Author: Paul Phillips

Mama says, Stupid is as stupid does…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The gorgeous, once-new guitar was neither when I saw it again.  My perfunctory look at the soft case gave the “Cliff’s Notes” version of the full story that would be told when the torn, useless zipper was pulled apart.  The cloth was pock-marked with holes that had white tracks leading to and from them, indicating that moving rocks had played a part in the plot.  As the case was opened, a glance at the owner’s forlorn visage steeled me for the entire horror story.  The pieces tumbled out en masse, leaving only the battered remains of the neck and top in the case.  I have to admit, I had expected a damaged instrument, but I was not prepared for the shattered, splintered mound of debris that gave scant evidence of the once beautiful instrument which had left my shop only weeks before.

Almost tearfully, the story was narrated.  Ready to load the guitar in the trunk and leaning it carefully against the back bumper, the owner moved to the front of the car to hit the trunk release.  An unexpected interruption came and the errand to pop the trunk was forgotten.  Backing out and hearing a strange sound for a few feet brought the horrified recollection of thought, but too late.  A careless moment, a phone call at the wrong time, these had contributed to the early demise of a guitar that normally would have an expected useful life of 20 or more years, but that was gone in the blink of an eye.  And, as sad as the experience is, I guarantee you, this guitar owner will one day find a way to laugh about the disaster.  Will they ever quit regretting it?  Probably not, but they’ll get over it.  It was a sad moment, but the guitar could be replaced and music would flow again, as well as some jokes and good-natured kidding to go along with it.

Probably not so, for the owner of another guitar I was handed a number of years ago.  The man had decided to sell the instrument and was seeking a fair offer.   I looked at the beautiful antique Gibson electric guitar and thought, “What a beauty!”  In top condition, worth about $3000 in today’s dollars, I was excited that I would have a chance to purchase it and make a profit upon resale.  But, as I turned the guitar over, my heart sank.  The back of the guitar told a completely different story than the front.  It was mutilated, with a large, square hole in the middle of the wood surface.  What (or who) could have done such a horrible thing to this superb work of art?

It’s not my vice, so I have no personal experience, but apparently, too much liquor makes you do stupid things.  The sad story was recounted to me by a now, very sober man.  The owner was a guitarist in a local band which played every weekend in a bar.  As happened frequently in those days, there was very little actual pay for musicians, so the bar owner compensated the band with free beers while they played.  Of course, as a result, the quality of the music suffered progressively, but the bar patrons didn’t take any notice, since most of them had also deteriorated in like manner.  On the night of the incident, the guitarist noticed an intermittent problem with the signal from the guitar to the amp and eventually it failed completely.  Access to the pickups was difficult and he didn’t have much time to effect repairs, so he did the only thing his inebriated brain could conceive. He reached into his pocket, took out the greatest tool ever invented and…opened his jackknife and cut a small hole.  Not enough room for his hand, so he cut it bigger.  Still not enough…well you get the picture.  As the story unfolded, I stood with my mouth agape, listening in disbelief that, even in that mental state, anyone could be so witless.

I purchased the guitar, but for a price that was a fraction of what it should have brought.  I’m sorry to say that, like the appraisers on the Antiques Roadshow, I made a point of telling him what it would have brought prior to his senseless mutilation of a fine, fine instrument.  My guess is there will never be a day when this gentleman laughs about his loss.  For some reason, stupidity doesn’t seem to become funny over time, it just seems more stupid.

We all get absent-minded once in awhile, sometimes with disastrous results, but that’s not the same thing as senselessness.  Give me the former any day.

“Life is tough.  It’s tougher when you’re stupid.”
John Wayne

Is It Really You?

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

The old grey donkey, Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, “Why?” and sometimes he thought, “Wherefore?” and sometimes he thought, “Inasmuch as which?” and sometimes he didn’t quite know what he was thinking about.
From “Winnie the Pooh” by A.A. Milne

Do you listen to people?  I mean, really listen.  Today I heard a friend for the first time.  I’ve known him for a number of years.  Been an acquaintance, said hello on the street, even chatted for several minutes.  But I didn’t listen to him.  I was too busy looking at what he did and where he’d been.  Today I actually feel like I know a little of who he is.

