If I Were Joseph

Joseph. We don’t know much about him. We know his girlfriend/fiancé/betrothed was pregnant. And he didn’t know what to do. Realistically, he was probably pretty annoyed/upset/pissed. But an angel came to Joseph. The angel told him basically “Take it easy. Don’t get all upset. Mary was made pregnant by the Holy Spirit. She was not unfaithful to you. And the son she will have will be Jesus, and he is the Messiah, the savior, the Son of God.”

Yeah, right.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn't have believed it. And even if I did, while I hate to admit this, I think some petty jealousies might have arisen in me. Thinking “Mary gives birth to the child, the God, and I’m nothing but a caretaker.” I probably would have tried to make it more about me, because, unfortunately, sometimes I do that. And so do a lot of us. But Joseph, thankfully, was different. As the Bible says, “Joseph was a righteous man.” And so he took Mary as his wife, and raised as his own the child that was not his.

This world needs leaders, people with drive and ambition who want to make a name for themselves while working for the greater good. But they also need people like Joseph, who was willing to be less important, because the end was more important than his own needs. He basically said “I will raise this God-child as my own. Even if history remembers me as more of an extra than anything more.” I’m not sure I could have done that. I’m not anything like Joseph. Right or wrong, that’s just not me.

And really, we don’t know much more about Joseph. He apparently died before Jesus started his ministry. Which is too bad, because he never got to see what Jesus would become, what Joseph helped to make happen. But from a Dad’s point of view, he was pretty amazing. What kind of man would accept Mary after she became pregnant? And then raise the child as his own? All the time knowing, that even if Jesus were the Messiah, he was just an accessory, a footnote mostly, in the life of the most important man to ever live. I’m sure I would have demanded a greater role. And I would have been a fool.

Christmas is a wonderful time. Even though we know that December 25 is certainly not the actual day Jesus was born, we still revel in the fact that He was born at all. And because of what He stood for, in this season, thoughts of love and good will fill us, more than any other time of year. And while yes, Christmas season can become just a little bit too commercial, too over-hyped, just a little too much, I still think Jesus would look at what's in the hearts of most of us and be happy that, at least for this time each year, we remember what Jesus came for, and what He was.

So in this Christmas season, when we celebrate, as we should, the Child’s birth, we focus on Jesus, and Mary. But just once maybe, give a mental shout-out to Joseph. What he did was selfless, wonderful, and loving. But because he did, Jesus grew up to be Jesus the Messiah.

And that changed everything.

I Don't Know the Answer

I don’t know the answer. Not even close. Honestly, I have no idea how to solve it. But I do know the question, which is “How can we lessen the gun violence in this country?"

This little girl was Emma Nowling. Last week, at the age of 7, she was shot and killed at soccer practice, by a family friend. The shooter came to practice, and Emma gave him a big hug. A little while later while Emma and her mother were in the car about to leave, the shooter fired into the car, killing Emma and wounding her mother. He then shot himself. How horrible. Honestly, I’m not sure how many tragedies are in this one short paragraph.

Why did he do it? Nobody knows for sure, but they do know he had severe mental problems. It seems he thought someone was trying to control him through his mind. So he obtained a legal permit, and a legal weapon, and killed a 7-year-old girl. Nobody knows why. Nobody will ever know why.

I know many will say this is not a gun issue, it’s a mental health issue. In a way, of course, that’s correct. But the point doesn’t mean much. We’re told instead of having any kind of gun legislation, we should address mental health. But really, how are we going to do that? Ignoring the practicalities of it, think how much it would cost to address the mental health of every American who needs it. Where is that money going to come from? The people in government who tell us we should address it, are the same ones who will never ever vote to pay for it. Or maybe instead of worrying about every single American, we only deal with the ones who want to buy guns? No, those people vote against that as well. In other words, saying “it’s a mental health issue” is a good way to direct the attention from guns, without ever having to do anything.

But back to the first paragraph, I honestly don’t know how to prevent things like this. I’m not an anti-gun guy by any means. I don’t think we should outlaw all firearms. But I do know that America has a huge gun violence problem.

