Leroy

After completing a long career with the New York City police department, Adolphus P. Abernathy retired and returned to the small town in South Georgia where he grew up. Because he had seen so many homeless people living out their lives at the bottom of the pile, and with no hope of crawling out, he made up his mind; “I will become friends with all God’s creatures when I don’t have to work anymore”. He had seen a sign on the side of a country store as he traveled the back roads with his father. Before “frigidaires” became standard furnishings of every southern home, his father delivered ice to the iceboxes on his route in a good part of that rural county.

The sign on the side of the store, “I’ll build me a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.” He remembered all the talks he had with the down and out in the city that never sleeps. He became friends with more than a few, and discovered that many of them, in addition to what else they had been, were philosophers of some sorts too. They were eager to share their opinions, but never their real names. He listened patiently to whatever they said; for in his best judgment, he was a philosopher as well. He formulated theories about every contemplation, and shared them with all who would listen. He shared them, some times, when no one could tell. When chided by his wife, “Adolph, hush your senile rambling, they don’t understand”, he would smile and say, but that’s what old men do all day.

He built him a house with a glassed in room facing a path where many of God’s creatures trod. He waved his hand, and made no rule, until they all knew, he was friend for sure. Adolph went to his room each morning, to see who came by today. He invited them to sit at his table, but their answer was always the same, we are not dressed for the inside of a place like yours. Understanding their feelings, he built their place near his back door. Where they could feel welcome, in whatever they wore, while he visited through the window of his glassed in room. He regularly prepared food he thought they would like, and not one complained, not even Luke. When the day was over, and time for them to go, he would smile and say, y’all come back some time, you are welcome at my place on any day.

One came each morning to the table Adolphus P. Abernathy had affectionately made, and no one knew his name. Thinking he might have something to hide, Adolph did not press him to tell. He seemed to like his visits, as demonstrated by his trust, but whence he came and where he went, not one of us knew. I’ll give him a name that is easy to know, and from that day forth, it was ‘Leroy’ who came to call. They discussed, through the window, politics and literature, finance and war, and philosophy a good bit too.

Many years passed, while they talked through the window of the glassed in room in the house Adolph had built by the side of the road. When asked by his wife to decide on an issue, he would answer this way; I’ll talk to Leroy tomorrow, and see what he has to say. Adolph was pleased that Leroy listened to his opinions without challenge, while nodding his head to concur. There was never any debate over who was right on an issue, or any global problem on which they would confer. They agreed in unison together, there needs to be more tolerance for birds of a different feather. As Adolph grew feeble, Leroy seemed to know, and moved closer to the window, in a place easier for Adolph to go.

Through the window one morning, Leroy was not there to see. Adolph thought little about it, must be some young thing he likes better than me. Days passed, Leroy did not come at all, and Adolph worried and wondered, did I hurt his feelings one day. Adolph, himself, had feelings, that my good friend would do me this way. The neighbor came to visit, and Adolph finally knew, Leroy had not left in madness, but was the main ingredient in the neighbor’s squirrel stew.

Free And Equal In Mind And Soul

A nation cannot “have its cake and eat it too.” It can not have a harmonious citizenry and actively preserve, at the exclusion of any, the absolute culture of any group. If it, or any group within it, desires comfortable equality and real integration, it must not favor any group more than any individual.

I hear people talk about afro-centricity, gay pride, white supremacy, Native American culture and women’s rights. I find it hard to think in these terms and, at the same time, think as a free and equal American. When I think of women as a group, I have to think of men as the opposition. That gives me trouble reconciling my belief that men and women are of equal value, but are, by nature, different parts of the same group. My thoughts of one nation are disrupted when I hear terms related to people’s color, lifestyle, or ethic origin. My mind is really bothered when these terms are associated with our government’s mandated programs.

There is just enough “favor” to go around, and there ought not be competition for it. Competition is said to be good for us, and that may be so in business, but I am not sure that the rivalry caused by bias governing will not fragment our strengths. To give preference to any group, cannot help but deprive individuals, outside that group, of their part.

In fairness to all and in the eyes of the law, there can be no black Americans, Hispanic Americans or white Americans; just Americans. If a united nation is the goal, each person must know, without regard for his culture, his lifestyle or his gender, that he has equal chance under the law.

The solidarity of any nation is enhanced when each citizen understands and endorses his place as a contributing part of the whole. He can understand that place better when he feels that he has been treated fairly, as measured against us all; and the “melting pot” has done its job, when all its citizens feel no prejudice or envy from without, or from within their very souls.

Questions With No Answers.

Recently, I heard a mother talking about her teen age daughter’s untimely death. This beautiful young girl was killed in an automobile accident while on an outing with a friend. There was no drugs or drinking involved, the friend was just driving too fast for her experience and lost control on a dangerous curve. The young girl was active in her church, a good student in school, loving and was loved by her family. She had most of a normal life ahead of her, and there was promise of good things to come.

The question, “why her?” was asked by her mother and many others. Why would God allow her to be born and yet allow her to die before her life came into fruition.