This wasn’t going to be one of my “preachy” notes, but I have been a bit more contemplative tonight.  When life’s truths hit me, it takes a little of the jocularity out of my mood.  As my friend Eeyore said, “We can’t all and some of us don’t, you know…Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.”  So, this evening, I’ve been thinking…

What I’ve been thinking about is: Who do people think that I am?  Easy-schmeasy!  You’re that guy who writes a bad joke every day on his Facebook page…That guy who runs the music store…That guy who leads music at my church…That guy who plays the Horn at the Candlelight Service…That guy…  But, I didn’t ask you what I do.  I asked you who I am.  Do you know me?  The real me?

We spend our lives seeing the filters, the framework, but never looking past them to the person.  Honestly, there are only a very few people who I know, really know.  And maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, but I want more.  As my friend and I talked today, I caught a partial glimpse of what made him tick, part of what makes the whole person he is, not just the filters.  I didn’t just see a professor, or a musician, or a radio personality.  Oh, he’s done all of those things and they’ve helped to shape the person, but when we really listen and genuinely communicate, we can see, dimly at least, into the substance of what makes the man or woman.  And as I thought about what a great gift it is to learn about someone, I started wondering about how I present the real me to you.

I like to think that I’m upfront about who I am, that my friends know what drives me, but I know that’s an illusion.  The belief that you know who I am comes because I’m constantly aware of it.  Mostly, I know my faults and secret sins and it’s hard to believe that everyone I come in contact with doesn’t see them written on my face.  I want to be honest, but I protect myself from hurt and exposure by keeping who I really am to myself.  I’m pretty sure that isn’t the way God planned it, but we’ve messed up the relationship thing about as much as everything else He had in mind for us way back there.

I’m not suggesting that we need to “let it all hang out”.  What I would propose is that we start by realizing that our postman isn’t just the postman.  Your hairdresser isn’t only the hairdresser.  The President isn’t really what the publicity and press make him out to be.  Those titles and descriptions are just some of the filters.  The visible person is actually just the container for a real person, with dreams, remorse, joy, and sadness.  There’s more to every one of those stories than what you think you know.  Let’s just spend a little more time finding out who people are and not just what they do.

“For the Lord sees not as man sees: Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”  (I Samuel 16:7b)

It’s All Geek to Me…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Technology is an enigma to me.  Or, as Winston Churchill once said: “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma…”  Of course, he was talking about Russia, not tiny particles of an element found in sand (among other things).  I’m talking about silicon, of course…the stuff that makes our computers and gadgets do that voodoo that they do.  Who knew?  The dirt from which we were formed would be the same material from which our most irritating and yet, beneficial tools would be developed.  I know, I’m stretching a bit to make that connection, but “dust to dust”, you know…

Walking into the business this morning, my sister showed me the “black screen of death” on our shipping room computer.  Thinking like an IT tech, my first words were, “Did you reboot?”  And, speaking like a user who’s been around this particular block before, she answered, “First thing I did.”  So, that popular IT ploy didn’t help any.  As it turns out, the monitor was DOA and a simple substitution took care of the immediate problem.  And if this were an isolated incident, I’d overlook it and you wouldn’t have a reason to be bored to death by my writing tonight.

But life is now an endless parade of these types of issues.  A glitch in a program here, a restart there, and before you know it, we’re all amateur IT techs.  I’m tired of “trying it again to see if that fixed it.”  I’d like to just use it and have it work.  And this is not just computers I’m talking about.

Two days ago, after a few hours of processing credit and debit cards for customers, our unit stopped communicating with the host.  The result? Cash only please!  Try that with a few university students and see where it gets you.  No cards equals no sales.  Again, frantic reboots, first the terminal, next the router, then the modem.  No result?  You call the service center to hear, “Sorry, the server is down all over the country.”  What? No one can sell their products?  No wonder we’re in a recession!

And don’t get me started on my new Swiss Army phone, so dubbed by my sweet wife.  Like its analog namesake, it does everything, including letting you make the occasional phone call, so the title fits.  Apple’s latest gift to its adoring masses, this particular jewel worked for two weeks, then told me that “SIM card failure”  had occurred.   By the way, a restart did fix this one, but my snobby Mac friends all tell me this is why I should want Apple’s products, since you “never have to reboot”.  Ah, well,  all technology is an enigma to me.