I don’t want the government to arbitrarily impose some solution to this problem. But here’s what I do want. I want to be able to discuss it. Really, that’s what I want; to be able to discuss it. Without the hatred and name-calling that normally goes along with it. I want to be able to look at meaningful ways to deal with it. I want it to move away from things like the facebook posts, which do more harm than good. And as with any honest discussion, all options should be considered, not matter how far “right” or “left” they are.

An honest discussion. That’s all I want. It won’t fix anything, at first. And we'll never stop the problem completely. But maybe, just maybe, if we as a nation can discuss it like reasonable adults, just maybe we can come up with some solutions that will help with the problem, without shredding the second amendment. An honest discussion: is that too much to ask? Unfortunately, I think I know that answer. Realistically, getting gun control zealots to sit down and talk with the likes of the NRA is probably never going to happen. In the same way, I'm pretty sure any pro-gun person who started reading this blog, didn't get past the first paragraph. Because they don't want to hear anything that might even approach "gun control." So chances aren't good. But hey, maybe, hopefully, I’m wrong.

It sure would be nice if we didn't have to read about tragedies such as Emma Nowling.

Time Flies When You're Sixty

Think back to when you were a little kid, when Christmas trees were big, and your back yard was gigantic. Now think what it was like waiting for some special holiday, like your birthday, or Christmas. Remember how it seemed to take forever to get here? Then once it was past, it was almost a lifetime till it returned. Or remember summer vacations, which really did seem endless?

Well, how about now? Christmas will be here in about a month, but last Christmas really doesn't seem that long ago. And summers? To a working teacher, as I once was, they go by in a heartbeat.

Time definitely passes differently when you're older. Personally, I think it's a proportional type of thing. In other words, when you're six, it takes one sixth of your lifetime to become seven. And when you're sixty, it takes one sixth of your lifetime to become seventy. Since I'm 60, the next ten years of my life will seem as long to me, as one year did when I was six. A little scary I think.

OK, that's a pretty subjective thing, but I'm sure you get the idea. So we look at things differently from when we were younger. For instance, a girl in her twenties told me recently that she might change jobs “in eight or ten years.” Nobody in her sixties would make that statement. Because to someone in her twenties, she has her whole life ahead of her. And it seems to stretch out in front of her forever. So she can afford to take her time on things. I remember when I was twenty. Yes, I knew I would eventually get old and die, but it never concerned me, because it was SO far in the future, it was something I just didn’t have to think about.

But when you’re older, things are different. At least for me. While I don’t dwell on it, my own mortality is now something I understand. While I hopefully still have a lot of years ahead of me, I know it’s not forever.

Honestly, it’s something of a paradox. Since I’m retired, I have all kinds of time. As a recently retired friend of mine said a while back, “I have a lot to do today. But if I don’t get it done, I’ll do it tomorrow.” That was something we couldn’t say when we were working full time. So yeah, I can do things without hurrying them, because Monday is just like Sunday.

But in a larger sense, rather than slowing down, I’m in a hurry. I don’t think God is done with me yet, and I don’t want to just sorta fade away, at least not yet. So while I have lots of time in each week, I don’t have as much time in my lifetime. And I don’t want to waste it. So as each day goes by, I want to keep moving. If I’m going to start something that’s a big deal, I don’t want to think about it for a year or eight or ten. I want to get on it. Because I don’t know how much longer I have. And what I do have, I don’t want to waste.

The other thing I have noticed, is that I now never say things like “I can’t wait till such and such is over.” I used to say that about the school year, or the winter, or any number of other things. I just tried to wish all that time away. But as I get older, I value the time more. I'm not going to wish one second of it away.

 It’s too bad I had to get old to really appreciate the time I have.

Cam, Aaron, and Kids

I saw a video the other day about Cam Newton, the quarterback of the NFL Carolina Panthers. After he scored a touchdown recently, somehow a defensive player got the football. Cam asked for the football back. I couldn’t figure why he wanted the football, since he scores lots of touchdowns. Well, the defensive player was pretty pissed off, so he just threw the football the other way. Then, instead of arguing, Cam chased the football down, picked it up, ran over to the stands, and handed the football to some little kid. Cam didn’t want the football for himself; instead he wanted to give it away. And apparently, Cam always gives the football to some young fan in the stands. Pretty cool, actually.

