Religion

SILENCE

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I worry. Worry for family, country, and friends. Friends of all races, creeds, and colors. I pray. There is no answer, nothing but silence.

I wonder. Wonder at how the world has come to this. I pray. There is no answer, nothing but silence.

I rage. Rage at Christians, Muslims, Atheist, Liberals, and Republicans. I pray. Again, there is no succor, only silence.

I hate. Mostly I hate myself for hating. I pray for the hatred to be taken away. It does not relent. The silence swells in my mind.

I ask for enlightenment. Understanding, Wisdom, Awareness, and Insight. Why do we do nothing but debate? I pray. There is nothing but deep, dark silence.

My grandmother instructed me to “lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” I pray but the silence has become a deafening roar in my ears.

I must keep looking unto the hills. I must keep praying…hoping God will take the silence away.

TEACHING ISLAM?

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Former students, help me out here. Not just my former students, any former student. Do you remember being taught anything about Islam during “World History before the Renaissance” or Comparative Religion courses? I keep seeing such an outcry against teaching anything about Islam. Do we not need to know our enemy? Wait, I do not want to be misunderstood…I don’t think Islam is our enemy any more than I believe Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Taoism or Judaism are our enemies. I probably should have mentioned Animism and Jainism to because I mentioned them when I taught comparative religion. Okay Confucius taught a way of life based upon mutual respect and technically is not a religion, I guess, but I taught it just like I did the others. It would appear I might have failed with the concept of respect. I also did a unit on modern terrorism. Daesh or ISIS weren’t our enemies then but Al Qaida was, along with several dozen (or more) other terrorist groups running the gambit of all religions along with people who claim to be atheist.

All terrorist are not Muslim nor are all Muslims terrorist. According to multiple sources, all biased I am sure, Muslim terrorism caused less than ten percent of the deaths due to terrorism recorded on US soil since 9/11. One source, http://www.washingtonsblog.com, siting the START Global Terrorism Database, states that since 1970, only 2.5 percent of terrorist acts carried out on US soil were Muslim. But, I digress.

Why would we not teach comparative religions or for that matter comparative cultures? Do we just ignore what we don’t want to understand and refuse to recognize the contributions made by Africans, Asians, Muslims, Catholics, and Mormons…etc.? During the Middle Ages “Western Civilization” was somewhat stagnate and backward…until Christian knights went off to fight the barbarians who called them infidels. Despite losing the “Holy Land” and actually killing more Jews and Christians than Muslims, Crusading knights brought back more than they left with. In addition to unknown foods and spices, they brought back a real concept of medicine based upon science rather than superstition, algebra, clocks, water wheels, and the modern acoustic guitar. Okay I have digressed again but am sure thankful they brought home the guitar and got one into BB King’s hands. They could have left algebra behind.

I’m not a fan of the Common Core and certainly am against lesson plans trying to convert our children to Islam…or any religion which I doubt Common Core does. As a teacher of social studies, conversion was not my function and in my part of the world is not allowed in public schools. However, teaching all religions from a cultural or historical standpoint is…and should remain so. Not teaching Islam would be akin to Nazi’s burning Jewish books, ignoring Protestantism if one were a Catholic or maybe ignoring the contributions of Mormons in our own West. As I have been told repeatedly from certain flag wavers, its history and we can’t ignore it…nor should we. We should also practice what we preach.

LOOK UP

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“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”

Sunday morning I awoke with a start, my mind as troubled as the world I was dreaming about. My already feeble brain resembled an unfinished jigsaw puzzle with several dozen pieces missing from the box. I was also in pain. Arthritis and sciatica…aging is not for the faint of heart. Instead of making the noises my father made I bit my tongue to keep from waking my wife and made my way down to the den. It was 4:30 in the AM and both of my puppies decided to follow asking with their paws to go outside.

Stepping outside with them into the crisp predawn air, I was struck by the dark beauty of a bright moonlit night. I remembered similar mornings from my past, previous life…my working life. For the ten years since my heart attack I have been, more than less, religious about running or walking. Recently, due to knee pain, it’s been more about walking but I find either exercise is a better pain killer than Advil. During my working days I would roust myself out of bed at 4:30 and hit the pavement by 5:15. Since my retirement I try to run or walk at a more civilized 7:30 or so. With nothing of interest on TV and a mind too cluttered to write, I decided to relive “those days of yesteryear, Hi Hoh Silver, Away!”

