Rivers of yellow wind their way down the street as the ran washes the pollen from the air. The trees remind us that another Southern Springtime is upon us. The brown and gray landscape erupts in various shades of green. Blossoms that survived last week’s hard freeze are exploding in beauty. Rebirth. Renewal. Rejoice. There are so many reasons for love living in the South. The food. The people. The history. The stories. The kindness that is exhibited when disaster strikes. It’s the whole chainsaws and casseroles phenomena that I like to talk about. When your house is hit by a tornado, before you can get out of the rubble, there will be a church van full of people with chainsaws and casseroles. They’ll cut the tree off your house and then feed you. Maybe we’re so good at it because we have so much experience. But it is that moment when we don’t look at our differences, but we realize we are in the same boat. It’s when what we learn on Sunday mornings comes to life. The South is not perfect. We have major problems to solve. Hate and fear are like rabid locusts trying to destroy crops of good will. But that very irritant is what creates the art that we celebrate. Like an oyster covering a grain of sand and making a pearl, our stories and music have been a balm for pain and changed a nation. For example, without the thorns of hatred, we would not have the rose called the Blues. This is a place where we love our mamas, cherish our friends, tell our stories, cheer our favorite sports teams, worship on a Sunday and gather around a table to celebrate our blessings with food. We drop our g’s and sometimes chase shiny objects. We sweat profusely in the Summer and dodge tornadoes in the Spring. But there are good people here. Their caring and goodwill help choke out hatred’s weeds. As I listen to the rain come down and watch the pollen wash away, I think of this truth: If you had a compass that pointed to home, it wouldn’t point North. It would point South.
In the spirit of Lent, I sat down and thought about all of my problems. And then I came to the realization that every single one of them is my fault. Yup. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. This is a more brutal form of the serenity prayer. I am sitting here right now because of all of the choices I’ve made. Yes, there have been situations beyond my control. But if they are a problem, I needed to react to them better. I own them. No, I am not being hard on myself. My life is really really good and I am also working hard on realizing that, too. But what I have been doing is basically fumigating any victim mentality out of my brain. I am not a victim in anyway. Yes, there have been some things that I wished were different. But they shaped me into who I am. That’s what I have to work with. My job, from here on out, is to own the present and own who I am. If I want to get better, I need to decide what “better” is and start working towards it. Otherwise, I am just wishing — or worse, complaining. If feels good to complain. Sometimes, I guess it is therapeutic. But it is also a colossal waste of energy. And I only have so much of that. It’s my fault. It’s also my choice how to deal with it. If you believe in free will, which I do, use it to heal yourself, one day at a time. Own the situation you are in and change it.
Happy Ash Wednesday. Um… that’s probably an oxymoron.
I mean, c’mom, you don’t want to read, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” when you open your birthday card, right?
Growing up, Ash Wednesday wasn’t really on my family’s church calendar. Nor was Lent. I guess as Presbyterians, we weren’t predestined to celebrate it (note, if you are a Presbyterian and celebrate it, I guess you were predestined to celebrate it. My church just wasn’t.) I would note my Catholic friends giving up chewing gum or would occasionally see a smudge of dirt on their foreheads, but I didn’t really get the power of today. Yes, I knew the scripture behind it and always admired Jesus’ strength for being able to hang out in the desert for 40 days and to avoid the Devil’s temptation (second note, this was an 8th-grader’s understanding of the Good Book, don’t @ me your Sunday school take, please.) But I just didn’t GET it. One of blessings of youth is being naive when it comes to death. But there were rude wake up calls. A friend’s dad was taken from him too early. When I got to college, two classmates were run over by a drunk driver right in front of my dorm. I heard the impact and saw the bloodstains for days. Another friend died while drinking and driving. Other classmates died in a plane crash over the Smokies.
Death began to peck at my armor of perceived immortality. But that was someone else’s problem, right? Three of my grandparents died in their late 80’s. My maternal grandmother passed at 95. I had decades to waste, right?
