TWO WAYS TO DO SOMETHING

 I’m not sure when it started, but at some point in my life, I began giving advice to folks. Some might say that I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, but that never silenced me. All sorts of people have been subjected to the Joe Rector version of what is right. They’ve discovered that two ways exist: my way and the wrong way. Poor humans never saw it coming and couldn’t escape it. 

For 30 years, I taught high school, and students received tons of advice from me. These days, such activities would lead to my firing. However, back in the day, when I closed the door to my classroom, I was in charge. Now, I never gave any advice that was illegal or immoral, but I offered my opinion on some occasions. Fridays used to be discussion days. Students circled up in their desks, and we began. I told these teens that we would not discuss religion, politics, or war. Some classes ignored that rule, and I had to drag them back to an acceptable topic. Most of the time, I played “devil’s advocate.” I asked questions or made teens give proof to back up their contentions. I told those students they’d never know what I really thought, but chances are they had an inkling of my beliefs. 

In 1974, Amy and I married. I swept her off her feet, and she landed in Knoxville. I thought since she was only 19 that I, as a man of 22, could make decisions for us. I was older and much wiser, or so I thought. Amy was the real mature person in our relationship. Oh, I tried to tell what she should do and shared my opinion on a variety of topics. Sometimes my wife humored me and let me think that I was in charge; at other times, she gave me the look, that one that screams, “You moron, be quiet!” Most of the time, however, my dear wife simply ignored me. I’m so lucky that she has put up with my tendency to think I’m right most of the time.  

My children, Lacey and Dallas, have been swept away in the flood of their father’s opinions. I had something to say about any topic. Folks who know Lacey should ask her my ideas about the fall of the Egyptian civilization. Others might ask Dallas about the advice I gave him for years on baseball. To understand how off the charts I’ve been, people might ask them what kind of expectations I had for them as children of a teacher. I learned many of these from my mother, who was a teacher. It’s been a rough life at times for my children. 

Age is such a shocking teacher. I still try to give advice to others. My intentions are good; I don’t want individuals to suffer through some of the things that I have. The shocker for me is that I’m too old to give advice. No one wants to hear what I think. Even worse, I don’t understand so much of this world and the new things in it. Like too many oldsters, my opinions on topics of life today sound incredibly like whining and complaining. We Boomers are each day becoming more like square pegs that don’t fit into round holes.  

I try now to ease up on telling people what they should do, but too often, I fall back into the trap and begin lecturing them on what is the correct way to go about things. Some of it comes from being a teacher. A person who is the head of the class is supposed to be in charge. Yes, a part of education is self-discovery, but sometimes, the only way to drive home a concept is by verbalizing in and having students write the words down, and then test them. No one should worry that this will never end. All of us have an expiration date, and when they arrive, the bossiness disappears. Just be patient with us until then.  

LIGHTING LIVES

 With a snowfall that this area hasn’t seen in a long while and the pouring rains that followed gone, I was feeling good about the warm spell that allowed me to be outside. Then over the weekend, a call came to my wife that darkened even the brightest of skies. Her cousin Melinda was in intensive care, the prospects of her leaving the hospital were dim at best.  

Melinda and Amy are a year apart.  Neither had a brother or sister, and because they lived so close to each other in Algood, Tennessee, they were constant play buddies. I’ve seen all sorts of pictures of the two of them playing in the yard. The cutest one featured both in their cowgirl suits and guns.  

Over the years, the two women have remained close. Melinda moved back to the area after the death of her father. At the time, Amy and I had just begun dating. From the first time I met her, I knew that Melinda was a special person. To be honest, she was the one person in the entire extended family that seemed to be glad that I was with Amy. In her I had an ally, and I never forgot it.  

Melinda’s life has been one dedicated to helping others. She spent so many years as a social worker for a nursing home in Algood. Over that time, she wore many hats: social worker, patient confidante, janitor, chaplain, and friend. Melinda was a blessing to every life she touched, and no one had a bad word to say about her. She devoted her time to those residents and their families. When times were bad for an individual, she was always present to help ease the pain. If a patient passed, she willingly spent as much time as was necessary in comforting families.  

Best of all, Melinda had the opportunity to work with her daughter Sarah, who worked with patients as a physical therapist. Like her mother, Sarah always had a smile on her face, although she could be stern when circumstances arose with those who didn’t cooperate during sessions. That mother-daughter duo helped the facility to provide the best care available.  

