[Note from the Proprietor: This post is an entry for this month’s Middle Zone groupwrite project, What I Learned From Colorful Characters. It’s open for entries until March 7, 2010 and you’re invited to participate – just follow that cute little link and read all about it.]

Over the years, I’ve met my share of colorful characters; I bet you have, too. Despite that, I’m surprised to say can’t really pinpoint exactly what it is that earns someone the description of “colorful”.

I know, I know; chances are you’d agree with me there’s no shortage of folks who are different. But is different the same as colorful? Not necessarily; I’ve run across plenty of folks who are different – yet I no longer remember them.

Maybe the word unusual is a better qualifier. Well, maybe. Whatever the quality is that makes someone colorful in my mind, of all the folks I’ve ever met, ol’ Hollis has to be one of the ones with the mostest.

Just Call Me Bubba

Now, Hollis was what we down here in Texas call a Bubba (also known as a “good ol’ boy”): friendly, big-hearted and generally easy-going – and I’ll tell ya; he sure fit the bill!

Hollis was one of four of us back in college who roomed together during the semester I decided to live off campus (this was back in the early ‘70’s). And if you think the name “Hollis” says volumes about him, well, you’d be right. I mean, this guy was a walkin’ stereotype!

His parents owned a “nice spread” (otherwise known as a ranch to us city slickers) in central Texas. Oh, it wasn’t as big as the King Ranch (which at 1,289 mi² is larger than the U.S. state of Rhode Island), but at least it was “comfortable”. (Maybe just the size of Long Island? Er, never mind.)

I always suspected his chosen course of study – range management – had more to do with his parents wishes than his own (I mean, would he have chosen it if they didn’t already own the ranch? Well, maybe.) But one thing I can say with complete confidence – it certainly suited him.

I can still picture as if it were yesterday, that first fateful day I asked Hollis just what in tarnation range management was. He adjusted his big ten-gallon hat, spread his feet apart to get a firm stance, and made fists of his big, ham-sized hands. Then he put ‘em on his hips, stared off at the distant horizon and boomed out, “All right you ranges out there! I want you to form a line for me! Hey – straighten up, you!” (You think I’m kidding? Hey, if you’re readin’ this, Hollis, back me up, won’t you?)

When he went out he wore that hat (seriously – a huge, somewhat worse-for-wear white one), and in more ways than one, reminded me a lot of Hoss Cartright from that old western, Bonanza. He drove a typical student’s car, an old land-yacht-sized rattletrap named, of all things, Maybelline (or maybe it was The Deathmobile; I forget).

Memorable in More Ways Than One

In fact, there were a lot of things about Hollis that were really pretty memorable. (I mean, besides the hat.) For instance…

Every other weekend he went home to visit the folks (and, of course, do what every other student did: get his laundry done). And every Sunday upon returning he’d go through the exact same ritual: walk in the door carrying two bags of groceries and gently set ‘em on the kitchen counter. Then open the cabinet doors over the sink, reach into one of the grocery bags and pull out the two cans of Spam his mom had thoughtfully packed. Put them up in the cabinet (along with the 123 other cans from previous trips home) and shut the door. Then and only then, he’d paste that goofy grin on his face, turn around and ask in all seriousness, “OK, guys, anybody for pizza?” (By the way, if you’re hungry, as far as I know those cans of spam are probably still there. They should be nicely, er, aged by now.)

Then there was the time I brought home a refurbished pay phone and hung it in the kitchen (this was back in the days when you had to buy your own phone from the then-still-a-monopoly phone company). We convinced Hollis he had to put a dime in it to make calls, and it was two weeks before he finally figured out we were kidding! (On the plus side, I did make $3.90 those two weeks. But I digress.)

Trust me; I could go on…

What I Learned From Hollis

Yep; ol’ Hollis was sure a colorful character. But one thing he taught me was that it was truly OK to be a colorful character. I mean sure, most of us know that’s true – and I know that now – but back then I was just a poor Freshman college kid with no idea who I truly was.

See,  all through grade school and high school, I saw other kids around me who were popular, witty, charming, and – dare I say it? – extremely cool. What’s worse, they all seemed to have a level of self-confidence I simply couldn’t match. No matter how I tried, I always ended up geeky, insecure, and just plain scared.

The problem was, I took that attitude with me to college, and unfortunately forsaw nothing that would change anything ahead, I’ll tell ya. And that’s when I met Hollis.

Hollis was… well, different. And not a bad different, he was… well, like a breath of fresh air (or maybe more like a smack in the face with a dead fish). He was loud, brash, a little crazy, and he had no problem bein’ someone who was smirked at by other folks – either behind his back or even to his face – he just flat-out didn’t care.