A malignant melanoma took a chunk out of my armor (and back) in 2001. Random deaths of classmates, illnesses of friends, stumbling across fatal car wrecks and then the deaths of my own parents stripped it away all together. We all die. And we don’t know when. It can be slow. It can be sudden and unexpected (Luke Perry? C’mon). The best we can hope for isto die in our sleep (as Kenny sang in the Gambler.) Most of us won’t be so lucky. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Today is a powerful day. As I stumble, bumble, refine, focus and appreciate the 40 days of Lent, I will struggle not to live in the past or worry about the future. Death is a part of life. My goal is to face it with no regrets. Yes, I am giving up a few things and cutting back on some others. This is a handy time to get some goals and obtain them. I’m also adding a few things, too. I hope to come out of my proverbial dessert a stronger husband, father and man.
The moment we are in is a blessing. Ash Wednesday is a very strong reminder to seize that moment and make the most of it. Time is precious and it is time to treat it that way. Happy Ash Wednesday. Peace be with you. And if you’re giving up chewing gum, good luck. My friends always said that was a hard one.
This is a World War 2 fighter plane known as a P-63F Kingcobra. It’s one of two F models built; the other prototype crashed. It’s also one of three Kingcobras still flying in U.S., so it’s a very, very rare aircraft. (it’s insured for a lot of money). It is armed with a 37mm cannon in the nose and two 50-caliber machine guns. While not flown by U.S. in combat, Kingcobra was bought and flown by Soviets, who had great success using it to fight German tanks with it. This is an amazing aircraft. John Mosley from Clinton Body Shop repainted it. #ww2#aviation#kingcobra#USArmyAirForce
The first week I worked at The Clarion-Ledger (in 1996 back before the “The” and the hyphen were laid off), a group of us went to the Thai House (when it was located in an old Howard Johnson’s restaurant building off McDowell Road in South Jackson.) As we ate Watt and Tim’s delicious Thai food, the paper’s popular columnist made a frustrated observation, “They can’t cut The Clarion-Ledger anymore.” Of course Orley Hood was wrong. He was the second person laid off from the building as a tsunami of cuts began in 2008. On February 21, 2014, cancer took Orley from us after a very brave fight. I always suspected a broken heart played a role in his death too. Dammit, I wish the man hadn’t been stolen from us so soon. I always wanted to read an Orley Hood novel or at least a memoir. And when a collection of his sports columnsis published, I will buy one the first day. I miss his stories about his boys, his love of M.A., William Styron, Willie Morris and his dog. I miss the lunches at the Thai House. (Hell, I miss the Thai House.) I look back on my 22-year-career at the now Clarion Ledger with many found memories. Not because of the work I produced there, but because of the people I had the honor of working with. David Hampton, Bill Hunsberger, Sid Salter, Rick Cleveland, Rusty Hampton, Bobby Cleveland, Mike Knobler, Keith Warren, Chris Todd, Billy Watkins, Joe White, Jim Ewing, Earnest Hart, Debbie Skipper, Barbara Gauntt, Orley just to name a few — It’s hard to describe to those who weren’t there, but it was special. I watched my coworkers laugh, work insane hours, fight, argue and get the paper out every single day. For me, seeing their passion made me want to get better every single day. And one thing is absolutely true: We were a family. (That’s why the lame insult, “The Glarion Liar” always annoyed me. They weren’t taking a shot at a paper. They were taking a cheap shot at my family) The rounds and rounds of layoffs and buyouts were like funerals. Watching your friends walk out meant that our family was torn apart. That’s what made Orley’s actual funeral so hard. We looked around the room at each other, seeing a few more gray hairs and feeling a sense of loss that I can’t describe here. While I understand the realities of the newspaper industry (do I ever), one thing I don’t think the beancounters ever got was that the people were what made the product. Like I said, it is hard to explain. When I walked out of the building in December for a new job at Mississippi Today (to take better care of my actual family), I took one last tour around the building. I could hear my old friends’ voices echo in the now abandoned newsroom. When I stood in Orley’s empty office, I saw him doing a crossword while thinking of a column idea. I missed the hell out him. Today, I wish the new generation of writers at the Clarion Ledger well. They, too, are a family and I know their passion is like ours was “back in the day.” They are fighting against some strong headwinds. I wish them luck. I can’t wait to see this new exhibit; it is so well deserved. But it will sting a little bit. Change and time moving forward does that sometimes.