It was dark and cold as a made my way up the steep, half mile hill to the drive way at Lookup Lodge. This stretch is the darkest and most fearful part of my jaunt because of heavy timber forming a canopy over the road. Despite the bears, coyotes and wildcats who share my habitat I have never been too concerned about running into wildlife. I am much more concerned about the spirits, ghosts and haints that are just out of the range of my head lamp. This time of year I would always pause at the top of the hill before entering Look-Up Lodge and “look up.” This morning was no different. The constellation Orion waited above me to protect me from harm just as it always had. As I continued to gaze at my protector a shooting star flew across the still night sky reminding me to make a wish, one that I doubt will come true. Shakespeare wrote, “Whenever a mortal falls in sin, tears fall from angels’ eyes. And that is why at times there fall bright stars from out (of) the skies.” My guess is there will be more stars to fall.

A mile long downhill would lead me to the athletic field at Look-Up were I would again “look up” seeing Orion nipping at my heels before a short, slow uphill trek leads me to the lake and a view of an electrically lit, bare cross below the small mountains beyond. As a small child I would stay with my grandmother while my parents worked. Under her tutelage I memorized many Bible verses including one of her many favorites from Psalms, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” The memory reminded me to pause and say a short prayer for humanity before beginning my mile and a half journey home.

My knees still ache, not as much as they did when I arose this morning, and judging from the morning news, the world is still just as troubled. My mind is clearer and less jumbled, I think I even found those missing jigsaw pieces. I may continue my predawn runs and walks…along with prayers at the lake at Look-Up.

“DIVIDE ET IMPERA”

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No one knows with certainty who said it first…”Divide and Rule.” Philip of Macedonia, father of Alexander the Great, King Louie XI of France and Machiavelli all used it. It has been attributed to Julius Caesar and Sun Tzu’s ART OF WAR. It has also been misquoted in translation to mean “Divide and Conquer.” For my purposes, this particular translation works fine. You might want to consider another famous quote, this one from Abraham Lincoln, “A house divided cannot stand.” They are both related.

We are up to our chins in a metaphorical swamp loaded with hungry alligators and we are doing nothing to drain it, except to point fingers and blame each other for not draining the swamp sooner or causing the swamp to fill up originally. Honestly! Does it matter how the alligators got into the swamp or who is to blame? We are past the point of blame but we continue to feed the alligators anyway.

Has anyone thought that our “Islamophobia” might be doing exactly what ISIS wants? Driving a wedge between the people of the United States. Dividing and possibly creating more “soldiers” for ISIS and more fear for rest of us, domestic Muslims included. ISIS would not want to do that would they? I have read so many divisive post that are being shared by people that I thought were good Christians and intelligent people. Good Christian BIGOTS it would seem. RACISM in the name of Christ. Towel heads, goat fuckers, jokes about burning Mosques and “bed sheets” burning. Reminds me of the Fifties and Sixties and WE, AS GOOD CHRISTIANS, should be ashamed. Actually it reminds me more of Nazi propaganda films produced prior to World War Two designed and well executed to turn the German population against Jews. Even our presidential candidates are proposing closing Mosques or forcing Muslims to wear identification. How very Nazi of them. I know there is no law, other than Christ’s law, preventing someone from being bigoted or racist but we need to understand our enemy and focus on defeating him. Turning our own Muslim population against us does not provide us with a means to that end. Should we consider where these post are coming from? ISIS has proven to have the technological expertise to introduce such division although I am not sure they need to. I still believe our greatest enemy is ourselves and someone’s propaganda machine is working overtime.

We have myriad of problems facing us and most are of our own creation, including ISIS. How do we solve them? One at a time and it must begin with the defeat of ISIS and not the alienation of our population. It’s not about Muslims, Christians or Jews, blacks, whites or any other race. It is not about protesting college students or about abusive rhetoric, nor for that matter…any rhetoric. It’s about humans becoming unified as Americans against one enemy that is not us.

A TRIBUTE TO TIM…A YEAR LATER

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A TRIBUTE TO TIM…A YEAR LATER
One year ago after attending former player Tim Bright’s funeral I found myself writing about the pain that I was feeling and my way of dealing with it. In the book “Winning Was Never the Only Thing…” I wrote, “During a depressing early morning walk after my last visit with Tim. I came to a reality of sorts and found a bit of peace and comfort in a strange, cold and unlikely place…science. There is a scientific law that states “Energy can be neither created nor destroyed. Energy can only be changed.” I have taught Conservation of Energy thousands of times, but that morning it became more of an anodyne than just a cold scientific law.

Tim possesses a tremendous positive energy that seems to grow stronger and inspire as his illness has grown stronger. I have no doubt that his energy will continue to live on as his physical existence dims. How can it grow if energy cannot be created? It grows from the love and care displayed by his wife, his family and his friends. It grows from everything that is good and just, and it grows despite his willingness to share it with everyone. I know that he shares it because I can feel it growing in me.

