The Fluidity of Right and Wrong

    Isn't it interesting how our society moves, or changes on mores and morals, yet we are supposed to call it progress? History shows us that while not everything that is 'change' is bad, it isn't all good either! For instance, just to make a point, let's look at TV shows.  The comedy shows of the 1950's and 1960's were silly, not being able to say the word "pregnant" and having separate twin beds in the Ricardo's, Petrie's, and Cramden's houses for the married occupants, but the comedy is fun and friendly. Now contrast those "classic" shows with the 2013 line up - Two and a Half Men, and Modern Family, a hodge-podge mess of relationships that try in a thirty minute time slot to break as many of the Commandments as possible, and throw in shtick and a laugh track to push the comedy. The TV shows as a whole are raunchy, sexually over toned, or just plain crazy dumb. Reality shows, as they have been named, are probably the second worst idea in all of history, second only to the Roman Emperor's using Christians as torches for their parties.

   A small tangent - Reality TV is more contrived than the sitcom or drama genre. America is sucked into an idea, and even after the secret is revealed they are still hooked. I am now stepping off this soapbox.

    The technology today is incredible. All the advancements in tech have come in such a short time span. The latest and greatest Smart Phone, Computer, or Tablet are virtually obsolete as soon as they are put on the sales floor due to the next latest and greatest item being invented. While I choose not to argue, many argue that these advances are a determent to our freedoms, rights and privileges as Americans. Having nothing to hide may be the reason I have no argument. Still, some technology even effects how we perceive entertainment. The better the graphics and the image on the screen makes it a better show, whether TV or movie. I personally must disagree.

    America is a young and growing country. When held up to the countries in Europe and Asia, we are babies. We took from the best to form our Constitution, and the U.S.A. became a powerful and influential world power in a relatively short time. It was just a few generations back that books were the primary form of personal entertainment. We still have people living today that were around when Radio was the family entertainment hub. Imagination and intrigue were the cornerstones of the radio audience. Movies started as action with musical background, and important dialogue were cards read by the audience. This was known as the Silent Film age. When talkies were invented, then color film was introduced, the Motion picture industry was a skyrocket with no end in sight.

    Not that I want this to be about entertainment totally, just as an example. In the same way that entertainment has morphed, isn't it interesting how politicians have gone from being altruistic voices of the people to shills for the highest bidder. Right and wrong are fluid, waving in the breeze of public opinion and lobbyist dollars?

   

Why I Write - Apologies to George Orwell

From my earliest remembrance, I read “Sports Illustrated” magazine from cover to cover. Writers I remember and have since followed well into my adult life like Paul Zimmerman and Frank Deford heavily influenced my passion for competitive participating and spectating at sporting events. As an active young boy who generally could not sit still long enough to read more than a Bible chapter, a magazine article with photos, or the front and back covers of a book, I was very lucky to grow up in a city where many pro and college sports teams played, and my dad took me to far more than my share of games, but not as many as I wanted to attend. I also spent hours in my yard in suburban Denver with any ball, a homemade target, and an imagination of being at the pinnacle of success. These imaginary scenarios ALWAYS included my participation in the final game-winning play. Throwing the winning touchdown pass with time winding down, hitting the turn-around jumper at the buzzer, or making the diving catch to seal the World Series victory for my team were the most important parts of my childhood. The only books other than the Bible my parents could coerce me to read were biographies of Willie Mays, Roberto Clemente, Joe Namath, Johnny Unitas, Wilt Chamberlain and Pete Maravich, to name the most popular. Suffice it to say, sports consumed me. I was in fifth grade when I was given a subscription to this marvelous magazine called “Sports Illustrated” and I was introduced to the swimsuit edition, with Cheryl Tiegs on the cover. This discovery catapulted my voracious interest of sports in a remarkably different way, and I began a new path. Girls were not a distraction to my love of sports; they were simply an additional competitive outlet for me.

As I learned that girls liked attention, even from a scrawny, short boy with big ears and such a cruel cowlick in my hair that mom had cemented it into place with a concoction called “Wave Set”, I enjoyed the fringe benefits of that attention: I participated in holding of hands, hugging, and lots of tonsil hockey! It was in this time period my writing went from sports fantasy to poetic sexual fantasy with sports as the proverbial chaser.

Poems were easy for me to write. Very little of my poetry was good, but occasionally I would stumble on a phrase or adapt something I heard on a movie or TV program and turn it into verse. Rhymes were more important than substance of thought. I learned early in life how young girls, while acting far superior to boys their own age, could be easily swayed by a romantic metaphor or sexual simile from even a tiny nerd with the genuine gregariousness and growing comic wit.