I did think it apropos to see, the other Sunday morning as I sat on the stage at church, that the unit into which all the microphones, instruments, and monitors are plugged is named “Mystery Electronics”.  No kidding!  That is the brand name of the product.  How great is that?  “We don’t understand it either, so you might as well get a good laugh out of it…”  I am a bit curious as to who the marketing genius is that came up with the name, but it’s refreshing to see a little honesty in the field.

The flip side of the conundrum is that the physical talents necessary for music have also changed over time.  I remember when the small-sized instrument tuners were introduced into the music business.  My father-in-law, then my boss,  thought it ludicrous.  “Why would you trust your eyes to tune something you’re listening to?”,  he asked prospective customers (great selling technique, eh?).  Despite his best efforts, the digital tuner is standard equipment in any guitarist’s array of tools today.  But, remembering the wide-eyed amazement with which the first tuners were greeted way back then, I still have to laugh as I constantly see that same look on the faces of young people while they watch me tune newly-strung guitars using only a tuning fork and my ears.  Once the machine was the marvel.  Now the human being who can work without it is.

I talked with a couple of old guitar players today (old, meaning they have played for a number of years) about different famous guitarists.  I’ve run the gamut of likes and dislikes in my lifetime, but for now, my favorites are those who work “without a net”, so to speak.  They are the acoustic guitarists who, for whatever reason, eschew gimmickry and machines.  There they sit, just the guitar and the musician, working their magic with their raw talent, amazing the listener at the beautiful music that can be made by a human being who has perfected the craft.

I work with the technology I need to keep my business going.  I even enjoy the challenge of new gadgets from time to time.  But I will always love best the time spent with people, not through email or texting, but just by standing eye to eye and communicating, as well as the joy that comes through great music.  More gadgets beget even more gadgets, and the list grows ever longer, but our emotional core demands communication and reflection.  Deep speaks to deep, or if you will, “birds of a feather…”  We really don’t fit well with machines over the long haul.

Take some time to communicate face to face with people today.  If you can’t do that, at least pull up “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by  Tommy Emmanuel on YouTube and spend four and a half minutes enjoying one of the simple gifts of life.

“Music has charms to soothe the savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak…”
(William Congreve  in 1697)

Baby Steps and Split Lips

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Smack!  The baseball hit the six-year old boy right in the mouth and it took all the fortitude his young dad could muster to keep from running onto the field.  The lad was at his first ever tee-ball practice and he was used to people lobbing softer balls toward him.  This one had been thrown by another kid whose aim was a bit errant, so the sphere skimmed the hard dirt surface in front of him, bouncing up to batter a target it wasn’t intended for.  But the dad stood where he was behind the fence and let the boy’s coach run out to check him.  A little blood and a little more wounded pride, but he tearfully assured the coach that he would stay where he was and keep on with the practice.

On the way home later, the conversation went something like, “That ball hit you pretty hard out there.”  “Yeah, and look at it now!” (Said with a split, puffy lip stuck out.)  “You know, you can quit if you want to…”  “Quit?  I’m going to play baseball!”  And play baseball, he did.  It was about 9 years later that he finally put away the cleats and glove, after many different teams and All-Star games.  He turned into a really good baseball player, but more than that, he became a young man who knew what it was to tough it out and go for his goals.

It’s been a few years since that young man showed the doggedness it took to stick through the pain and effort, but the early lessons keep bearing fruit 20 years later.  Those lessons aren’t lost on the dad either, now a little older and a very small amount wiser.  Of course, one of the things he’s learned is that these lessons are neither rare, nor remarkable.  But sometimes, the reminder still helps to keep life in perspective.

This week, his youngest granddaughter took her first steps on her own.  She turns one in another week or so, and her frame of reference is widening at an amazing rate (not that this is unusual, either).  As we all do, she started out aware of only the most basic needs, food, sleep, a mother’s touch.  As she’s grown, her scope has expanded also.  Still very much self-absorbed, she realizes that she wants other things; brightly colored toys, different food than she usually has (even hot coffee), certain people (Grandma’s the best!).  She even wants more mobility, but she herself is perfectly willing to leave the transportation to anyone who will carry her.  She started crawling only out of the most dire need (Mama has 4 kids and was thoughtless enough to leave her on the floor!).  And now, even though crawling is good enough, these adults around her keep standing her up and having her walk on the bottom of her feet.