I believe that the trials that Tim is going through are a test. A test that he has to pass to prepare him for something bigger and more important that he must accomplish. I believe he has passed the test with flying colors. I know that I will find comfort every time I walk out and view the heavens in the night sky. I will look for the brightest star in the sky and know that Tim is present. Whether it is in body or in soul, Tim will be with us in our darkest hours “to show us how to live, to teach us how to give and to guide us with the light of love.” (Respects to Alabama)”

It would be less than a week later that my nurse-daughter would call and tearfully let me know that Tim had left us. There has not been a clear star lit evening since that night that I haven’t thought about Tim when I have looked toward the night sky and seen bright stars twinkling. It won’t be long before Orion the Hunter dominates the sky. I remember so many early morning runs during the fall and winter days where I always felt safe as I chased Orion through the still dark skies. I felt protected from the horrors hidden in the dark knowing that Orion was above me. I feel the same now that Tim has joined him.

Tim’s death made me analyze my own beliefs. He made me inspect my religion, not my Christianity, because often Christianity and religion are not same. I had joked about my religion, after all my God is a humorous God, although over the last year it has not been much of a joke. Despite my “dunking” into the Baptist Church, I have tried to apply my beliefs to what I have called the Evolutionary, New Testament Church of Christ, membership of one…me. I am adding “loving” to the title because of Tim and his loving wife Jenny. “The Evolutionary, New Testament, LOVING Church of Christ. During his short life on Earth Jesus Christ both taught and lived his love and this has become a major tenet of my religious beliefs with help from Tim. Tim truly loved his fellow man…and was loved back in kind. Tim lived a life that was too short but it was a life filled with love, both given and received. That love is evident when anyone talks about him including me, his family, community and his friends. I can think of no better epitaph then that he “Loved His Fellow Man.” I pray I can live up to his ideal.

Inevitably when I think of Tim I think of others that have been lost. Two others have joined Tim from the same team, Jeff Gully and Heath Benedict, and recently former Landrum player Brian Kuykendall left us. It is impossible to forget my championship cut-up Michael Douty. There is also the quiet one from Mauldin, Tim Wilder. I know there are others and I don’t want to know who they are. It’s easier just to pretend that they are still out there, just out of touch, just out of reach. It is easy to feel sorrow losing them and I can only imagine the grief their families have gone and are going through. I hope they understand when I say, “I was lucky to have had them as a part of my life even if it was for a short time. I may, at times, cry for them but more than likely their memory will bring a smile to my face and a laugh to my heart as I look into the evening sky and see the brightest, twinkling stars.”

THE POWER OF RELIGION

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THE POWER OF RELIGION

There was a time when I considered the ministry. I grew up in a family that was devout but not fundamental or charismatic…especially my grandmother who both lived her religion and could quote to you chapter and verse. Even though I lived in a small rural area, we were a high Methodist church which would be less charismatic than a lot of people’s preconceived notions. That would be high as in liturgy not as in the use of drugs.

My wife says I am religiously repressed whatever that means. Did she just call me “tight assed?” Between my sophomore and junior year, I fell under the influence of my minister, Mr. McAllister. My statement sounds like I was falling under the spell of a cult but that was not the case. He just took an interest in my piety.

During our revivals we tended to become more “hellfire and brimstone” oriented and really got into that “old time religion.” Less “tight assed?” I sometimes think of those revivals during the hot and humid days of August. Our church had no air conditioning, the only air movement coming from the open windows or fifty or sixty Wolfe Funeral home fans waving in the congregation.

During a revival geared to young adults the summer after my junior year we were told that the visiting minister’s wife was in remission from breast cancer although she eventually would succumb to it. She was a graduate of my high school, a local girl several years my senior. Somehow this made her disease more real to me. This younger man of God believed his wife was cured and her wished for recovery became the centerpiece of his sermons. He hammered his reality repeatedly, celebrating his belief that her “cure” was due of the depth of her faith. “CURED I SAY BY THE GRACE OF GA-ODD! CAN I HAVE AN AMEN?”

I can hear him tonight just as I did fifty years ago say, “If your faith has enough depth, you can overcome any sickness, any disease.” I am no more comfortable today than I was fifty years ago. Later, during a gathering for our youth he hammered the same point. He asked for any questions and timid little me raised his hand and asked, “Are you saying that my mother is going to die because her faith is not strong enough?” She had been diagnosed with ALS when I was in my early teens and would succumb to it during my freshman year in college at age forty-eight.

He looked me square in the eyes and said, “Yes, if her faith is not strong enough.” My religious commitment and belief in miracles flew through the open windows and it took a while for them to fly back. It wasn’t that I ceased to believe, I really didn’t. I simply took my religious leanings and locked them away in a deep safe place for later. It was one of those pathways that wound back from my youth. I also didn’t go out and rebel, I waited until my late twenties and early thirties to do that. I hope my old age is as tardy with its arrival as my rebellious age. Well, with my knees, this is a pipe dream.