Melinda had a strong faith in God, and she and her husband Howard spent hours working on projects in their church. They lead groups, volunteered for workdays, and strove to be shining examples of what God desires from those who have dedicated their lives to His service. She fought the disease that returned after a remission, and she told folks that she wasn’t ready to die because she had the Lord’s work to complete.  

Unfortunately, that disease ravaged her body, and on Saturday, Melinda’s time on this earth ended. Hearts are broken, and family and friends are still trying to process what has happened and how much their lives have changed. I struggle with the absences of Melinda’s laugh that was a mixture of pure joy and just a bit of mischief. She had an uncanny ability to say the right thing that would lighten any situation.  

I write this column to honor a person who made a difference in my life. She didn’t have to be kind or friendly or funny or accepting, yet she was all of these things to not only me but also to every person she met. Our world will be a bit emptier without Melinda, but all of her family and friends know that she is in the place where she worked so hard to be. Good people like Melinda are few and far between. I hope you have someone like her in your life.  

MEN PANIC WOMEN THINK

 We all know the “Men Are from Mars and Women Are from Venus.” Without reading the book, any man who’s been married for a few years can vouch for that. Some of the more heated arguments Amy and I have experienced were because neither of us understood what the other was saying. Men, for sure, aren’t always wrong, and women aren’t always right.  

Another time when the sexes are different is when a crisis arises. We men have our own set of terrible occurrences. When they happen, we panic. One is when the cable goes out and a big game is on. Just other evening, the power failed, and I almost had a conniption because UT was playing. I growled like a wounded bear and fumed at the poor weather causing the problem in the first place. KUB played the hero by acting quickly and fixing things so that I didn’t miss the second half. 

Driving is another time when men are apt to panic. An accident that backs up traffic for miles automatically sends me into a sweating overload of emotions. I worry about having enough gas; I fear that the need for a bathroom will come without an exit for miles. Cars cutting line add a gallon of anger to the panic. By the time I reach my destination, exhaustion has set in.  

A child injury is the worst of all panic situations. Dads hyperventilate as they try to think of what to do. If blood is part of that injury, a man’s panic skyrockets. My son Dallas hit his head after falling on the edge of a chair at daycare when he was about three. I arrived to find him with a gash on his forehead. At the emergency room, I sat in a chair as the doctor cleaned the wound and began stitching it. A nurse asked me if I was okay; I wasn’t. Attention turned to me from my hurt son. They brought me a coke and told me to breathe slowly. My panic and squeamishness embarrassed me.  

Women rarely panic. Instead, they think. When the power failed, Amy made sure that she contacted the power company. She wanted to watch the game as well, but she spent no time fretting over something over which she had no control. Amy grabbed her book, found a space with sufficient light, and sat down until the problem was fixed. 

Most women have little trouble driving. They go along with things as they come. My dear wife drives too slowly, but never is she bothered by traffic tie-ups or impolite motorists. She reasons that she can only control her car. She says that becoming angry is a waste of energy and time. She also explains that people who drive so dangerously should get in front of her and hurry home.  

No man can match a woman when a child is hurt. First of all, little ones want the moms when they have accidents. Mothers fix things by taking logical steps and keeping cool heads. They know whether a child has an “ouchy” or a serious injury. The entire time the little one is being attended to by doctors and staff, a mom acts as if it is all a part of daily life and that things will turn out fine. Inside, she might be about to collapse, but outside she is the picture of calmness. She’s in charge.  

I’ve spent bunches of years learning Amy’s differences and am thankful they exist. I watched her with my children and know the good people that they are now came from her teachings. Yes, some men think, and some women panic, but for the most part, we are wired certain ways that only God can explain. I’m just glad one thinker is in our household.  

REAL LIFE IS NOT ON A SCREEN

 I heard on the news the other day that the average teen spends approximately six hours on social media and games. Most of us old folks condemn that kind of wasted time until we hear that in our days as teens that we spent about the same number of hours watching television. The one caveat to that statement is that we had only one television for the entire family and watched it as a family. We also spent plenty of time outside. Other boys from the neighborhood came to our house, where we played baseball and tackle football. We also rode bikes and rode skateboards, without helmets or pads. Yes, it was a dangerous time for children who dared have fun without being bundled up like the little brother in “Christmas Story.” 

These days, it’s hard to know whether or not any children live in the neighborhood. They never come outside; instead, their time is spent gazing at the screens on phones, iPads, and computers. The only parts of their bodies that are exercised are their thumbs. Some have better setups and can communicate with other friends as they play games. Instead of calling each other, they text. I don’t type fast enough to carry on communications. However, younger people know the shortcuts and zips off long conversations in no time. Spotting a teen who spends too much time on a technological toy is easy. They have no ability to interact with people in social settings. 