Now, I have no idea if Cam is really a good guy or not. Maybe he just does that for show, but I’m guessing not. I think he realizes what a big deal it is for a kid to get a football. But he also knows it’s a lot cooler when he or she gets it from an NFL quarterback. Each kid who gets that will probably remember it for the rest of his life.

When I saw that, it made me remember an athlete I once knew, back almost twenty years ago. Aaron Lawniczak was one of the best athletes Eastwood High School ever had. But his life ended way too soon as he was tragically killed in an auto accident just a few days before he was to start college at BGSU. That was a tough one to take. Aaron was an amazing basketball player, and an even better baseball player. I remember the first time he pitched a game, as a freshman, he threw a no-hitter. And I remember him scoring over 30 points a game in basketball his senior year. He was about to enter BGSU on a full athletic scholarship when the accident happened.

But why did Cam remind me of Aaron? Because of a basketball game I went to during his senior year. At Eastwood, when the players are introduced, they run around the edge of the gym floor, slapping the hands of all the Eastwood students who come down to the floor. That night, most players ran through quickly, slapping lots of hands, then running back onto the court, eager to get the game started. But I watched Aaron, and he was different. Sure, he greeted all the students, but I could tell he was being especially careful to slap the hand of every little kid he could. It took him a little longer, but he made a lot of kids happy.

I was Aaron’s physics teacher, and I had a pretty good relationship with him. So I talked to Aaron in school a few days after the game, and I mentioned what he did. He said that yes, he did take time to do that. Because he realized that, while he was only a high school player, to those little kids, he was pretty famous. He knew they looked up to him, and he didn’t want to let them down. Now how cool was that? Aaron had all the skills that could have made him an arrogant jerk. But instead, he was humble and kind. Aaron knew he wasn’t really famous, but I was impressed that he understood that kids would look at him as a role model, and he took that role seriously. I was proud of him then, and all these years later, I still am.

So when I found out Cam Newton gives the football away as he does, I realized that is something Aaron would have done in the same situation. It made me sad to remember Aaron, but it also made me smile a little.

Maybe I’ll start rooting for the Panthers…at least a little.

Glass, Plastic, PBR, and Other Stuff

So this evening, I took a shower. I had been crawling in the utility room attic with lots of insulation, and I itched pretty bad. So I took a shower, and took a mug of beer in with me. (What? You’ve never had beer in the shower? Really? Well, you should!)

Anyway, my shower has a shelf that’s just perfect for beer. But as I set the beer mug down, I thought “I hope it doesn’t fall, and break.” Which got me to thinking. I remember back when I was much much younger, we didn’t have plastic items like we do today. And if I remember right, most things came in glass bottles. Like ketchup, salad dressing, and yes, shampoo. And if you dropped it, probably in a cast iron tub, it shattered all over. Then you had to deal with the tiny shards of glass. Well, you get the idea. Now, if you drop the shampoo, you pick it up. That’s all. Isn’t life today wonderful?

Which got me thinking about grocery stores back in the day. My first real job was at Kroger’s. And I started thinking how cool it would be if I could go back in time (OK, I know that’s not realistic, but just go with it here.) and see what it was like. First of all, while I thought it was a big store, by today’s standards, it was tiny. The Kroger’s in PC has moved/expanded twice since then, each time getting much larger. But even the current one is tiny compared to the one in Perrysburg, which is getting replaced as we speak with an even larger one.  I remember some of the aisles (Aisle 3 comes to mind) that you had trouble getting two carts down them side by side. And aisle 3 had a pole in the middle, just to make it harder. (I also remember that matches were right by that pole. Not sure why I remember that.)

But I don’t think there was much plastic. I remember when I was working there, they just came out with plastic milk cartons. You could still get the paper ones for a dime less. (can you imagine trying to pour out of a paper gallon carton? Wonder we didn’t spill milk every time.) But most other things were still in glass.

It’s easy to look back at the “old days” and think they were better, but I'm not so sure.