And still today, she doesn’t really want to walk.  She has to be put upright on her feet and have someone in front of her for whom she is motivated enough to put out the effort.  She even fusses about it.  But parents and grandparents understand that this is the next achievement in the natural progression.  Yes, she’s going to fall down a time or two.  She may even split her lip open, but this is how life moves along.  We try new things even when we are frightened of the effort and the possibilities.  And, the result is a complete person, one who has taken their fair share of licks and won their fair share of victories.

For today, she knows she’s done something really good.  Everyone praises her and Grandpa sweeps her up in his arms, telling her how smart she is.  It’s a picture that’s been seen millions of times before and will be repeated that many more times, but for right now, all she knows is that she’s done something stupendous, and the smile on her face is living proof.

Sometimes we forget that our lives are supposed to be spent learning and the pop-quizzes should come along fairly regularly.  It is possible to become a drop-out.  We just decide we’ve gotten the degree we want in the school of hard knocks and we’re done.  Sit tight, do the same things every day, and no one will ever hit us in the mouth with anything.  We figure we’ve learned everything that we need for our profession and just mark time.  But we were never intended to be done, never intended to quit learning, never intended to sit on the sidelines watching.  For many of us today, it’s confusing to see friends who refuse to learn about new technologies, refuse to contemplate and discuss current events, and refuse to take an active part in any unfamiliar activity.    We live in an exciting time, when information is at our fingertips, facts are verified with the push of a few buttons, and new experiences await us at every turn.  We were meant to live ’til we die! 

You’d better be careful, little girl!  One step leads to another all through your life!  And watch out for those wild pitches…



The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet, 
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then?  I cannot say.
(From “The Hobbit” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien)


“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the Faith.” 
(The Apostle Paul in 2 Timothy 4:7)

Later, Dudes!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’m writing tonight in an effort to avoid real work.  I find that I enjoy the enterprise of writing late at night much more than I enjoy the discipline of accomplishing tasks which are required for my real job.  That’s funny, I’m not sure many of my friends would call what I do a “real job”.  I’ve found over the years that most people believe that I get to sit and play guitar all the day long.  Would that this reflected reality!  I’d be a much better guitarist than I believe myself to be (which is to say, I’m not a guitarist at all) and would probably be a much more relaxed and carefree person than I am.  More impoverished certainly, but easier to get along with.

I can finally reveal to the world that I am a procrastinator.  I intended to do this years ago, but I don’t like to rush into things.  I really have been meaning to make this admission, but I was thinking that maybe if I didn’t, the condition would go away on its own and I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed like this.  We always do that, you know.  We assume that if we leave something for later, it won’t need to be done.  Someone else will do it, the Rapture will happen and it won’t matter anyway, or maybe it’s all a dream and we’ll wake up to find it never needed to be done in the first place.

I’ve got a shop full of jobs that have been put off.  Some of the jobs, I just detest doing, so they sit and languish.  Others are jobs I started, only to find that they entailed a procedure I couldn’t handle.  Rather than admit that, they still wait for me to learn that particular skill.  Many of those “always-with-me” purchases I discussed before could be made usable with a few moments of diligence and some TLC, but that’s next week’s worry.  The outside of our house needs repair, but it’s still pretty nice inside, so why worry about a little caulk anyway?  I’ll get to that the next time I have a few free moments during a cool morning, when I’m not drinking coffee, or reading the newspaper, or playing with the dog.

I should probably tell you now; I’m not looking for any help in changing.  Please don’t send me suggestions of self-help books, or instructions on how to write to-do lists.  I find myself in the majority for a change and I mean to keep it that way.  Thomas Jefferson was a fine man and I’m sure that he meant well with his maxim writing, but “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today” is not my idea of practical wisdom.  I’ve been around the block a time or two.  I realize that when I finish one job, there’s only another one to take its place.  I think I like Mark Twain’s saying a little better, “Never put off until tomorrow what you can put off until the day after tomorrow.”  I can understand that and would write it on a poster, but I’m pretty sure I’d not have the time to put it up anyway.