Despite my wandering pathway back to the light, I still have many questions, not the least of which is how something can be such a powerful good, be used to do such harm? I know the answer is easy on the surface, it’s the human factor and it’s really about religions not Christian beliefs.

It was Gandhi that observed, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” The older I get the more I agree. True Christians follow the teachings of Jesus Christ not the tenants of some religion. It should never be “my God is better than your god.”

What can be bad about “Loving your neighbor or your enemies?” The statement that is quoted often, “More wars have been fought over religion than any other reason” is not true but when ideologies conflict, religion is usually one of those ideologies.

I’ve never been high about religions that play to our fears. The FAR Christian and Far Islamic right are feeding our fears. I am in the middle politically on Muslim refugees but don’t believe that we can afford to take the chance on accepting them. ISIS atrocities and the memory of 911 are just too strong. But what about our own Muslim citizens or the thirty-five hundred Muslim service members, Muslims whose families have lived here peaceably for hundreds of years or who are fighting in the Middle East for our safety?

I asked that question on Facebook and I don’t guess I was surprised by the response considering other posts that I have seen. Visions of Muslim’s scrambling aboard boats attempting to avoid concentration camps enter my mind. That could not occur in the United States, could it? It was unconstitutional but I remember studying the Japanese “internment” camps during WW II? I’m not sorry that my beliefs won’t let me believe that something like this could happen again. This time to our Muslim population.

My beliefs will not allow me to call my friends abominations either. Conservatives, Liberals, abortionist, anti-abortionist or Gay and Lesbian and homophobes. Yes, I just threw you into the group that you are all defiling or supporting when what I would really like to do is throw you all away. How can good Christians use such terms to describe their neighbors…or non-Christians for that matter? How can good human beings say those things?

This past week, Florida moved to “Don’t say Gay.” Heterosexuals where did homosexuals hurt you? If the practice of homosexuality is a sin that is between a person and their god. If you are not a practicing homosexual, or trans, or pan, it is none of our business.

If the Bible is to be believed, all people are God’s children. If it is not to be believed, all people are human and should be treated as such. Your religion does not trump their humanity.

A STORY FOR BRIAN

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As the first decade of the new millennium drew to an end I found myself being forced into retirement due to our state’s TERI program and the economics in play during that particular slowdown. I was comfortable with this retirement especially when a new charter school opened and wanted me to continue my teaching and I once again became unretired. My coaching career was coming to an end but at least I would be able to teach without the distraction of practices, games, long bus rides and the cold that always began the baseball season and seemed to get colder as I got older. That was what I thought at least…about the cold and the fact that my coaching career was over. As my wife and I walked one morning late in the summer of 2009 I informed her that long time Landrum coach, Travis Henson, had accepted a collegiate position at North Greenville University. With typical Linda Gail insight her comment was, “You better not answer your phone because John Cann (Landrum’s athletic director) will be calling.” I didn’t listen and ended up as their interim coach for a year. It was a good year, not a great one, but it allowed me to reconnect with Brian Kuykendall.
Brian was a former football player and student from my first stint at Landrum back in the mid 1980’s. He was also a baseball player but during my first stint I had been banished to coaching track and I didn’t get to coach him in that sport. I did get to watch, and he was a player that was light on ability but heavy enough in grit and was a great competitor, a coach’s dream. Short and stocky with dark good looks, he really hadn’t changed it seemed when I met him and his son Kaleb at the first parent and team meeting. You are kidding right? Are you old enough to have a fourteen year old and does this make me a “grand coach” of some type? I guess there was a little gray in his hair and goatee but not much. Brian had taken his love for people and kids and had coached or officiated most of the kids that I was getting ready to coach. He was a true sport’s father except one with brains who cared about all of the kids, not just his own. That is not a statement about Landrum specifically just sports in general.
I visited with Brian a few days ago. It wasn’t a good visit and I dreaded it as I drove the twenty miles to the Hospice House in Landrum. Brian is dying from lung cancer and there is nothing I can do about it. He was unconscious from drugs and I just could not get him to wake up to go out and play catch with me. I was struck by how strong Brian looked and fear that his battle will be long and hard on his family. I would rather he go “gently into the night.” His battle with his illness has taken me back to other players who are no longer with me. It has been a year since Tim Bright died of the same terrible disease and I again am struck with the unfairness of life. Children and former players should outlive me not the other way around. I have hopes that the list will grow no longer and that I will live forever but fear that is not going to happen.
As I walked this morning I thought about Brian along with Tim Bright, Heath Benedict and Jeff Gully. I know there are others who have left us, all too soon, but for some reason it Brian and these three, who force their way into my thoughts. I stopped at the cross located on the lake across from Lookup Lodge and asked for answers. There were none forthcoming, just the sounds of water, birds and the young people that populated the area this beautiful Sunday morning. These were the sounds of life when I was thinking about death and the hereafter.
I don’t know what happens after death, I have my faith and I truly believe that death is just another door to step through and there is something more. I joked with a friend about the laws of physics and Conservation of Energy and the possibility of “mingling molecules” or maybe “flashing photons.” This Sunday morning my concept of heaven includes a freshly manicured baseball field with sharp white lines gleaming in bright sunlight. Brian, when you step through that door and smell the sweet smell of freshly cut grass, look for a big blond guy with an even bigger grin, an even bigger, goofy guy with his hat a little off to the side and red headed smart-alecky outfielder who is looking for his next laugh even though he is now laughing. Introduce yourself to Tim, Heath and Jeff and tell them to play a little catch. I’ll be along in a bit and we can get the game started.

