Sunday, November 6, 2022

The Gates

 When I again opened the gates of my heart

I found waiting outside:

my family, my friends, my home

my art, my strength, my love

I found

the wounded, the broken

the dying, the abandoned

the fearful, the tearful

the hopeless, the hopeful

I found

allies, brothers, companions, sisters

warriors, engineers, artists, architects,

poets, singers, painters, acrobats

I found 

doctors, healers, pastors, shepherds

I knew that they were there all along

but I was afraid

to live among them.

now that I'm here, 

all I want is to give away all that was hidden inside me

and hope that it is enough.

choices

I'm older than the gnarled trees around me My body is broken from bad choices and bad experiences I remember when these trees were planted Songs of change Songs of protest songs of regret call to me... we did our best didn't we? didn't I? I'm tired. I want to rest call to me there are new voices new bodies call to me it's their future now. not mine call to me my sword call to me my sword is BROKEN call to me I don't even know where the pieces are call to me if I do this call to me IF I DO THIS, will you leave me alone call to me will I find peace? call to me Love? love never left you. If I do this, will we win, will it last? there are no promises you're not calling from outside of me, are you? come to me you're within me, aren't you? come to me that's why I could never escape this you never could my hands are already there come to me let this be the hour. let us fight together. for the future we will never see.

Saturday, November 5, 2022

The Worst Thing I Ever Did At Millsaps

Occasionally, younger people will ask about my career at Millsaps.  Apparently, some of the stories have been exaggerated over time, so I had probably better set the record straight.

Once, sometimes twice a year, I'd be caught after hours in Sanders Dormitory, but never in Franklin or Bacot.  I preferred women who were a bit more seasoned.  Still do.  As I recall, the punishment for this was you couldn't go back for like a month, which was probably a good idea.

You might have heard tales of the things I did with Doug Mann.  Many of those are true.  Doug and I were sometimes able to break into and always on top of every building on campus.  We excluded the Physical Activities Center because we considered its rounded roof too dangerous to climb without more equipment than we were willing to commit to the endeavor.  I kind of regret that now.  We were occasionally accompanied by a raven-haired vixen, who is now a respected community leader and a mother, so I'll leave her name out of it.  There was also a slightly younger gentleman from Chile who sometimes accompanied us.  He was good at climbing but complained that we'd get caught far too much, even though we never did, somehow.  I have to count on @janet.h.mann or @sydney Mann to read this to Doug because, in his wisdom, he refuses to subscribe to social media.  He'd probably still be willing to climb something if I asked him, though.  Maybe something with stairs this time.

There were more than a few nights, drunken beyond reason, on the back porch of CS's trying to convince Elizabeth Dean we belonged together, or on the front porch of the KA house at four AM plotting to take over the world, or at least find more tequila, but I don't know if those count.  It wasn't even me who put so much powder in the cannon at midnight that it broke out the windows to the TV room and set the curtains on fire.  But I was there.

Because they were reasonable people, there were times when the KAs would tire of me, and the Pikes would tire of Bonehead, so we would logically do things together instead.  There came a night when the Lamba Chi Alphas wanted to have a barbeque and keg party at their house.  The Chops suffered under us far too often for reason, but they did it without much resentment.  

I can't remember if it was Bonehead's idea or mine, but at some point, it was decided that we should have a barbeque party of our own, so he stole the Webber grill full of chickens, and I stole the keg of beer, and we walked over to the steps of Ezelle dorm with the chickens and beers and commenced to eating and drinking.  For their part, the Chops never really confronted us or complained.  I think they were possibly in profound shock that we would do such a thing.

There was probably something like thirty chicken pieces on that grill, and they had another grill still at the Lambda Chi house.  We had the intention, and the capacity, to eat them all.  Into our third piece of chicken each, a wisened member of the security team arrived on his golf cart.

"You gotta take 'em back, boys."

So we did.  We very politely took the keg of beer and the barbeque full of chickens back to the Lambda Chi house, picked up whatever garbage was in the yard to make up for the eaten pieces, and went on our way while the Chops continued their party as they had originally intended.