I also remember that we closed at 9 PM. Really. And closed on Sunday. Although sometime during my career at Kroger’s, they started experimenting with Sunday hours. Paid us double time. Cool! I also remember that we all hated working 4 to 9 on Friday, because back in the day, everyone seemed to do their grocery shopping either Friday night or Saturday morning. Really, how did we ever get anything done back then? Most stores closed at 5 most days. Not like today, when you can do your grocery shopping at 3 AM (And yes, I have done that, and yes, it’s a strange crowd.)

I also remembered I got paid $1.82.5 per hour. (yes, really it was half a cent). Doesn’t sound like much, but then I could stop at Bell Mell’s and get a Blue Ribbon for 40 cents.  Not sure how that translates to today, but it occurs to me that, instead of fighting over the minimum wage, maybe we should adopt the PBR rule. Make the minimum wage 4 and a half times what the average cost of a Blue Ribbon is in the area. There, problem solved: no bickering, complaining, or name calling! That’s simple, fluid, and somehow seems fair.

Ok, that’s enough rambling. Sometimes blogs are just stupid thoughts. Actually, most times MY blogs are just stupid thoughts. And if you’re still reading now, I’m not sure if I’m grateful to you, or feel sorry for you. Not sure. But I know that, as I approach 60. (Yes, SIXTY! How did I get so old??)  I find myself with an odd mix of thoughts. Many of them, like this, look back at the old days. But many of them still look forward with anticipation and wonder, as if I’m going to live forever.

A little odd, but that’s probably how it should be.

A Tale of Two Bumper Stickers

Today I saw this bumper sticker on someone’s van. I understand why he had it. He’s a hardworking carpenter, works a million hours a day and is by no means rich. So yeah, of course he’s annoyed when his hard earned income goes to lazy people who don’t want to work. Yeah, I understand it… to a point.

Because then I saw this bumper sticker.

OK, actually I didn’t see that bumper sticker. I made it up. But there is some sense to it. Because as much as it galls me to give my money to someone who doesn’t deserve it, it’s something we have to do. Assuming we’re Christians. You see, as I understand Jesus’ teachings, it seemed pretty important to him to take care of the poor.

But what about the lazy ones, the ones who just live to get a free ride? Well, first of all, I’m pretty sure those people are pretty rare. Most people on public assistance have a legitimate reason. And besides, I don’t remember Jesus telling us to take care of the poor “except for the ones who are lazy.” No, that’s not in the Bible. Pretty sure.

Of course, America has no official religion. And I will be the first to admit that we should not base our laws and policies on the Bible. We should, of course, base them at least partially on compassion, because we are Americans, and we like to think Americans are good people. On the Statue of Liberty, the inscription reads” Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses, yearning to breath free.” Don’t we still feel that way? Or do we just expect those poor to all find jobs and make plenty of money?

But I still get it. Do we really want the government spending all that money, when there seems to be so much waste? I don't like that either, but honestly, nobody else will do it. There was a day when churches and other groups could keep up with helping the poor. We all know that day is long gone, unfortunately. Churches are having trouble now just paying their own bills.

Jesus never said it would be easy to follow him. In fact, many many times he said it would be very difficult, probably something we won’t always want to do. So if it is hard to give your hard earned money to those who don’t have as much, well, it shouldn’t be a surprise.

He never said it would be easy.

You CAN Go Home Again

But it will be different.

Recently, I moved back home. And by home, I really mean it. Not just the town I grew up in, but the same exact house, the one I lived in till I was twelve. So far, it’s been an experience, mostly good.

All my adult life I had always said that there was absolutely no way I would move back to Port Clinton. Not that there’s anything wrong with the town, but I just didn’t want to go back. I knew that I would always be “Warren Morgan’s son” or “Jeff Morgan’s brother.” I would never have my own identity. Besides, I had spent most of my adult life forming friendships in Pemberville; why would I want to start all over? We all know that you can’t go home again.