MATTHEW 5:43 AND 44

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Verse 43″You have heard that it was said, ‘YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR and hate your enemy.’ Verse 44″But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,…”

I purposely stayed away from social media and television programs like Face the Nation before going to church this past Sunday. For the previous few weeks, I did not avoid them and found it impossible to focus on my minister’s message because of the venom and hatred that I felt was being spewed by political figures on one venue and friends and acquaintances on another. I did pray for their eternal souls…and mine for what I was thinking about them. What was this week’s message? Matthew Chapter 5. Well, I am sure that Christians everywhere, dead and alive, are rejoicing over the fact that I paid attention…even if it was just a little.

It would seem that many of us who claim to be Christians, and being full of Christian generosity, have Matthew 5:43 down pat. “You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy?” I would say that would be an Old Testament influence, the old “eye for an eye,” a notion that we have learned well. It is Verse 44 that seems to be problematic for me, “But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you….” I am also having trouble with my grandmother’s favorite, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Yes! I say and think dreadful things about those people who are out to persecute me – the guy who cuts me off or takes my gas pump when I am signaling…or not; conservatives who call liberals names and liberals who call conservatives names; Christians versus gays; and Christians who post disparaging pictures and untrue statements about our president. Though these disrespectful posts are not actually persecuting me, they really hurt because we react negatively, and we are people who are supposed to be Christians! You know…” Turn the other cheek” and “Love thine enemy.”

Before I really start, I want to dispel any preconceived notions. I AM NOT A DEMOCRAT OR A LIBERAL…and I AM NOT A REPUBLICAN OR A CONSERVATIVE! If you must put a tag on me, I will admit to being a PEDESTRIAN on occasion. My voting record includes both Democrat and Republican, as well as various third-party candidates. I vote with what I consider to be a “knowledgeable heart.” I did not vote for President Obama the second time. Despite not voting for him, I STILL cannot believe how we are treating a sitting president…or a non-sitting one.

For example, a picture of President Obama and the First Lady showing them at what was probably an athletic contest was circulated. In this picture, they did not have the most flattering expressions on their faces which seems to be the norm in these types of pictures. An unknown person is holding a photo-shopped banana in front of them with the caption “Mouths ah waterin’” or some such garbage. Why didn’t you go ahead and go the extra yard with a piece of watermelon? In another, before he was President, movie star Ronnie Reagan is holding President Obama and feeding him a bottle in a “Breakfast with Bonzo” parody. Really? A biracial president portrayed as a monkey. I would say someone’s racist petticoats are showing. The worst, by far, is a nude, cracked-out woman portrayed as President Obama’s mother. Any pictures of Barbara Bush circulating? All were shared by people who claim to be Christians exercising their First Amendment rights. I’m trying not to judge you, according to the Bible that is not my right. Rest assured you will be judged and your sins will be found out! And while I’m at it, do you really think the President and First Lady are going to put the wrong hand over their heart during the National Anthem…on purpose? How stupid do people think we are? Stupid because we keep sharing! Is that judging?

The following is not a rant about whether or not homosexuality is a sin or not. That is not for me to judge. If it is a sin they will have to answer for that at a later date…just like I will have to answer for two divorces. I do not understand why, if another group of people are given their civil rights, we “moan and dress in sackcloth and ashes” claiming that we are losing our rights. I honestly do not understand how gays having a right to a civil union would have any effect on my religion, my marriage…or my rights. People have tried to play it off as the Supreme Court overstepping their bounds or attacks on Christian beliefs. I believe, however, that deep down in my heart there is hate, the same kind of hate expressed by people when the Supreme Court overturned Plessy for Brown and when interracial marriage first became legal. There are others who could care less, they just don’t like being told what they have to do. Yes, the far left is pushing and the far right is digging in.