Yep; in ol’ Hollis, I saw someone who had something I’d always wanted: he was happy with who he was. And I had to admire that, y’know? It was quite the revelation, I’ll tell ya.

So, Did It ‘Take’?

By now you’re probably askin’ the question, Did the lesson ‘take’? Did I finally overcome my truckload of self-conscious mumblings and assert my rightful place in the universe? Did my fellow students point in awe at my overwhelming new-found Coolness as I walked by? Did women, from that moment onward, swoon whenever I entered the room?

Well… no. (In fact, I only know of one woman who ever swooned when I came into the room, and that was because I’d accidentally stepped on a skunk on my way in the door. But that, as they say, is a frog of a different hop.)

Actually, it took me a few further years to finally come to terms with who I was. Or at least, who I was beginning to become, anyway. To tell you the truth, I’m still on that particular journey, so there’s really no tellin’ how it’s gonna end up. One thing I can tell you – the trip’s been a blast so far, I’ll tell ya!

Anyhoo – I just want to send a big ol’ tip o’ the hat to my friend Hollis! Hey, thanks for bein’ you, Bubba, and I hope all those ranges finally lined up for ya!

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Photo credits, top left to bottom right:
1. Colorful Character, 2. Beggars on Stockton Ferry, 3. Colorful characters, 4. colorful characters, 5. It’s good to be the King!, 6. Colourful character, 7. Send in the Clown, 8. No Clowning Around., 9. Four colorful characters

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[Note from the Proprietor: This post is an entry for this month’s Middle Zone groupwrite project, What I Learned From Colorful Characters. It’s open for entries until March 7, 2010 and you’re invited to participate – just follow that cute little link and read all about it.]

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I don’t know about you, but chances are fair to middlin’ at least some folks developed at least one or two false impressions about you (or your business) at some time in your life, right? Hey, it happens. Sometimes folks just flat out misunderstand what you said – or meant – or did – and the lines of communication get all snarled up like a fishing reel that’s gone haywire.

Hey, it’s bad enough when your customers get the wrong impression of you or your business. At least when you have a relationship with your customers, you might (at least, hopefully) get the chance to explain.

But what about when your customers give others the wrong impression? What the heck can you do then?

Bus Driver for Hire

Back when I was a starving student at Texas A&M, for spending money I drove shuttle buses around the campus. I’ll tell ya; that was one great job: flexible hours, good pay, and when you got right down to it, pretty easy work.

Probably the hardest part of the job was navigating through the sometimes narrow streets on campus. Generally speaking, that wasn’t too bad a problem – unless, of course, some bonehead parked their car where it shouldn’t have been. Many’s the time I wished we had a handy, er, dozer blade on the front of the bus. But I digress.

Anyway, one day my supervisor asked some of us if we wanted to earn a little extra income by working on an upcoming Saturday. Naturally we all perked up at that – until, that is, we heard what the job actually was. The task, he told us, was to drive the local Jewish elementary school’s children (about 200 or so of the little darlings) from College Station to downtown Houston. Turns out they had arranged a special showing of the stage version of Fiddler on the Roof for the kids, and the best way to get ‘em all there was using our buses.

Well, let’s see… on the one hand, the mental image of driving to Houston with 50 or so screaming elementary kids on my bus for approximately 3 hours – each way – was, well, a mite daunting. (For those of you familiar with the drive, what would normally take a little more than an hour-and-a-half or so would take at least twice as long for this trip because rules required us to drive no faster than 50 miles per hour.) Still, after due consideration, the lure of that extra spending money convinced four of us to finally throw caution to the winds and say, What the hey!

What’s This Got to Do with Beer?

By now you’re probably wondering just what the heck this image of assorted beer bottles has to do with this story. Hey, I’m glad you asked! The fact is, whenever I remember this particular day, it’s the only thing I can think of.

That’s because, for the entire 3-hour drive from College Station to Houston – and then again for the entire drive back – the kids sang what I consider to be the Worlds Stupidest Song: “99 Bottles of Beer”! Just in case you’ve lived under a rock your entire life and have never heard it (congratulations!), it goes like this:

99 bottles of beer on the wall,

99 bottles of beer –

You take one down,

And pass it around –

98 bottles of beer on the wall!

98 bottles of beer on the wall,

98 bottles of beer –

You take one down,

And pass it around –

97 bottles of beer on the wall!

97 bottles of –

Well, you get the picture, right? No kidding, y’all; they sang the entire stupid song down from 99 bottles to 1 – and then started over again. And again. And… again. I’ll tell ya; by the time we arrived at the Music Hall in downtown Houston, I was sorely tempted to let ‘em out – and then leave ‘em all there! Yeesh!