I have watched 10 minutes of the 30 minute interview with my dad. A few thoughts: 1. I had started to forget how his voice sounded. But he is his old self in this video and his voice came right back to me. It was like a warm hug. 2. It is fun hearing his reflections of who I am and who I was growing up. He held me in high regard — probably even more so than I thought. Dad could BS but he wasn’t a BSer. If he said it, he meant it. 3. It is very obvious from his answers that he loved my sisters and me more than anything else in his life. His eyes sparkle when he talks about us. 4. He had a very warm way about him but at times could be a bit distant. He never hugged me until his own father died — I think it was just his generation. But this is him 100% through and through. He is funny, witty and sharp. The dementia had not kicked in at this point and I am so grateful to have this recorded. This is my memory of my dad. 5. Damn, I miss him. His sickness was so horrifying that I never broke down in tears when he died. I was just numb, like someone punched me in the stomach. I held all the pain inside. A small part of me was relieved he was not suffering from the dementia anymore. Today, I broke down. I’ll have to watch the rest of it in the privacy of my own home. Bonus: I will share this with my sisters and will show my sons. They will understand a little more about the good man their grandfather was.
A few years ago, my friend Mike called to tell me he was working on a syndicated television series. Each episode would spotlight a different Mississippi artist by telling their story. Mike said he wanted to do an episode featuring me. I was honored (and wondered if every other talented person in Mississippi had said no) and said, “sure, let me know how I can help.”
One way I could help was that my parents were going to be in town. So I hauled them down to his studio and Mike plopped them in front of a green screen and interviewed them.
The series never found the financial banking it needed (which is too bad — it was a great idea). I forgot about it.
Tomorrow, I’m going to go pick up the interviews from Mike. I will have 30 minutes of footage of my parents talking about me. This is before they got sick. This was during better times. I will have their voices and faces recorded. I can tell you that watching it will break loose a logjam of grief and pain.
When dad passed, my sisters and I were with him. The only reason I mention this horribly private moment is that it planted a seed in me that has begun to bloom — Our jobs won’t be holding out hands when we die. Nor will social media or the outrage of the day. Our legacy isn’t the stuff that we accumulate. To quote Bill Courtney (Undeafeated), “Our legacy isn’t what can be sold at an estate sale for pennies on the dollar.” Our legacy is how we treat people. It’s how we, by being present, change their lives for the better.
This isn’t me preaching, meddlin’ or saying you have a speck in your eye. This is me trying to pull the plank out of my own eye. I looked at my screen time on my phone this weekend and was shocked. I wasted a good bit of yesterday trying to explain things to people who didn’t want to hear what I had to saw. Time is our most precious resource. My use of time has been as efficient as burning $100 bills to stay warm.
Lent is coming up. It’s a part of my faith and a great time for me to reflect on what to take away and what to add into my life. It helps me line up my actions with my spirit. It allows me to focus on my mortality. As they say on Ash Wednesday, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” I’ll still post on Facebook, tweet and put pictures on Instagram. But I am going to do it more wisely. As always, I appreciate you reading what I write and your comments — even if we disagree. But I’m not falling down the rabbit hole and I’m putting down my phone more often.
I miss dad every much. I wish I could have back the time I was distracted when he was alive. My mission, one that I choose to accept, is to be more present. And the present is the best time to begin.
Writer’s note: This has only been lightly edited. I will go back over time and clean it up and change this and that. I wrote this in one sitting. It’s a story that has been on my mind for a … Continue reading →