While I am offending everyone, I don’t believe Mike Huckabee meant his Dred Scott comment the way it came out but then again I believe that extraterrestrials are out there and that Santa Claus lives at the North Pole. My point is that calling our enemies names is NOT an act of love, something repeatedly taught by Jesus Christ. It also doesn’t take much intelligence. Huckabee does have a right to his own opinion. Stating why his position is incorrect is one thing, but saying that “What do you expect? He is from Arkansas” or dismissing it as the babblings of the far right is a very different matter. It is disrespectful to a bunch of folks who do know what is going on. Back on point, if my church makes the decision to allow gay marriages, it is a problem between myself and my church. If my church decides not to allow them, then it’s no one else’s business. I have heard my gay friends called abominations, which is actually a misquote of what maybe a Biblical misquote. God makes no mistakes but Biblical translators may have misinterpreted a few passages. I heard Kim Davis referred to in the same way…and many more equally unflattering terms. Name calling is as wrong as the position she has taken! If you are a Christian, it is not very Christ-like to say your neighbor is an abomination…or your enemy according to Jesus. According to Jesus’s own words, we should be praying for them.

Did you know that the pictures of gays desecrating the Christian Flag took place at a festival over two years ago…in Buenos Aires? It circulated as though it was happening today in the good ole United States. Did you know that desecrating the flag of the United States is perfectly legal according to the oft-quoted First Amendment? I find both to be disgusting but that’s not the point. We should be praying for the people who create and post these and other vile pictures and hateful comments. These people are so extremely left or right that they are not only our enemies, but also, enemies of our country and our government. Some even want to start a revolution, and not a quiet one. I must say that at times the United States has been its own worst enemy and an evil one at that. Despite these downfalls, I for one, would rather deal with a known enemy than with an unknown enemy, especially if it is one I love. Therefore, I will pray for our neighbors and our enemies – both foreign and domestic. You might want to try praying for them, too. Ask to remind them that we are supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves. And who is our neighbor, anyone who walks upon the Earth.

Life is Like a Golf Match

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My wife and I attended a funeral this past Sunday. It seems to be our most recent form of social activity. I guess we have reached that age. This service was for a man that I had never met and if the ministers who held this wonderful memorial are to be believed, and I do, Mike Hawkins’s father was someone I wish I had met. Past his ninety-first birthday, Frank Hawkins had gone to the same church his entire life, had been married to the same woman for longer than I have been alive and earned a Bronze Star during World War Two. He also took it upon himself to carve out a playing field across the road from his house so that his sons and their neighborhood friends could play baseball…Yes he coached the team to. Mr. Hawkins certainly “walked the Christian walk.”

Linda and I attended the service to show our support and love for Mike, who was Frank’s second son, my best friend and a former classmate of Linda’s. I first met Mike some forty years ago on opposite sides of some forgotten athletic field but remember that it did not go well. I would get to know him better when I coached with him for twelve years. That period of time went much better as long as you avoid speaking of won-loss record. As the two ministers, close friends of Mike’s father, told stories about Frank I could not help but think how different Mike and his father were…except they weren’t. Frank was gregarious, enjoyed people and was a fishing maniac according to his preacher friends while Mike would rather undergo a root canal than get caught in a group of people, can be moody and cannot be still long enough to sit in a boat for longer than five minutes…except to take his dad fishing. It became apparent however, as the stories went on, that they shared the same passions. Mr. Hawkins was passionate for his religion, his family and kids. So is Mike. There is no more loyal friend than Mike Hawkins and despite his gruffness, no one cares more deeply for kids.

There were many coaches, former players and parents and even a retired sports writer showing their respect for Mike and his father. It was good to catch up with old friends and I thought of another former player and coaching chum, Bucky Trotter. I had seen him just a few weeks ago at a reunion of football players and coaches at Mauldin High from 1980 and remembered a time when we stood on a tee box at a local golf course. It was our annual golf outing and for some of us it was the only time that we played golf during the course of a year…and we played accordingly. Bucky became a bit of a philosopher after hooking a shot into the woods when he said, “You know? Golf is a lot like life. We start out together going to school or working together just like on this tee and then we hit our shots and go off on our separate ways just like in life. Sometimes, if we are lucky and don’t hit our shot too deeply in the woods, we manage to find our way back to each other just like getting back to the green.” I was glad to have made it back to the green to see the old Mauldin staff and players two weeks ago and it was good to catch up with people I had not seen for a while at the funeral. I feel for Mike and his loss but I think Mr. Hawkins would have approved.