While the kids were inside watching the show, we four drivers found a coffee shop to hang out in. As I sat there, silently contemplating the trip back (with no small amount of dread), one of the other drivers finally broke the silence and asked, “Did your kids… uh, sing any songs on your bus?”

That was when the awful truth was revealed: it wasn’t just my group, but all of ‘em were singing that stupid song! What gives with that, we wondered. Just what the heck were they teaching those kids at that school, anyway?

Getting the Wrong Idea

After about 3.5 nanoseconds, though, I realized it wasn’t really the school’s fault their elementary-aged kids seem to have a fixation on, well, beer. Hey, kids are kids; they’ll do all kinds of things you won’t expect. Nature of the, er, beasts, if you follow me. And I reflected a moment or two on how easy it was to think of the school as bein’ the problem.

It’s really funny sometimes just what kind of impression your customers give of you, isn’t it? I mean, when you get right down to it, that’s something you really don’t have too much control over. Oh, sure; you can do your best to influence, mitigate, or even try to direct the conversation – but when you get right down to it, they’re pretty much gonna do what they’re gonna do.

If you were the principal of this particular school and just read this story, what would you be thinking along about now?

So the question is, how do you handle it when folks get the wrong idea about your business. Or even worse – what if the wrong impression is all about you?

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This is my entry for this month’s “What I Learned From Children” groupwrite project. Hey, you’re welcome to join us – all you have to do is follow this cute little link and read all about it!

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You work and you work to accomplish the things you want, right? Twiddle this, jiggle that, make sure those things happen in the right order; it’s just life, y’know?

Experience, though, has taught me that, generally speaking, there’s at least one thing more you’re probably gonna need: patience!

All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

Our return from Brazil was an exercise in mechanics. We packed up our suitcases, checked out of our hotel, ate a great breakfast, and loaded up the bus. It was time once again to head to the airport and board that big silver bird.

We were nearly the first to arrive at the terminal that morning, and so we very nearly had the entire ticketing area to ourselves. Checking in was the usual semi-controlled chaos; in spite of that it went relatively smoothly. Eventually we finally made it past ticketing and baggage check and headed for the boarding area and gate number 5.

As I approached, though, there was just one little problem. I looked out the window and – there was no plane!

My brain did a quick mental reboot as I considered the various and sundry ramifications of the situation. I mean, we’d done everything we were supposed to do, right? Tickets, luggage, boarding passes – check, check, check. It’s just that, without a plane it was all just an exercise, y’know? Sorta like a fire drill.

It’s All in the Timing

‘Course, once the initial surprise passed, I realized it wasn’t really a problem. We were just a little early, that’s all, and the plane simply hadn’t arrived yet. Still… until I saw our winged chariot waiting there for us, there was always that little niggling concern scratching away at the ol’ subconscious. What if it’s not coming? What if it’s late? What if – well, the list of worries could go on and on, couldn’t it?

The issue, you see, was in the timing. We’d done everything we were supposed to do. But now – ah, now it was out of our hands. The only thing we needed now was a little patience.

Not a bad lesson for life, wouldn’t you say? Sometimes we get so involved in getting things done we forget that not everything is under our direct control, y’know? You might as well face it: there’s times you simply have to wait for that thing you expect to happen… to happen.

The lesson, of course, is simple – have a little patience, friends! Do what you gotta do – but don’t forget to bring along that big ol’ bucket o’ patience. Chances are, you’re gonna need it.

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“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

As most of you know, it is indeed possible to find treasure in the most unexpected places. Especially when you’re willing to take the time to really look.

One Man’s Trash

Quite a few years ago Mrs. MZM and I temporarily moved to Kalamazoo, Michigan so I could take an engineering job in a chemical plant for a few months. Since we knew we’d be there only a short time (maybe 6 months? who knew?), we decided to keep the apartment furnishings to a minimum. I mean, why spend money we’d never get back, y’know?

Anyway, after moving in, we drove around town, just sorta getting’ the lay of the land, so to speak. Suddenly Mrs. MZM pointed off to the right and said, “Pull up over there!”. I immediately executed a tire-screeching Bat-Turn safe, totally legal and non-life-threatening u-turn to the indicated spot.

Right in front of us was a large dumpster. I looked at her in disbelief and thought to myself, surely she couldn’t mean–?

But I was wrong.

Years ago I knew a guy who rode a trash collection truck to earn money for college. He used to regale us with tales of the many treasures he found every day – bowling balls, stacks of records (you remember vinyl LP records, don’t you?), perfectly good clothes of all sorts – you name it. I was always amazed at what folks will throw away, y’know?

Well, memories of that fellow came back to me now as I realized Mrs. MZM wanted me to take a look at something in that dumpster. Now, had I still been a kid, I’d have no problem, y’know? But hey, I’m an adult now! Adults don’t do this sort of thing! (Besides, it was probably filled with all manner of icky stuff, not to mention little creepy crawly critters, to boot!)