But I did it. And I found out that actually, yes, you can go home again, but it won’t be the same. Because in Port Clinton, nobody knows me. Nobody has a grudge against me because their kid didn’t get to run varsity, or because their kid flunked chemistry. Of course, nobody is grateful to me because of how much their child benefited from my classes or sports either. Honestly, nobody has preconceived notions about me, because they just plain don’t know me. And “Warren Morgan’s son?” That doesn’t happen much. “Jeff Morgan’s brother?” Yeah, that happens quite a bit. But Jeff is well respected and liked in this town, as he should be, so that association only helps me. Am I in his shadow? Probably to some, but while that may have bothered me many years ago, it just doesn’t make any difference to me today. I’m living my own life, as my own person, and I get to make new impressions on people. When people find out I can sing, play piano, run, write, or even paint, it's fun.

And I find that all these new things are OK, even enjoyable. When I started going back to the church I grew up in, forty years later nobody knew me. But there was a group I got involved with there, that listened to me, talked to me, and accepted me for what I am now, not because of what I was as a teacher, coach, or any other aspect of my life. They accepted me for me, the good and the bad, which I found very gratifying.

And while not common, there are still some who know me only as my parents’ son. And I’ve found that is actually a good thing. Everyone loved my mom, and while Dad had his share of friends and enemies, most people respected him. And, knowing human nature, I’ve been surprised to find out that I’m accepted as my own person, no matter what.

There are weird things of course. It’s still weird that the movie theater is a plumbing shop, that Kroger’s is out of town, that two of my schools no longer exist, and that downtown is pretty much unrecognizable. (With the exception of Green’s Drug Store, which is pretty much exactly as it was, with even the same sign.) And I still associate all the homes in the neighborhood with my friends who lived in them 50 years ago.

Do I miss Pemberville? Yes, of course. It’s a good town, and I miss my friends there, my church, all kinds of things. Seeing all the facebook posts about the fair and the 5 miler was hard. But true friends are still friends even if I don’t see them as often. And I’ve rekindled some very old friendships here, which I've found gratifying.

Of course, then there’s this. Recently an older woman in my church asked me if I was “Warren and Thec’s son.” When I told her I was, her response was “Well, bless your heart.” Somehow, I really liked that.

I never thought that would feel so good.

A Symbol of Sorts, Part 2

In my last entry, I told of finding some TV antenna cable under my house, in a very confined crawl space. And I had realized that about 60 years ago, my dad had been in the exact same place as I was right then. And it got me thinking about him. You see, I don’t think I was very good to him.

I know this isn't fair, but most of the memories of my dad are from his later years. He died of pancreatic cancer when he was 80, about a year after my mom. Yes, I remember when he was 40, I guess. But most of my memories are from when he was in his 50’s or later. And that’s really too bad.

You see, I really don’t think the older Dad bore much resemblance to the younger Dad. When he was young, he worked incredibly hard. He was an engineer at Philco in Sandusky, and started to install antennas, then fix TV’s and radios in the evenings and on weekends. Eventually, he took a huge risk and opened Morgan’s TV, a very small retail store in Port Clinton. A few years later, he took an even bigger risk, moving and expanding his business into “Morgan’s TV and Appliance.” It was a huge store, for its day, on Perry Street, and he was a leader in the community in many ways. During its peak, which was probably when color TV became popular in the late 60’s, he did a tremendous business. And he worked his butt off, took huge chances, and really made it work. He was hard working, ambitious, and not afraid to take risks. I remember the sales he had, that were really like circuses, with literally hundreds of customers. He had the anniversary sale in February, complete with radio remotes and search lights; and the tent sale in the parking lot in August, where I was in charge of giving out the popcorn, pop, and balloons (and got to drink all the Coke I wanted!) He even built Mom the new house she had always wanted. Everything was good.

But then things changed. Lots of things. First of all, the day of the small town independent retailer was coming to an end. He could not seem to compete with the huge stores in Toledo and Sandusky. Or course he wasn't alone; most stores like his are gone now. Then there was the booze. It started out small, but then it hit hard, as it often does. And I know there were other factors. But what’s important, unfortunately, is that I think he just gave up. No more would he give that extra effort. No more would he strive for more. The Warren Morgan who would venture into the crawl space to run antenna wire was gone. His drive was gone. He got tired of working. He got tired of trying. Instead of working hard to make a difference, he wanted to be taken care of. He became incredibly difficult to deal with. Trust me, I could go on and on.