The really positive thing about those of us who put things off is that we are usually great at socializing.  We’ll drop any job we hate for a chance to visit with you.  “Sure, that can wait, what’s up with you?”  I just say this to make sure you know, you’re welcome at my place anytime.  Just drop by and we’ll sit and talk.  What’s that you say?  No I don’t need to be doing anything else…nothing at all…

“If something’s hard to do, then it’s not worth doing.” ~ Homer Simpson

Graceful as a Gazelle? Yeah, Right!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The envelope was placed in my hand by the special messenger.  Well, really it was my wife who delivered it, but she’s pretty special.  The blood was taken from me by force a couple of weeks ago (they did tie up my arm before forcing that needle into the vein) and I’ve been waiting with unbated breath all this time.  The fact is, I didn’t want to know the results, because I already was confident of the outcome.  Sure enough…Sodium level is right down the median range, just as expected.

What’s that?  The other numbers?  Well, the glucose is right there where it should be.  Potassium, too.  I’ve got lots of other numbers I could throw at you, all just where they should be.  But, to be perfectly honest, there are a couple of numbers which are slightly, er well, significantly higher than they should be.  As expected, the esteemed Doc will not be happy.  Too many months of good food (well, good tasting anyway) and not enough exercise have taken their toll and I’ve got the numbers to prove it.

So now comes the hard part.  Medicine or nature?  One little pill a day or hours of muscle-stretching agony every week?  Eat whatever I want or…No, I’m guessing that the diet change is going to happen one way or another.  As to the pill or exercise question,  I’m not good at remembering to take pills and I hate them anyway, so it looks like the exercise regime is in my immediate future.  Being pretty sure ahead of time of the results of the test, I started a few days ago by acquiring a Gazelle.  You’ve seen them on TV…those weird scissor-action contraptions you stand on, holding your hands on the ski-pole-like appendages.  Tony Little looks great on his.  The young Barbie-doll ladies he’s hired from the gymnasium down the street look great on theirs. And no, I didn’t pay that exorbitant price for it (although the Tony Little bobble-head doll was hard to pass up).  Instead I got one on the cheap from a family member.

Unlike the Master and his Barbie-dolls, I don’t look so great on it.  Legs go one way, the arms go the other in a cross-body motion meant to make me feel like I’m getting a great aerobic workout, but I’m pretty sure all I’m doing is looking goofy.  Come to think of it, that about sums it up!  You’ve seen the Disney cartoon of Goofy getting fit.  Sport Goofy is the quintessential nerd, trying to morph into the buff, built, and brawny superjock that he’s always dreamed of  being.  But some of us are just goofy and always will be.  We lope sideways when we run, trip over our shoestrings (even when they’re tied), and just generally  look laughable in shorts and sneakers.

But, in a week or two, I’ll feel like I’m ready to go out in public and will start walking very late at night (no critics around then) and soon, in another month or so, it’ll get too cold to be outdoors.  That’s when I’ll have to move up to the inside track at the health complex, being careful as I work out to avoid eye contact with any of the pros there, lest they assume that this means that I want some friendly advice (“Don’t slam your heels down on the track,” “move your arms naturally,” “don’t slouch,” “blah, blah, blah”), which I do not, thank you!  I’ll walk around the track, turning my head to the wall to avoid the dreaded eye contact, but I’ll walk around the track!

This is my plan.  Not an ambitious plan, but it’s something to tell the doctor when he asks, “Are you ready to take the pills yet?”  As one who’s fought the numbers game previously and won (temporarily), I know it can be done.  I’m going to fight valiantly (and under the cover of darkness) and I hope to report in a few months that I’m seeing success.  No promises, except for one thing…It won’t be pretty!  So, stay off the streets late at night, unless you want to have a UFO to report (Uncoordinated Flabby Organism) upon your return home and a picture burned into your mind that will make you break into uncontrollable laughter every time you hear my name.

My new slogan:  Veni, Vidi, Vege!
(I came, I saw, I ate my vegetables!)

Dancing to the Oldies

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes we let the pizza get cold, but there is never a dull moment.  The four little ones come, more for the time spent playing outside and the suckers from the music store next door than for the pizza, but Tuesday evening without them is not nearly as much fun.  Uncle “Steben” is usually here, much to the delight of the young ones (and his dad too, truth be known), but he doesn’t know how to provide entertainment like these guys.  The after-dinner matinee is spectacular!