All this and more scampered briefly through my brain as I climbed out of the car and approached the rusty metal behemoth. It was one of those enclosed types with a partially opened sliding door in its side. That’s where Mrs. MZM pointed. “There’s a lamp shade right there close to that opening. Just reach in and grab it – let’s see what it looks like.”

Poised to make a quick getaway (just in case a rat, a snake, or y’know, a slime-covered tentacle reached for me), I tremulously latched onto the aforementioned shade and gave an admittedly hesitant little pull. It didn’t budge. I tried again, a little bit harder this time, and felt it give a bit. Finally I took a deep breath, threw caution to the winds, and grabbed it with both hands. Exerting a mighty heave, I stumbled backwards with my hard-won prize and was rewarded with – an entire lamp!

Another Man’s Treasure

And wow, what a treasure! Well, it’s not that it turned out to be genuine Waterford crystal or anything, but it certainly was pretty. I was astonished somebody would throw away a perfectly good and serviceable lamp like that. (And yes, it worked perfectly!)

As I returned to the car with my loot, Mrs. MZM couldn’t help the lightly smug “I told you so” expression, and rightly so. Our little treasure turned out to be far better than either of us had expected.

Funny how that saying can be so true, isn’t it: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Over the years, I’ve encountered countless instances just like this of how a piece of junk turned into something wonderful. In fact, we have a perfectly good antique clock on our shelf to prove it. Sometimes you have to clean things up a bit – but sometimes not.

To tell you the truth, the only difference between an object’s being trash or treasure is not necessarily in where you find it. Nope; it’s in how you look at it. So it sorta begs the question, doesn’t it?

What surprising little treasures have you been missing because you haven’t taken the time to really look?

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Sometimes the urge to say what’s on my mind can get me into big trouble.

– Likely epitaph for Robert Hruzek

(hopefully a long time from now!)

OK, for those of you who’ve spent any time at all here at the Zone, that statement above will come as no surprise whatsoever. The trouble, though, is that knowin’ that little datum doesn’t always prevent me from, well, saying stuff anyway.

See, the thing is, what with this brand spankin’ new year and all, I really racked the ol’ brain to come up with a post that would sorta capture the essence, the nub of the gist, the je ne se quois for 2010. (In case you don’t know, je ne se quois is French for “duh”.) And finally it hit me (sound of dull thud) – this year, it’s gonna be all about words.

Therefore, I’m declaring the year 2010 to be the Year of the Words. An attorney friend of mine keeps reminding me, “words are important” (a heckuva understatement if there ever was one), so this first post of the year is going to be all about, well, carefully considering everything you say.

And trust me; this is experience talkin’.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s Summer Camp

Never was the importance of thinking about your words more true than one time back in 1978, when I was a counselor at a children’s summer camp deep in the woods of East Texas, smack in the middle of Huntsville State Park.

The way this camp worked, see, is parents would drop off their kids each Sunday afternoon (about 125 or so boys and girls, aged 8-12), then pick ‘em up again the following Saturday morning. Then this process was repeated with a different set of families for seven weeks in a row.

So far as I know, we always had the same number of pickups as drop-offs, so I guess in the large scheme of things you would consider our efforts a success. Still, every week produced its own set of unusual “situations” that had to be dealt with, plus a few challenges that spanned the entire summer.

One of those “all summer long” challenges, for instance, centered around breakfast, of all things. See, every morning we trooped our campers into the dining hall for their morning supply of energy. With the full days we routinely planned for the kids, their energetic little bodies needed to be well loaded with fuel. And what a breakfast it was!

Every morning’s menu was different. One day it was a selection of cold cereals, milk (plain and chocolate), about a billion kinds of muffins, assorted juices, etc. Another day it was scrambled eggs, bacon and assorted toast (including my favorite: cinnamon raisin bread).

Best of all, the food was, like, amazingly good, too, and there was always plenty for all. No one ever left the breakfast table hungry, that’s for sure. I’ll tell ya; those sweet ladies who cooked for us every day really outdid themselves.

Except, that is, on Wednesdays. See, on Wednesdays we had (sound of terrified scream) oatmeal.

Wednesday’s Child is Full of Woe

Now, I just want to go on record as sayin’ I personally have nothing – nothing against a big ol’ steamin’ bowl of oatmeal! Especially when topped by a thick pat of rich butter, maybe a little brown sugar, and a handful of fresh blueberries. I’ll tell ya; that’s something that really hits the spot with little ol’ me!

