’m not counting it. Mrs. Stone has also been the Female Stand Up Comedian of the year a while back and now hosts a radio talk show. Me? I can’t even get my own kids to laugh at my jokes and the local cable sports show I co-hosted a few years back was lined up against the wall and summarily executed after one forgettable season. Resentful I am not. I have no problem existing (writing) in Pam Stone’s shadow. We share a commonality. She appeared on “Coach” as a women’s basketball coach and I am a baseball coach in real life. We both have existed in realms where everything revolved around competition. But writing is not about competition. True writers don’t try to outwit or outlast each other. There’s no scoreboard, rankings, or ratings to contend with. A writer’s victory is the clear expression of an idea. We don’t really care for comparisons and pecking orders among our fellow writing brethren and sistren. (I realize “sistren” is not a word, but I’m proud to be known for butchering proper English and making up my own words.) Recently I took the bold step of sending a friend request to Pam Stone on Facebook. Should she accept, I shall send her a link to this column. If I’m lucky she will invite my family and me to the next “Coach” reunion show and I will invite her to accompany us on the Joey the Clown victory tour. In the meantime, I will concede the front page to Pam. I’m content in the engagement announcement section. And I will continue to laugh out loud when I read her stuff. And someday, just maybe Mrs. Stone will consider me worthy of being called one of her writing brethren. And I will be proud to include her among my sistren.

Responsibility not Ownership

I’ve been waiting for a while to write this column. Like the gradual arrival of dawn that allows shapes and figures to come into clear focus, the passing of time tends to give us perspective. And I think I’ve had enough time to now to be clear headed in delivering my thoughts concerning the firing of a particular coach at the end of the most recent college football season. I was absolutely amazed by the comments delivered by this coach when it became apparent that his head was on the proverbial chopping block. His case was curious because he had won oodles of games during his tenure and was concluding another successful season when the uproar began. Most of the hullabaloo started when he blamed a loss on his players’ “fat little girlfriends”. Soon afterwards, he was accused of abusing a player, which led to further accusations. Maybe they were exaggerated, maybe not. But in watching an interview with the coach, it appeared to me that he was claiming he should be able to keep his job simply because his teams exhibited a history of winning. Citing insubordination, his superiors terminated his contract and moved on. This coach is a whole lot smarter than I’ll ever be but I think I know something he doesn’t. A college athletic program doesn’t belong to the coach. No matter how much you win, the program belongs to the university. The coach isn’t the owner- he/she is simply a steward entrusted with the responsibility of the program. That’s where I think success can blind folks to reality at times. And this goes way beyond sports and coaches. It can cause one to overestimate his stature and relative importance in the grand scheme of things. Certainly a leader can make a tremendous difference, but he is never bigger than the entity he represents. If we don’t humble ourselves, life has a way of accomplishing it for us. No matter what status we attain, there is always a greater authority. Golf doesn’t belong to Tiger and basketball doesn’t belong to Michael, despite their legendary dominance. The country doesn’t belong to a president and the church doesn’t belong to the pastor. The country belongs to the people and the church belongs to God. Even a child doesn’t belong to its parents. I have been entrusted with a tremendous responsibility when it comes to my children. But as much as I would like to believe differently at times, my boys are not mine. If I were to abuse them, the state could legally take them away from me. When they turn 18, my country could institute a law that could take them away from me to go and fight and possibly die for their country. But more importantly, my kids belong to God. They are not here to serve my purposes, they are here to serve His. Responsibility, not ownership. The best leaders I have encountered in my life were ones who were humble. They understood their responsibilities while accepting their relative importance in the grand scheme of things. The aforementioned football coach lost sight of where he fit into the big picture. He was the revered leader, but he was not the owner. A lesson anyone in authority should take close notice of.

Just Answer the Question Please

I am under the illusion that I am relatively intelligent. But I will admit to you that I have questioned my brain power numerous times through the years. There are certain things I just don’t get. Things that seem obvious to most humans around me. Take, for example, analogous sayings intended to provide information to the listener without directly answering the question at hand. An example would be when I ask someone if it’s cold outside and they reply, “Does a cat have a climbing gear?” My roommate in college used to say that one (the cat climbing gear thing) all the time. I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know the answer. Yes, I realize cats can climb trees quite effectively. But do they really have climbing gears or is their ability related to their claws and hind legs? Perplexed, I simply walked outside and checked the weather for myself during my college days. Here’s another one I’ve never figured out. When someone says “I could care less” or “I couldn’t care less”. To me these statements are polar opposites but every time I hear either of them, they are intended to mean the same thing- the speaker doesn’t care. So I’ve accepted the fact both statements mean the same thing even though my brain can’t comprehend why. Ditto for “regardless” and “irregardless”. Somehow they are interchangeable. My English teachers taught me that irregardless is not a word but nowadays it’s appearing in a lot of dictionaries. I agree with my teachers. But I digress. Back to the “answering a question with a question” phenomenon. There’s even a set of commercials on television now with these types of “answering a question with a question” scenarios. “Does Elmer Fudd have trouble with the letter “R”? “Does a 10 pound bag of flour make a big biscuit”? And so on. These types of questions are a crude form of something one might call Socratic Rhetoricals or dialectic syllogism as best as I can tell. This means a person is answering a question with another question whose answer is obvious. There’s probably other names for it but I’m sticking with Socratic Rhetoricals. My seventh grade algebra teacher’s favorite Socratic Rhetorical was, “Does a shark pee in the ocean?” This one was a no-brainer and caused me no confusion. Other ones I heard over the years included “Does a bear go to the bathroom in the woods?” and “Does a fat baby burp?” (I cleaned up both of those to keep them rated PG). I’m not done yet. I’ve also heard people say things like “Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?” and “Is the Pope Catholic?” I think I can figure those out though I remain mildly skeptical about the duck. It doesn’t exactly fit here but I heard a coach say something interesting when his team kept losing and people wondered why he couldn’t do something to help them win more. His reply: “You can coach an ant to death but he’ll never kick a rat’s butt.” He might have also added- “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” Irregardless, Socratic Rhetoricals are here to stay even if they don’t make a whole lot of sense. And to be honest, I could care less.