I’ll never figure it out.  They are surrounded by technological marvels, CD player, DVD player, computer, and digital television, but they want me to open up the 90 year-old Victrola, lay a thick old 78 RPM record on the turntable, and let them “dance”.  We’re not talking about good music either.  These are old hillbilly harmonies, sung in the most nasally voice imaginable, nothing nearly as sophisticated as “Little Einsteins” or “Yo Gabba Gabba”, but these kids love it.  Almost every time they come, we have to go through the rigamarole again…Select a record (Who cares what record, just a different one than last time), everyone gets a turn at winding the crank, open the doors to the voice cone (how else can you control the volume?), the selected kid gets to move the lever to release the turntable (a cherished job they vie mightily for), and the steel needle is set down on the record.  After that, pandemonium ensues!  They jump and fall, wriggle and writhe, run around in circles, and just generally make a noisy commotion.  This is called “dancing”, not to be confused with wrestling or tag, although the process for these seems to be the same, minus the Victrola.  If we’re lucky enough to get an operatic tune, perhaps Grandpa will add to the commotion with his Bugs Bunny imitation from “What’s Opera, Doc?”, probably a scene we don’t want to dwell on for long…

The music is bad, the dancing is not a thing of beauty, but you’d be rolling on the floor laughing if you could see it.  These are times when I could chuck technology and live a much simpler life.  But events move on, the children go home, and (after a short rest) the wife and I head back to work, with all it’s chiming emails, whirring disc drives, and really frustrating issues.  “Oh no!  I saved my changes the last time I used this form and now I’ve lost my entire master list,” comes the lament from the beautiful lady.  I have problems of my own.  I know my website designer told me how to do this, but it’s beyond me.  Download those files to this new one on the desktop, upload those newly downloaded files using the FTC or FTP (or something like that) to the S3 (3S?) site.  No, you download them with the FDIC to My Documents…no FDIC is what the bank uses.  Oh, just push that key and upload it.  What do you mean two hours and 53 minutes until the upload is finished?  How am I supposed to get my work done now?

How did we ever work before we had all this labor-saving technological equipment?    It used to be pencil and paper, adding machines, mechanical cash registers with the pull handles on the side…all relics of a distant past.  But they, at their inception, also promised the same thing all innovations promise;  the inveiglement of higher productivity and lower labor output.  Once the trap is sprung, the reality is revealed.  More productivity leads to more labor every time, regardless of the original promise of more leisure.  We don’t care, we love our machines, and again and again, buy the latest, the greatest, only to want more.

So, I sit at my computer, having once more worked into the early hours of the morning, and think, not primarily of the job at hand, but I reminisce of earlier in the evening (now yesterday).  For a few moments that I’ll hold dear forever, we were free of the encumbrances, not tied to any device, but just enjoying the abandon of childhood, and wishing (just a little bit) that we grownups were that carefree once more.

Second childhood is coming…maybe I’ll get that chance soon!

Progress might have been all right once, but it has gone on too long. ~Ogden Nash

With Friends Like These…?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“We’re raising grandparents at our house now,” came the almost-humorous statement from my good friend’s almost-smiling mouth.  The attempt at humor was not lost on the group, but we really didn’t laugh much.  It’s not a funny prospect when you’re all staring it in the face.  We’ve all got aging parents, some have adult-aged children who won’t grow up, and many of our peers are raising grandchildren when their time for parenting is long-past. 

“God knew what He was doing when He gave children to young people,”  was my Dad’s confusing (to me) statement when he was just over 50 years of age.  He was sitting on the back porch, reading “Bye Baby Bunting” for the fortieth time to his determined 2 year old granddaughter.  She was wearing him down and he wasn’t getting any help from the girl’s young dad, who recognized a much-needed respite from his responsibilities when he saw it.  I understand my father better now that I have four grandchildren of my own. 

My conversation today with another young father certainly gave me pause.  I talked about my enjoyment of the new social media for “reconnecting” with friends from my childhood and early adult years.  He argued adamantly that his interest was only in “real” friends, the ones who kept contact with him and gave him support each step of the way.  As we discussed our differences, I realized that I had been in his position 25 years ago too.  I remember how proud I was then of our close friendships, but I had no interest at all in childhood friendships which had gone by the wayside and certainly none in going to class reunions or other social events.