The problem, as it turned out, was an incident that had happened several years before. See, the thing was… well, they sorta accidentally, um, burned the oatmeal. Oh, not so you could tell by lookin’ at it, mind you. But when tasted, you could tell it was definitely “off spec”, if you follow me.

I don’t know about you, friends, but if you’ve never had the, er, joy of slapping a spoonful of burned oatmeal onto your taste buds, well Bubba, you simply ain’t lived! It sorta brings to mind that horrible, acrid smell of popcorn that’s been overcooked and burned by a microwave oven. You know how that awful odor kinda lingers in the air… well, it ain’t something you’ll ever forget, that’s for sure.

Nothing Travels Faster Than a Rumor

The thing was, quite a few of these kids had attended camp year after year, with the inevitable result that word had gotten out about the infamous Day They Burned The Oatmeal. So by the time Wednesday rolled around, well, you can guess can’t ya? Yup; even though it had happened several years previously (and had never happened since) the very sight of a big ol’ bowl of oatmeal on the breakfast table was enough to cause every kid in the building to run screaming into the woods.

To be sure, we heroically tried everything to head it off at the pass, so to speak. The staff heaped our own bowls with gobs of oatmeal, loading ‘em up with as many tasty extras as we could find. We loudly proclaimed the virtues of the stuff. One guy tried lathering his with gummi bears, but alas, to no avail. We even tried contests and other incentives. Alas, it was all for naught. It seemed nothing could overcome the dire tales of disaster and woe already passed down to the younger children by The Grapevine.

I mean, it was bad enough the kids had blown this thing all out of whack. But the stories! By then they’d pretty much reached, well, epic proportions. “Whatever you do, don’t eat the oatmeal,” they’d say. “It’ll make you grow a third eye right in the middle of your forehead!” Or, “Don’t eat the oatmeal; you’ll never ever have children.” (That one was for the girls.) And then there was my personal favorite: “Don’t eat the oatmeal, it’ll turn you into a blood-sucking zombie!”

But even more serious, since there was always so much oatmeal left over, it caused the cooks to waste perfectly good food. (You’d think they would’ve taken the hint and prepared less – but I guess hope always springs eternal, y’know?) Leftover food was definitely not a good thing, though. As with any camp, money – and the wise use thereof – was always a primary issue.

Lightning Storms on the Brain

Finally, the Camp Director had had enough. Determined to resolve the situation once and for all, he called for a Council of War later that evening after all the kids had gone to bed and settled down for the night. We left our Assistants in charge of the various cabins and gathered in the dining hall with the Director and the cooks.

“OK, you all know the problem,” he began without preamble. “Let’s brainstorm some ideas on how to solve it.”

Within minutes, quite a few ideas had been proposed. The most popular was kinda obvious: serve something else. Unfortunately this simply wouldn’t do – for a couple of reasons. First of all, the food for the entire summer had already been purchased. There were no funds for an alternative breakfast; somehow they would just have to make do.

Another idea was disguise it with more toppings – more fruit; more sugar, M&M’s, snails, whatever. Unfortunately, that one wasn’t working too well. No amount of fruit could hide the fact that it was, y’know oatmeal, and too much sugar was, well, pretty unhealthy, to say the least. As for the M&M’s and snails… well, never mind.

After about 20 minutes, we managed to narrow it down to two possibilities: One was, call the kids’ homes and have their parents make the kids eat it. Unfortunately, there were too many parents to easily reach, and cell phones hadn’t yet been invented. So scratch that one as too impractical. Besides, we kinda wanted to handle this one internally, if you know what I mean.

The other idea was to find a way to stop those ridiculous stories. To which the following question then applies: Have you ever tried to stop a rumor?

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Yep; that’s about the size of it. Here we were, the best and brightest of the entire camp organization (at least, we liked to think so), and this was the best we could do. Pretty sad, I’ll tell ya. Nevertheless, we all decided there might be some merit in that last suggestion, so we concentrated on it for a while.

As I heard idea after idea (not to mention some pretty profound silences), that’s when it began to happen – the apparent gravity of the situation seemed to give rise within me to say something silly, just to lighten the mood. Now please understand, this was serious; it was a genuine problem that needed a genuine solution, no mistake about it. But I just couldn’t help it – inside I was doing my best to stifle the ingrown chuckle that was steadily sneaking up on me. There we were, wrestling with the ramifications of serving oatmeal for breakfast. I mean, fer cryin’ out loud!

But I knew; if I were to say the thing that was desperately trying to break out into the light of day, it would not only ruin what little headway we’d made, but it might possibly irritate the Director or, even worse, the cooks. And believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was get them mad at me!