Common Ground

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Excerpt from “Winning Was Never the Only Thing…”

“There is a long hair that doesn’t like the short hair
For being’ such a rich one, that will not help the poor one
Different strokes for different folks
And so on and so on and Scooby dooby doo-bee
Oh, shasha, we got to live together”
“Everyday People”-Sly and the Family Stone

I was not a happy camper. As I returned from my early Sunday morning run, I had gotten a text from former player and student Jamie Bennett. He was preaching at his childhood church, Gethsemane National Baptist Church.

Jamie, now James to everyone but me, would be described, according to my religious upbringing, as a Lay Minister. He does not have a divine degree and is not ordained in a traditional sense although within his own church he has been ordained.

I had heard him preach before He is a good preacher and a true man of God. So why was I not a happy camper? It had been my intention to go to church after completing my run this Father’s Day. It was because he is a BLACK man of God preaching to a BLACK church.

What do I have against black men of God? Nothing except that they attend black churches whose services tend to run awfully long . . . and then some. I knew my wife was not going to let me out of this one. Well to be honest, my conscience was not going to let me out of it either. Being invited meant a lot to me, especially on Father’s Day and going was more important than an early lunch and an afternoon sitting in the sun. I just hoped my stomach would agree with me.

Both Jamie and his brother Boo, or Carolus as he is now known, played for me at Riverside. Both were pitchers, both were outfielders and they both had their struggles hitting pitches that bent. During the late Seventies and early Eighties, I taught with Jamie’s and Carolus’s mother Carol Ann, but it was when my wife came on the stage that our families became close.

Linda Gail had taught most of the Bennett-Brooks clan elementary physical education. Linda Gail and Mother Carol Ann developed a bond that gradually expanded to include both sides of the Bennett-Brooks family: grandparents, dads, sister, brothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and many cousins, who were, in some cases, many generations removed. This is a huge family. They rent motels and cordon off city blocks when they have their family reunions, and it seems Linda Gail taught them all.

More importantly, they are tight. Tight like a moonshiner family from the Blue Ridge. Mess with one and you find yourself messin’ with them all, especially the sisters and sisters-in-law. By the time younger brother Carolus had come along, Linda and Carol Ann’s bond had strengthened to the point of a sisterhood of sorts. So, honestly, my relationship with the family expanded when I came along for the ride as Linda became matriarch, Grandmother Chancey’s adopted daughter.

Okay, I was wrong. I cannot totally come back to Jamie and his family until I give you some personal history and further confessions. This story really has less to do with religion but has everything to do with cultural differences which involve religion and a gazillion of other diverse variances between the races. It is called diversity, right?

I was a child in the Fifties and a teen in the Sixties and am a product of all the prejudices that were taught to me during that period. Even though my family was one of the least prejudiced that I knew of, I do not say that with pride because they were still prejudiced. I recognized that there was a separation between the races in addition to cultural differences even if I didn’t quite understand them.

Watching the nightly news, I saw buses burned, church bombings and fire hoses along with German Shepherds turned loose on masses of black people while I attempted to enjoy my Birdseye TV dinner. It did not make me particularly proud tof my prejudices whether I understood the dynamics or not. Now that I understand the dynamics,

I have spent the best part of fifty years trying to both get over and to atone for my prejudices. Most of the time I have been successful although there have been times that I have reverted to the prejudiced hick I don’t want to be. The good news is that unlike a lot of the other prejudiced hicks, I feel bad about it when it happens, pray for forgiveness, and thankfully, my prejudices rear their ugly heads less and less as time marches on.

Much of my racial understanding is as conflicted as is my racial makeup, which I am certain, is made up of all recognized races except Oriental – and who knows, I do have a love of Chinese food.

Nannie’s best fishing friend in addition to being part time hired help, Maggie Cureton, was “colored” and in my mind’s eye I can still see them both sitting under a shade tree gutting and scaling their catch, joking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. It was the same when there was ironing or wash to be done.

They had a lot in common. Both had lived hard before and during the Great Depression and had lost their husbands. Before and during the depression, Nannie and Pawpaw had farmed “on the lien” while Miss Maggie and family were sharecroppers. Either way their lot was a hard way to make a living. While Nannie treated Miss Maggie as if she were white, I was once taken to task over referring to black brick mason Pepsi Cola Mobley, which was not his real name, as Mr. Mobley. Nannie informed me that you didn’t refer to “coloreds” as Mister. Miss Maggie, Mr. Mobley, Confliction! I should have called him Mister Pepsi Cola.

It is hard to understand and easy to fear what you have never interacted with. I had little interaction with other races during my pre-teaching years. Occasionally I played with the Cureton grandchildren, but it was rare, and it certainly did not increase when I went off to primary school.

Despite the Brown vs. Board of Education court ruling, blacks and whites did not attend school together. Here in South Carolina and in most of the Deep South, when our state governments heard “with all deliberate speed” we focused upon deliberate rather than speed. So, as I entered the first grade in 1956, my class was “lily white.”