The amazing thing about that story is that we probably should have gotten in trouble, but, to their credit, the Lambda Chi's never reported us.  They didn't even make a security report.  I don't think Dean Good even knew it ever happened.  They got their chickens back (we continued to turn them on the grill) and made some friends, and that was that.  

I don't know what student life is like these days at Millsaps, but according to some blogs I read last night, they're holding up the traditions fairly well.  The cannon was eventually filled with concrete and made inoperable.  We weren't able to insure it if we didn't.  Probably a reasonable outcome.  The climbing upon of buildings ended one night when another gentleman decided to take a dive off the Christian Center bell tower the night before he was to be wed.  I don't think he meant to, but getting married can be pretty intimidating.  If he'd gone with Doug and me, he wouldn't have fallen.  We got all our guests home safely.  

As far as fraternities and chickens and intermural shenanigans are concerned.  I feel like not much is changed.  I can look in some of these boys' eyes and know they're just like me, maybe not as ambitious, and they can't possibly have a friend as epic as Bonehead, but the traditions continue.

Tuesday, November 1, 2022

My Hands On The Rope

When I was young, I played football, but I loved strength sports.  I loved them for their simplicity.  With the possible exception of running, strength sports are the simplest of all.  You move a piece of metal from here to there, and that's it.  Whoever moves the heaviest piece of metal wins.  Sometimes there's no competitor.  It's just you and the metal.  Can I move four hundred pounds from here to there, or no?  There is no other person.  If I do it, I win.  If I don't, I curse and try another day.  The possibility of failure makes it a sport and not an exercise.  Exercise is doing things you know you can do.  Sport is doing things you may never be able to do if you don't commit yourself.  

Nearly all strength sports are solitary affairs, which suited the younger version of me because socialization was often difficult and usually only possible with those I trusted the most.  There was a communal or team strength sport, though: tug-of-war.  Tug-of-war is deliciously simple.  Two teams grab hold of a rope, and whoever pulls the most rope to their side of the field wins.  That's that.

Nearly everyone grips the rope with their hands in tug-of-war, and if things go badly, everyone can just let go except one.  The anchor had the rope tied around his waist.  If his team lost, he would be dragged bodily through the mud pit or pool or whatever lay between the two teams.  He would be singled out as the loser.  That job, more often than not, was mine.

Tug-of-war works because, while I may be the only one tied to the rope, my friends have their hands on it too, and they pull as hard as they can and commit as much as they can to try and prevent the team from losing and me from going into the mud.  While there were a few times when I went into the pit, more often than not, we won.  We won because my friends wouldn't give up and kept their hands on the rope despite the challenge.

I like applying metaphors from strength sports to life's challenges because life is complex, but strength sports are simple, and simple metaphors can make the most difficult challenge less threatening and more surmountable.  Right now, many of the things I care about the most are struggling.  My country, my state, my city, my school.  In some ways, they struggle more now than ever before.

Long ago now, I was hurt, and tired, and frustrated, and felt very alone, so I untied myself from the tug-of-war rope and hid in a place of solitude and stillness for a very long time.  "My friends can win without me," I thought.  Whatever strength I had was spent long ago, I thought.  If they don't win, I don't want to be dragged through the mud, I knew.  I feared.

One day a voice said to me, "you can no longer stay in the in-between place.  You must choose.  If you die, you will be quiet and still forever, or you can return to the world that's been calling for you since you left, but you must fight."  I opened my eyes and saw that the tug-of-war continued.  New men were in the anchor loop, but the war continued, and it wasn't looking good for my team.  

I'm old now...and broken.  I'm no good for the anchor loop anymore, but I have hands.  I've been in this war before.  I can pull.  I can pull harder than you would ever imagine.  I can commit, and I don't care if I go into the mud, and the strength I lost is coming back more every day.  I'm back on the team.  Now, all I need to know is where to put my hands on the rope.


Official Ted Lasso