Still, it kept on building up inside me, ready to burst out into the open like a grape in a microwave. I squirmed and squiggled, got up and then sat down again, tried to count to 100 backwards, but alas, nothing helped. Finally, as everyone else was in the midst of trying to figure out ways to keep those stupid stories from spreading around, and I couldn’t stand it anymore and the following fateful words escaped my lips:

“Well, you could always threaten to glue their mouths shut with the oatmeal!”

I’m tellin’ ya; you could probably have dropped a live hand grenade – without the pin – in our midst with less effect. There was at least a full minute of shocked silence while everyone sorta looked up, then down, then pretty much everywhere except at me. The Director had a stunned look on his face, then quickly turned to look at the cooks to see what their reaction would be.

I think everyone sorta “braced for impact” as we awaited the Head Cook’s no-doubt righteously indignant reaction. And I distinctly remember thinkin’ to myself, “Self, we’re a long way from civilization; I wonder if they’ll ever find my body?”

Great Moments in History

For a moment, all she could do was stare at me with wide-eyed incredulous disbelief. Inwardly, I cringed, waiting for the boom to be lowered upon my unprotected head. But then… a miracle!

She suddenly put her head back and began laughing so loud, and so hard, she very nearly fell off the stool! You’ve heard of folks laughing with their entire body, right? Well, she did that, and before long every one of us was rolling on the floor with gales of laughter I’d swear (if my Momma hadn’t taught me not to) you could’ve heard in Dallas!

It was one of those genuinely memorable moments, y’know? We all laughed, tears in our eyes, for about 15 minutes until finally the Director raised his hands for silence. “You know what?” he told us. “I was reading in my Bible this morning from Proverbs, and I saw something that definitely applies here.” He opened his Bible up to chapter 11, verse 14 and read this verse: “Where there is no counsel, the people fall; but in the multitude of counselors there is safety.”

“I want to thank you for coming tonight to help us resolve this unusual and strangely thorny challenge we’re facing. Although I’m not sure we’ve quite solved it yet, it gives me great comfort to know that with the multitude of Counselors we have here tonight,” – and here he looked straight at me, and with a big smile, no less – “well, it’s good to know you guys are on the case!”

The Proof is in the Pudding Oatmeal

To tell you the truth, although I can’t remember if we ever did solve that “thorny little problem”, I look back on that event with a great deal of nostalgia. Besides, for the rest of that summer we were stuck with the oatmeal anyway, so what the hey, right? The cooks continued to serve oatmeal every Wednesday and, at least as far as I know, nobody turned into a zombie or grew another eye or anything.

That was the last summer I spent as a Counselor (no, I wasn’t barred from returning, smarty pants; I just got too busy after that), so I don’t know if they still serve oatmeal on occasion. My guess? Probably not. Sometimes ya just gotta bow to the inevitable, y’know?

But as I look back on that memory, I still can’t believe I said what I did. I mean, c’mon! What if those fine ladies who slaved over a hot stove all day to feed us incredible food had been angry instead of tickled by what I’d said? What if the Director hadn’t been the kind-hearted understanding fellow he was? What if my careless words had hurt some feelings? It was a risky thing I’d done, and to tell you the truth, I hadn’t really thought it through.

Still, I like to think I’ve matured a bit since that day, y’know? After all, not every situation can be rescued with laughter – nor is it appropriate to do so. Oh, with enough time and distance humor may come to the fore anyway. But that’s not always the case as a given situation is happening.

I admit it; I was pretty lucky that day. If the other folks hadn’t been who they were, things might have turned out very differently. Come to think of it, they might not have ever found my body! My name would have become the stuff of legends, whispered around campfires as yours truly, The Wandering Dutchman of Summer Camp, would still be wandering around that lonely, isolated camp on damp misty nights, forever doomed to search for that elusive perfect bowl of oatmeal…

Anyhoo, this story and thought seemed like an appropriate one with which to begin this brand shiny new year, y’know? The lesson is this: Be aware of your words! After all, if you can’t learn that, you just might not make it to next year, if you get my meanin’! I’m just sayin’.

Happy New Year, y’all!

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The Promise and the Gift

There’s something really special about the promise of a gift, isn’t there?  Especially when it’s something you’ve really been looking forward to. You know what I mean, right? The comforting assurance, the delicious anticipation… and then finally getting that (fill in the blank here) you’ve been waiting for.

But… what if that “getting” part is delayed a bit? There’s nothing so agonizing, is there, as that wait for something you know you’re going to get – but haven’t yet.

All I Wanted For Christmas

Back when I was a little kid there was a certain Christmas gift (a race-car set) I’d had my eye on. You remember what that’s like, right? Starting somewhere around, oh, mid-July, I casually mentioned it to my parents to make sure they knew exactly what I wanted. At least, er, 294 times a week.