In sixth grade I learned that writers named Mark Twain and O. Henry were the cleverest, comical, and real writers on this planet. It was specifically these two writers that taught me sarcasm and irony, and I still love them for it. The only negative qualities these authors had was their lack of concentration on sports as a theme. I sincerely believed the kind of genius exemplified in Mr. Twain and O. Henry was far beyond my capabilities. Nevertheless, I made up stories that I told my parents about the schoolyard, I told my teachers about my family, and general stuff I told to church folk and neighbors gave me a reputation as a liar and a loon. I received good grades in school, yet I struggled with character issues. I was just another human on this big planet. I had no idea what my purpose was, and I struggled to succeed at anything I was fond of.

Through High School, I was an artistic fool, simultaneously working feverishly to maintain my status as an athlete. I played several musical instruments, wrote songs and lyrics (hooray for that rhyming prowess), could draw and paint pictures, portraits, and loved to act on stage in plays and musicals. After several key sports injuries due to my still small stature, my role in sports participation became a supportive one, I began to star in the arts. It was during this time my parents, while not seeking to abolish my love of sports and the arts began a campaign of practicality and bare bones economics, attempting to persuade me that I needed to have a career that brings in steady income, like my father the engineer.

While I internally disagreed with their lack of approval of my innate abilities, I searched to find a career they would approve and yet would not lose my sanity being involved in. My life changed from high school kid to college adult and the expedience of a worthwhile occupation became more urgent. I chose a career path they approved of - full time Christian ministry. Now there is a money-maker! Writing lessons, sermons, and speeches was fun and quite rewarding internally, not monetarily. I worked 45-60 hours a week for my first associate ministry and received $25 per week, with a grocery offering for my wife and I the first of every month.

The writings of Rick Warren, Chuck Swindoll, C. S. Lewis, and James Dobson became a vital part of my personal canon, in addition to Mark Twain and O. Henry. In the last twenty years, Erma Bombeck, Steve Allen, Dave Barry, and Art Buchwald, along with Mitch Albom and Rick Reilly have been added to my own library. This library also includes the writings of John Wooden, Tony Dungy, and Tom Landry. I have been moved, challenged, and humored in any combination by these writers. These influences, along with certain actors and comedians have influenced my point of view on life.

I still attempt to write, even though I no longer work in that field of full-time Christian ministry. I must admit reluctantly that I am a big show off. With this blog address, my fantasy is that the world will read what I write and be moved somehow, either by a smile or a laugh to brighten their day, or even to question and disagree with me, to argue or debate, and spark intellectual stimulation. My style of writing is generally sarcastic, ironic, and off center. Whether or not I get my point across to the reading public, I don’t know. I love to delve into the popular topics, especially in the sports world, and find a twist or a teaching of Jesus that has been sacrificed on the altar of situation ethics, hedonism, and greed. As that old showoff and blowhard, I have so much to say regardless of its importance or relevance. I hope once-in-a-while that my words show wit, wisdom, and a worshipful heart in a mode that endeavors to educate, enlighten, and entertain any audience I can.

First Love

    Whistling, skipping, almost floating on air - love made me a giddy moron. She was a wisp of a girl, with long blond hair and dimples that, when she smiled made her cheeks simply disappear. She had beautiful white teeth and shining deep blue eyes that when I looked into them for more than a minute, mysteriously caused my mind to dissolve into a gel-like goo - completely void of any and all synapse ability. I was under her spell, Cupid's arrow hit me right in the heart, the embodiment of a lovesick boy.

    How come I never felt like this before now? In the twelve years I had been alive, the puppy who came to live with us and the goofy crush on my babysitter paled in comparison to this euphoric, warm, encounter. I couldn't think of anything else but her. School was excruciating, lingering on and on. At home every minute I had to do chores or homework, my mind was elsewhere. Although I couldn't see her whenever I wanted,  Holding hands, kissing, none of these actions were even on my radar - just being in her presence made me happy.

    Happy, that is, until she got angry at something insensitive or rude that I said or did, and she kicked me right in the private and delicate boy area. Needless to say, from the moment I lay crumpled in agony, unable to do anything but cry, our relationship changed. I contemplated my future with women, and did a compare/contrast with sports. From that moment on, I vowed to be a professional baseball player who is a bachelor and adopts ten children.