After many months, I don’t know that the question has been resolved in minds of some. Can God be blamed? Can the driver be blamed? Most of us are not exempt from unusual circumstance. Things happen that we do not understand, but I feel most at ease when my faith in God has moved me toward acceptance.

About some things, my human insight is obscure, so I do better when I put my trust in one who clearly sees the whole. Maybe there are some human questions for which there are no human answers.

Cranberry Statistics

Thirty plus years ago, I was advised by my doctor to have a stone removed from my gall bladder. Since a tetanus shot is a major medical procedure to me, I chose to live with the stone. As I dealt with the aggravation, someone told me that cranberry juice would help the stone production problem. Eager to prevent surgery, I drank a small glass of it each day for all those years. Recently, while having a sonogram for another problem, we looked at the gall bladder and found no evidence of stones. I immediately thought of all that red juice, and how it must have helped my problem. As I tried to validate its usefulness, I also discovered that, since I started drinking the juice of the cranberry, we haven’t had to replace a single muffler on any of our automobiles.

Actions

Human actions, no matter how simple, that emanate from a sense of love, may bear a great deal more weight than those, no matter their difficulty, that come from a sense of duty.

Bridges That We Never Cross

Sometimes, our worries are about what ifs. Some of our fears come to haunt us as we consider possibilities, and many times our energy and intelligence are wasted as we speculate that our worst fears will come to pass.

Our transportation used to be by horse drawn wagons; some of the horses were afraid to cross bridges. The metal rims of the wagon wheels made an eerie sound as they rolled across the boards of the wooden bridges. Now and then, the horse would spook and run.

When we traveled, we missed much of the pleasure of the trip while we worried that there might be a bridge in our path. Many times, we reached our destination without ever encountering one.

Bridges that we never cross may have more to do with our mental ease than the bridges of reality.

Conundrums and Impasses Of Life.

Conundrum is a nasty sounding word defined as a problem with no solution. An impasse is defined as a difficult situation with no real exit. If we are talking about vying with nature to develop perpetual motion, we truly have a conundrum and we have reached an impasse. Otherwise, neither of these words fit any of life’s social situations.
Recently, I cataloged, in my mind, many of the problems that I think our nation and people I know face. I saw no problems that I could not work out in my own thinking. Life, and all that life is about, is not always easy. However, there is usually a way past any obstruction.
I happen to believe that happiness is a matter of the mind. I also believe that solutions to many of life’s problems are matters of the mind too. If each of us could fall on our face, at the same time, and climb up together, we might acquire a common perspective about a world where people and their egos are exceedingly significant.
I honestly believe that problems are more like opportunities for us to display our tolerance and our intelligence. Consequently, again in my thinking, opportunities abound; but real conundrums and real impasses are few and far between.

I Survived Again

Today, I was able to supply food and shelter for my own, and I am glad. I could not buy much else, but the lack is not life threatening. I look forward to another day, and trust that I will be as fortunate as I was today. What pleasure is mine, we are fed, warm, and dry.

When I am tempted to become anxious about the stuff of life, I consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they have no income, neither can they make clothes. Yet, King Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of them. If God will take care of the grass of the field, which today is green, and tomorrow is dried up and gone, shall he not look after me?

There are many things that I cannot have and do, I have accepted that, but at the end of each day, I get great satisfaction from knowing that I survived again

A Fine and Fragile Line

There is a fine line between feeling good about one’s self and haughty pride. One side of the line is an uplifting asset; the other side is a weight against personal progress and collective tranquility. One must feel enough self worth to be confident enough to accomplish. However, one must be careful that healthy self-esteem does not become demonstrable egotism.

Feeling good about one’s self, gives one reason to feel that, what one starts, one can finish. Self respect coupled with wisdom gives one the will to venture, and this wisdom prompts one when not to advance. Part of us proclaims that assertiveness is the thing; another part teaches that the meek shall inherit the earth. Some of both make the better mix.

None of us exist in isolation: one must not only be concerned about one’s own good, but also the collective good of many. Crowds will follow a man who seems to know where he is going, and many will compliment him when he is meek about his trip, but a braggart is joked about behind his back.

Life at its longest, when judged along side eternity, is shorter than a Pentium cycle. There is not much time to make one’s mark, and for sure one cannot manhandle the making of it. Many times, a mark is made without conscious deliberation.

I am not the best at what I do, but I think that I am good enough to chance; and my being would be stilled if I thought my work would not be noticed. Yet, the knowledge that some are better, keeps me on the favored side of the fine and fragile line. It’s altogether right to know that one knows, as long as one knows what one does not know.

The Cats Get Some

Recently, a pair of birds made their nest and raised their young at our shop. I acknowledge that I cannot read the wrinkles on a bird’s brain, but it appeared that when the mother bird perceived that her nestlings were physically mature, they were pushed out of the nest. Most flew off to do what birds are supposed to do, but the cats got some.

I wonder if the children of each generation delay their maturity until they are allowed to learn from their own pains and pleasures. If parents were willing to let them fail out-loud, more of our children might make us proud. When it is one’s time to fly, one must be resolutely urged to try; full well knowing that the cats will get some.