Plus, practically once a week (OK, twice… or maybe three or four times) I made sure Mom or Dad found the toy catalog lying around the house, “accidentally” fallen open to the exact page detailing the object of my desire (and conveniently circled, of course). I’m tellin’ ya, when it came to covering all the bases, I left no stone unturned! I even arranged for a friend to mention, in their presence, how they were sure they were getting’ something similar.

I’m tellin’ ya; I was devious smart, I was!

A Promise Was a Promise

Finally, the impromptu marketing campaign bore fruit: my Mom, after enduring probably the umpteenth millionth carefully-arranged “hint”, finally broke down and said two words I’d been waiting to hear: “We’ll see.” I was ecstatic!

Now, you may be thinkin’ to yourself, but that didn’t sound all that reassuring, am I right? But when it came to official pronouncements from my parents, I knew from experience that “We’ll see” was code for “You got it!” My spirits lifted to stratospheric heights.

For the rest of the year, I made sure nothing happened to mess up my chances. I scrupulously performed all my chores (that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it), ate all my vegetables (well, everything except the broccoli; no force on earth could make me do that), and made sure our cat and dog were clean, brushed, well-fed and had shiny teeth and fresh, minty breath. I’m tellin’ ya; I was the picture of a truly deserving fellow! And besides – a promise was a promise, right?

Was It Something I Did – or Didn’t Do?

The fateful Day crept closer and closer with all the swiftness of a runaway snail (you know how it always seems to take forever when you’re a kid), and once the Christmas tree was up I kept an eye out for one particular box. The days slipped by, but alas, it didn’t show.

Doubt crept in. Where was it? I wondered. Had my parents NOT bought it for me? Were they sold out? Or horror of horrors, had there been a strike at the plant and they no longer made ‘em? (It’s amazing what an overactive imagination can come up with, isn’t it?)

Christmas Eve arrived, and still – no box. I was crushed. And, although I did my best to hide it, that night as we opened our brightly-wrapped gifts, I have to admit to a sense of disappointment as my race-car set wasn’t there. I mean after all, they promised!

I know, I know; I should have been grateful for the gifts I did get. And don’t get me wrong; I was! After all, I had parents who loved me, actual gifts to call my own – I mean, by anyone’s measure I was truly rich! But still… as a kid, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something I’d done, or forgotten to do. I remember thinking, Maybe I hadn’t been good enough.

One Last Gift

Later, after all the gifts had been opened, I put on my best face and thanked everyone for the gifts I did get. I had just given my parents a hug and was heading for bed when my Dad suddenly sat up and pointed over to a corner of the room, an innocent expression on his face. “Hey, what’s that over there?”

I turned and looked and, to my astonishment, there was a box in the corner that hadn’t been there before! (I know now my Dad sneaked it in while I wasn’t looking, but at the time, it was as if it had appeared by magic.) My little eyes got about as big as saucers as I disbelievingly stumbled over and picked it up. Sure enough; it was just what I’d wanted – the race-car set! To say my little heart was thrilled is a complete understatement.

In moments I forgot all those nagging self-doubts as I gleefully hugged my Mom and Dad, thanking them profusely for the one thing I’d wanted – and in the process, finding out that the shape of the world was, indeed, right.

The Best Gift of All

You know, when I read the Christmas story in the Bible (it’s in the book of Luke, chapters 1 and 2 if you’d like to read it for yourself), I often wonder if that’s just a tiny little bit how the Jews must have felt. I mean, over the course of thousands of years, they clung to a promise: the promise of a Savior, the Messiah. The promise had been given by God himself, sometimes directly, and sometimes through His prophets. And after all, a promise from God, well, that’s something you can pretty much take to the bank, right?

But as year after year passed by, they found themselves ending every year with a sigh and the same sad thought: Is Messiah here yet? No? Well, maybe next year…

The thing is, it’s so easy to forget one tiny little detail: in God’s eyes, timing is everything. The prophets, even as they joyfully proclaimed God’s promise to His people, understood that certain events had to fall into place first. But still, what seemed like a long delay caused even the most faithful of God’s chosen to wonder if, maybe, just maybe – they hadn’t been faithful enough.

And then one day a simple priest named Zacharias was given a remarkable message while serving in the Temple – his aged wife was having a son! And not just any son – but the forerunner of the Messiah! Not long afterwards, the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and joyfully announced she would give birth to that very Messiah! At long last, the promise was being fulfilled: the promise and the Gift of God – the Messiah – was actually here!

Do you think his doubts, his fears and his worries about God’s promises quickly vanished –quickly replaced by complete and utter joy? I’d have to say… yes!

The Promise and the Gift

That all happened nearly 2,000 years ago, and the world has never been the same, y’know?