The Cureton grandchildren were bused eighteen miles away to an all-black school. It was still that way when I entered junior high school and high school and did not change until my senior year when “token” integration was forced upon the state by that “Yankee” government in Washington. The eighth grade Springs twins, Charles and Leroy, became our “tokens.” Nothing changed when I went off to college either. Newberry College was so white it would blind you in bright sunlight. I did work with a few African Americans but even in the cotton mill in the sixties and seventies, African Americans were few and far between and all were older adults. Even as I developed friendships in my teaching career, I felt that there was always a wall of distrust that kept friendships from developing as deeply as they might have. Thankfully by the time I had gotten to the end of my career that had changed. There I developed deep friendships with people of many races; most that I hope will survive for the rest of my life.

Jamie was not the first African American that I coached nor was younger brother Carolus the last. I have been lucky to coach many fine young men, some who just happened to be black. Because of Linda’s relationship with Carol Ann, Carolus and Jamie became the first that I developed a relationship and understanding with that went deeper than the classroom or athletic field. With most of my players, white, black or in between, I keep up with those that I can, enjoy the interaction when we cross paths and consider them all to be special, but basically they have their lives and I have mine. That is not the case with Jamie and Carolus. They are a part of my life and I am proud of what they have accomplished. It has also led to understanding. When I say black now, it is simply an easy way to describe who I am talking about. You know, “The black kid that pitched for me back in the early nineties that gave up that gonzo shot to Chad Roper” or the black kid who was an All State singer, church goer, and outstanding student, diligent son to his sick and dying father and a rock of strength to his mother. In other words, the great kid who just happens to be black.

The same thing could be said about Carolus although our understanding may have taken longer and it was not my fault. Carolus lived on my route home so it was inevitable that, by mutual agreement between Linda Gail and Carol Ann, I would be enlisted to become a taxi and would drop him off from practices. What ensued was a very long, silent and for me uncomfortable five mile drive. Carolus would not speak unless spoken to and then would only answer in the shortest possible manner. The only Carolus-initiated communication was the “Thank you” that I got when he exited my truck, and I got one every time I dropped him off. I should point out that I am quite sure that listening to Willie Nelson and George Jones while riding around in a big Ford four by four made for an uncomfortable trip for a young black male as well. With adulthood, all of that has changed except for his thank yous.

These drives were not quite as uncomfortable as I remember the first Bennett Fourth of July party my wife and I attended. It was a lesson on what it is like to be in a minority and the way that I am sure a lot of my black friends and acquaintances felt when they showed up for parties hosted and attended mostly by whites. It did not help that I knew maybe ten of the fifty plus people there and the only person that I would guess to be more uncomfortable would be the “lady of ill repute sitting on the front pew at church.” I don’t think that I imagined the stares and silence that greeted us as we came through the door. I am sure there were a few questions like “Who are they and why are they here?” running through some people’s minds. With introductions and explanations this changed, but that wall I talked about earlier was still firmly in place. Over the years, the party has become much more comfortable. I am sure that the walls of distrust still exist but believe that many holes have been opened up in it. As I sat and gorged myself on pulled pork and ribs along with some of the best potato salad of all time, I became involved in conversation with Uncle Butch, a member of my generation. It did not take long to realize that we did not grow up much differently despite our skin color. Our roots were stuck firmly in the soil and the textiles that were produced from it. The only difference was the color of our skin and the distrust fostered by slavery, Jim Crow and the racism that is still evident today. Funny odd, now, twenty years or so later, if we are unable to attend the party for some reason, our absence is a source of concern.

Today I look at racial diversity as a smorgasbord of delights. I believe we should just focus on how diversely different people party. How can you be distrustful of people who produce such wonderful food? My life without Latin, Soul, Oriental and Cajun foods would not be life ending but life would not be as joyous, especially without a Belgian or German beer or maybe some Tennessee whiskey to go with it. Someone might as well play some Blues, Reggae or a little Zydeco to help the atmosphere along. It is just as easy to focus on the positives about diversity as it is the negatives and again with knowledge comes understanding. I thank the Bennett’s friendship for that.

Incidentally, the service that Jamie preached was wonderful and thought provoking. Brother Carolus sang, large portions of the Brooks-Bennett family were in attendance and the service was uplifting and motivating in every way. I think every person there shook my hand and wished me a happy Fathers Day. Their pastor gave me a huge bear hug and has been in contact twice since the service. Truthfully, we did “make a joyful noise unto the Lord” and because of that I don’t remember it being a longer service than normal. In fact, it might not have been long enough.
“Winning…” may be purchased through Amazon using the link: http://goo.gl/Saivuu