“You just wait.  Your day is coming and you’ll change your tune.”  I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth.  Why next thing you know, I’ll be saying things like “When I was your age…” and “We’ve never done it like that before.”  But from my vantage point, I can see the progression.  You go from the arrogant young know-it-all who,with a lovely young bride at your side, has everything necessary to make the planet yours (I hear Helen Reddy singing “…Sometimes it feels like you and me against the world…”), to needing a few close friends (not too many!), all the way to wishing you hadn’t lost contact with those people you met once on vacation.   But finally, I’ve come to what should have been an obvious conclusion years ago…I need people!  It only took me fifty-some years to figure this out, but at last I’m catching on. (The music fades into Frank Sinatra crooning, “People, people who need people…Are the luckiest people in the world.” It used to be Barbra Streisand, but she’s gone loony, so Frank will have to do.)

As I age, I realize that our lives seem to be sliced up into very definite seasons, some for which we’re well suited and some for which we’re seemingly not equipped at all.  The big problem is that I’m not sure I can handle being needed as a friend.  That’s the irksome thing about needing people.  You need them, they need you.  Dependency I can handle.  Responsibility, I’m not so very good at.  But I’m working on it.  Some of it is forced on me, some of it, I determine to take on.  It’s a work in progress.  I’ll let you know how I do.   No wait!  You’ll be the ones to know if I’m doing it right.  You tell me!

I’m just hoping that when my turn comes to be the grandparent being raised (if it hasn’t already come to that…), I will have been enough of an example to the next generation that they’re ready for what needs to be done.

From The Preacher in Ecclesiastes…“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!”

Just Don’t Rub ‘Em the Wrong Way

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

There are parts of that job that I disliked intently.  But it wasn’t all bad.  The real electrician was a jokester, setting me, his helper, up for one practical joke after another (“Do you want to see an Aggie trailer?  Follow me”…and like the dummy I was…), including the ever popular “ZZZZZT!”, uttered loudly as I worked with a live circuit.  Funny how things stick in your memory for years…Today, I’ve been thinking about a time when we were trouble-shooting a problem with the lights at the local convenience store.  Their fluorescent fixtures wouldn’t come on immediately when they were turned on in the morning, leaving them in partial darkness for awhile.  Baffled, we made a call to the manufacturer and they gave us an unexpected procedure to remedy the problem; With a clean rag, wipe off the surface of the bulbs.  Sure enough, we showed up early one morning and started rubbing on the bulbs.  Swish, one bulb on…swish, another on…It was amazing!  We had thought that we’d have to replace bulbs or sockets, perhaps even the ballasts (it controls the current in the bulb), but needed nothing more than a simple swipe down the lamp’s length and the problem was fixed.

The best part of the incident was the interaction between a couple of the patrons sitting in the shop.  As the man and his buddy sipped their coffee and watched our progress across the store, this fellow, obviously a deep thinker, observed to his friend, “Would you look at that?  He just rubs that bulb with his magic rag and it lights up!”  And his pal, thinking he was quite a wit, replied,  “Yeah, I wonder if he’d let me take the rag home and use it on my wife…”  Everybody laughed loudly (including me) and we continued the job until all the lights were glowing brightly as God intended (well, you know what I mean). 

I spent a year and a half on that job over 25 years ago, mostly wishing that I was back in the music business, but that one incident still sticks in my head.  Not only was it funny, and I love a good (or bad) joke, but it has made me remember repeatedly that many of our problems have very simple solutions.  We anguish over multiple scenarios in our heads, sure that we’ll have to spend too much or work too hard, only to find that a simple answer is staring us in the face all along.  This idea is not new with me.  You’ve heard it in the “work smarter, not harder” slogan, the “min-max principle” (minimum effort, maximum performance), and other motivational cliche’s.  But, you know, there’s also a different connotation to the event.

You can also apply the two guys’ conversation to the subject to which it referred, relationships between people.  I’ve finally figured out (pretty late in life) that we all have a magic rag and have always had it.  I just don’t always ply it so well.  Want to see your spouse light up?  Try rubbing them with a compliment.  You don’t have to make it a big thing, just a “Your hair looks nice today” or a “You make the best Kraft Macaroni & Cheese!”.  Okay, maybe not that last one, but it works for me since mac & cheese is my comfort food and she knows that.  Want to see your kids brighten up?  Mention how well they do some small thing.  They may die of shock, since we seem to be a lot better at criticizing, but they’ll love the attention.