We oldsters would have said “amen” if we had a phone. Instead, we had to hold conversations on the phone on the wall, usually in the kitchen. The entire family might be sitting there as boys asked girls out for dates or when girls tried to talk about the latest news about themselves and other teens. Yes, those conversations were private and caused plenty of embarrassment for the teen standing in front of parents, brothers, and sisters who might be present.  

Young folks are also tied to their screens at home so much that they have little interest in learning to drive. They respond “why” when someone asks them if they are excited about getting a license. Many teens don’t want to drive. In fact, they seem afraid to sit behind the wheel of a car. I suppose their fears are the result of not being out in public too often. The thoughts of maneuvering through traffic and interacting with other drivers must frighten them. For those of us who walked most places as teenagers, getting a license and borrowing parents’ cars equaled freedom. 

I’m typing this column on a computer as I also listen to the television. No, I don’t type well. In fact, I failed the course in high school. I’m thankful for a tool that makes this process easier. Yes, I look at Facebook and You Tube. However, I don’t spend an entire day with my face buried in a screen. I need to get up and move around too much, and I am easily bored. My time is much more enjoyably spent working on some project or chore. I wish young people would spend more time outside doing something—working, playing, walking with friends. I’d love for them to get a little dirty sometimes. Maybe more time outside would be a wonderful preventative to falling ill so often.  

I love young people. My grandson Madden is a high school student, and he falls into the very things I’ve discussed. He also plays soccer and walks with friends throughout their neighborhood. In May, he will have the chance to earn his license and then drive. I’m scared to death for him to begin operating a car, but I’m excited that he’s excited about driving. He’s rounding into a “normal” teen, at least according to my standards. I want his life to be filled with a variety of experiences, not just those he’s had in his room on some doodad with a screen. Life is much better when we’re together. Make that teen exit the dark cave and see what else life holds.  

A BIT OF CIVILITY PLEASE

 The signs for the local candidates flood the roadsides, and I can’t help but think how many will be left there after the elections are decided. I understand disappointed candidates don’t much want to circle back around to pick signs for a losing campaign, but that comes with the territory.  

We’ve also seen presidential campaign ads on the television. For the present, they are mostly two GOP candidates going after each other, but by Super Tuesday, the parties and two presidential candidates will go air ads that tout their strengths, as well as their opponent’s weaknesses. Just think; we’ll have to watch this garbage until November!  

This is all well and good for the two men who will probably run for their respective parties. What I’d like to happen this year, however, is for supporters of those candidates try to return to a time of civility.  

I’m as passionate as anyone about electing the leader of our country and admit that my behavior in the past has been less than exemplary. I bad-mouthed the other candidate when his supporters bad-mouthed mine. I tried arguing reasonably, only to fall into the trap of hatefulness and smugness. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure how anyone could vote for a person with so much extra baggage. Folks seemed to change from being political supporters to cult followers.  

My parents were on opposite sides of the political spectrum. I would have liked to know why each chose their parties. I wonder if they ever argued over an election or a candidate. About the only thing I know is that every four years Daddy polished a brass ashtray that had an elephant standing on the back. Mother never said a word, but I’m sure his actions irked her.  

The vitriol between some folks is almost palpable. Being members of their parties seems to have changed them. The far-right supporters seem like cult members. Their candidate can do no wrong, even though he might face plenty of legal troubles. The far-left supporters have no tolerance for people whose ideas might be different from theirs. They see our country as one drowning in unfairness, and they also have become self-designated guardians of the English language. Their goal is to remove all words that might ever offend a single person. I figure all that will be left in our vocabularies will be the words “a,” “an,” and “the.” 

These days, my closest friends on the other side and I can argue and tease and laugh. We never wind up angry with each other. No part of politics is more important than our relationship. Our desires are the same: a strong country with freedom and quality leadership. I hope that we can count on those things from both candidates.  

The country cannot survive much more of the bickering and squabbling over politics. The devotion of all citizens should be to the USA, not to candidates. If we keep that in mind, our chances of surviving this election season increase dramatically. All it takes is a bit of civility. Please use restraint and allow others to support their candidates without making derogatory comments of engage in physical hostilities. Maybe the best thing to guide us all is prayer and belief in the ideals that have made this country the best one in this world for several years.