My mother once said that one of the reasons she was attracted to Dad was because he was the strongest and most independent man she had ever known. I’m sure he was at 20, but he definitely was not at 60. No, I’m pretty sure old Warren was nothing like young Warren.

Unfortunately, as I grew up, I reacted to the man I saw before me. I was young and arrogant, and of course sure that I would never end up like that. As he spent his last year in the nursing home, I rarely visited, and when I did it was for short times. I know he felt bad about that and wondered why. Honestly, I didn't really like the man he became, but I wasn't being fair. Half a generation later, I realize my own kids may not like the old man I become, but I hope they still visit me, love me, and remember the good things about me. I didn't do that for him, and it wasn't fair. I will always regret that I didn't do more for him.

Should he have become what he did? Probably not. But honestly, it’s not my place to say. Because no matter what I think, I can’t be sure that if I were in his shoes, I would have done anything differently. Instead of judging him for the man he was, I should have treated him as the man he had been. And to be fair, Dad never became a horrible man. He loved his family, and he showed it. And he remained to his death a very likable guy.

You know, many of us tend to do what I did. We look at other people’s lives from our own world view. But no matter what we think we know, we can never know all that goes on inside another person: what is in his heart, what is in his mind, and what is happening in his soul. And although we think we know better, we can never be sure that we would have behaved any differently.

As I age, I’m aware of what happened to him, and try very hard not to let it happen to me. Have I been successful? I don’t know. I think so, for the most part. But I know some that would disagree.

But you know, it’s OK either way. Because for all he was and was not, I find that I’m still secretly proud when someone says “You’re Warren Morgan's boy.”

A Symbol of Sorts, part 1

Do you know what this is in the picture? Well, it’s called a “standoff,” holding very old fashioned antenna wire. You remember antennas; the big things on your roof or on a tower that we all used before cable or satellite? Yeah, that antenna.

So why am I bringing this up? Well, as some of you may know, I've moved to Port Clinton, the town I grew up in. And not just the same town, but the same house, actually. My mom and dad bought this house about five years before I was born, and we lived here until I was 12. Well, one day recently I was driving through Port Clinton, and just for fun I drove by this house, and I could see it was for sale, and in serious need of major repairs. So I bought it. Someone had bought it at foreclosure and tried to flip it. He didn't do a very good job; in fact, I've spent the better part of the last few months, fixing his “repairs.” Renovating this house is going to be a long process. But finding pieces of my family history is very rewarding.

OK, so still, why am I talking about antennas? (I’m getting there, really I am.) During my renovations, I've spent significant time in the crawlspace (no basement.) And it’s not a nice one. No bugs, varmints, or water, which is good. But it’s very cramped. No hands and knees action in this place. In the good parts, I belly crawl. In other parts, I have to squirm through, hoping I can fit my butt with me! But there are some parts that I’m way too claustrophobic to get to. I think I could get to them, but I’m afraid I’d panic and wouldn't be able to get out.

So the other day, I cheated. Since I’m going to replace the flooring anyway, I cut a new hole in the existing floor, and crawled down into one of the previously inaccessible parts. And here’s where I saw the standoff and antenna wire. And when I saw it, I knew exactly how it got there, and who put it there. And it humbled me, honestly. You see, before my dad retired, he owned a TV and appliance store. But before that, he got his start fixing TV’s and radios on the side. And before that, he put up TV antennas. So I knew how the standoff, and the wire that was in it, had gotten there.

At that moment, I realized that, sometime over 60 years ago, my dad had been in the exact same place as I was, on his back, running antenna wire, and screwing these standoffs into the floor joists. Only he hadn't cheated. He got there through the tiny places that I wouldn't go. And while intellectually I knew he had done this sort of thing, seeing that wire under the house really hit me. I hate to admit it, but this was the Dad I had forgotten about. This was the young Warren Morgan, not the old one. This was the skinny Dad, not the one he grew into later! This was the hard-working Dad.

Which really got me thinking about Dad. Looking back, in his later years, I wasn't fair to him. And laying in the crawlspace, I realized that. But this blog is already too long.

So that story will have to come in part 2.