We men are usually jerks, thinking that complimenting others shows weakness and devalues us.  It doesn’t!  It’s not a “zero sum game”, where one person wins and the other loses.  Turns out, in any good relationship, when one person benefits, everyone in the relationship reaps the profit.  The saying “When mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” is only a negative way of expressing this truth.  When she’s happy, the rest of the family has something to celebrate.  And, when the kids feel important, life gets a lot smoother for the parents and siblings.

One other thing:  Don’t make stuff up!  If the compliment isn’t real, you’re using sandpaper instead of the magic rag.  How dumb do you think they are?  Flattery isn’t positive, it’s destructive.  Be honest, but be kind! 

And with that, I’ve said enough.  Got to go home and see her light up once more today… 

“I like her because she smiles at me and means it.”  ~Anonymous

The Cat’s In the Cradle, Again…

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I watch her, the next to the youngest, walking on her knees and dragging the toes of her shoes over the sidewalk.  At first I think she’s hurt, maybe she’s fallen and she can’t get up (no, that’s a commercial for old people).  But as I watch, she keeps moving forward, smiling, ignoring her mama’s instructions to get up and walk.  Oh, yes…She can walk.  She just doesn’t want to at this exact moment.

Sensing that she may have a “moment” with her mom if she doesn’t comply, I go to her and reach down my hand.  She reaches up and clasps it, grinning.  If I think she’s going to walk, I’d better reconsider that.  The second she’s up, she drops all her weight on my arm, swinging forward to let her feet touch the ground momentarily, only to jump forward again in a wide arc and touch down a couple of feet ahead of where her shoes last made contact with the pavement.  This girl is not going to do things the way anyone expects.  She’s exploring, testing the limits, and figuring out all the angles.  She watches her older brothers like a hawk to be sure that they don’t do anything fun without her.  She imitates and perpetrates and just primarily pushes the envelope.

I watch her and I’m amazed at the change in the short course of two years.  She turns two tomorrow and already, she has much of the personality that she will have when she’s my age.  Not a baby and not yet able to completely express herself verbally, still she lets you know what she wants.  The word “No” figures in predominantly and even “Don’t wanna” frequently, but she’s not only negative.  She loves to play with the “baby”, but won’t be limited to girly stuff, showing her skill in a pretend sword fight with little wooden slats (really the roof pieces from the Lincoln Logs set).  She can’t stand to be away from her brothers, asking where each one of them is, even if she’s just turned away from them for a moment and they’re out of her sight.  But she will not be bullied, shoving her way onto the piano bench between the two of them, even though they deny her pleas for help getting up.  And so, she sits, happily pounding, with a brother on each side of her.  It’s not Mozart, by a long shot, but the music is sweet.  (This, of course, is quickly brought to a close by one brother choking the other to get the pounding stopped, but that’s a different tale.)

And being the old guy I am, I can’t help thinking back twenty-some years (we do that, you know) to when her mom was that age, learning, fussing, smiling (but not yet fighting with her brother).  I’ve changed too.  Back then I was a perfectionist, demanding instant obedience, determined that my child would not be that spoiled little girl who had her dad twisted around her little finger.  I think I failed miserably at that aspiration, but I was a disciplinarian.  Things are different now.  Candy is available and I love to share, much to the dismay of their parents (after all, when they’re adequately hyped up, we send them home).  I figure it’s my place as a grandfather to give them what they want, not to discipline them.  By and large, I’m fairly content to let the tumult swell and generally like to have a “limited government” type of mindset.  (There are exceptions, but the revelation of those, like the choking story, will wait for another day.)

If you ask me today, I’ll tell you that being a grandfather is the best, but as I consider it, when it was happening, being a father was fantastic.  My main lament now, besides the sergeant-major mentality, is that I was in such a big hurry to get to the next stage.  You know, walking, talking, potty-training, running, going to school, graduating, going to college, getting married, and before you know it, it’s past.  Just a blink of the eyes and gone…  Even now, we can’t slow it down, but we can be sure that we cherish the moments we’re allowed.  The little girl swinging from Grandpa’s hands, the three of them pounding on the piano (I know a good piano-tuner), and all the other amazing moments…they’re all gifts from God.

We’ve had bad luck with our kids – they’ve all grown up. –Christopher Morley (American writer/poet)

Children are an endowment from the Lord…–Psalm 123:3