There’s still more promises waitin’, aren’t there? Especially my favorite one: His promise to return. Oh, I know; year after year passes, and I find myself saying, like the Jews did every year, “Maybe next year…” But I’m reminded of how Zacharias must have felt. His great hope, long delayed – well, it was discouraging, sure. But his hope wasn’t founded on just any promise – it was the promise of God Himself.

So next time you think about God’s promises, and how they may seem, at least to you, a bit delayed – try to imagine the joy that’s coming when His promise is finally fulfilled. I’ll tell ya; it’s gonna to be one spectacular party!

Have a wonderful and blessed Christmas, y’all!

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That Special Time of Year

One thing about the Christmas season; around our house it lasts for quite a while.

For instance, we usually put the Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving. And, since my birthday is at the end of January, I always beg Mrs. MZM to leave it up until after that blessed event is over. The result: we tend to celebrate Christmas around our house for a full 1/6 of the year! Yeehaw!

Then there’s all kinds of fun stuff to do, too, such as celebrating the end of hurricane season (a very big deal down here in the Gulf Coast region of the United States!), or searching for the perfect gift for Mrs. MZM (assuming the finances allow it – something that’s not always true from year to year *sigh*). Or maybe it’s cooking up sweet goodies like, um, pumpkin bread, or even making a big pile o’ delicious Christmas tamales (don’t laugh; that’s a big tradition here in Texas).

Special seasonal events abound as well: Christmas caroling, family get-togethers, and the annual “throwing out the old year’s resolutions to make brand-new ones”. And that doesn’t’ even begin to count events with religious significance as well: Christmas pageants, candlelight services, and all the rest.

But this year – ah, this year ranks right up there at the top of our Holiday experiences! I had the chance to be a king!

King for A Day

It all started when a friend asked me to help her with their school’s chapel time. “It’s easy,” she said. “All you have to do is be one of the three Kings (also known as the Wise Men) for a few minutes.”

Well, I ask ya; how could I turn such an offer down?

I mean, what’s the downside? There’s this really kingly robe to wear, I get to swap my cowboy hat for a shiny gold crown (only temporarily, of course – or maybe I could come up with a ‘Texas’ version?), and best of all, I’m already an experienced Wise Guy! (Yup; I’m a professional – please don’t try it at home!)

Unfortunately, one of the costumes was a mite too tiny to fit the fellow who volunteered (he was a bit too broad-shouldered), so we drafted my friend’s mom to stand in. (Now ordinarily, you’d think this might raise an eyebrow or two. Luckily, though, our audience was relatively indiscriminating, consisting of mainly a herd of about 25 three- and four-year-olds.)

The skit went well. We walked in singing the first verse and chorus of “We Three Kings”. Then each of us shared a little nugget about who we were (I played the second King, Melchior) and where we were from (I’m from out East – ‘waay past Louisiana). We also talked a little about the gifts we brought for the baby Jesus (mine was frankincense – and I challenge you to explain that to a three-year-old!)

I’ll tell ya; there’s nothing like the expression of wonder on a child’s face, is there? Their collective “ooh’s” and “ah’s” when we came in was well worth the effort.

I’ll tell ya; it’s good to be the King!

But Who Should Really BE the King?

Anyway, it was a lot of fun. Sadly, though, after a few minutes we trooped out and *sigh* had to return to the Real World. As I drove home, though, I reflected a bit on what it means to be a King. After all, when you get right down to it, that’s quite a job description, y’know?

Oh sure, the perks are great. Generally there’s a really nice place to live and a big staff of perennially eager beavers working and catering to every wish. There may even be hordes of devoted followers, too, hanging on the King’s every word as though they were, well, gold, frankincense or myrrh.

But bein’ a King ain’t all fun and games. After all, many a king has discovered the truism (sometimes the, um, hard way, if you get my meanin’) that along with great privilege comes great responsibility.

Sometimes, that’s the hardest lesson of all, isn’t it? That when you’re the actual leader – whether it’s of a single person or an entire country – it takes a very special individual who can truly live up to the role. Presidents and Prime Ministers, CEO’s and Supervisors, Captains and Corporals; they all bear a heavy responsibility when it comes to how they lead the folks underneath them in the org chart.

Are they worthy of the job they bear? Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Sometimes, no matter the apparent qualifications, only time will tell.

Maybe that’s one reason Christians consider Jesus to be our King. I mean, with what we know about human nature (not to mention the not inconsiderable failings of earthly Kings and leaders of all kinds), only someone sent from God would really be qualified to do it right. Just sayin’.

Are You a Leader?

So what about you?

Are you a leader? What would you say are the main things that makes folks want to follow you? (Trust me when I say, if your followers don’t want to follow you, you ain’t a real leader no matter what the title says!) What advice would you give someone moving into a leadership role for the first time?

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