Monday, April 27, 2015
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Huckleberry Days
With all that is going on in the world, it's difficult to
avoid negativity, so, at times, I find myself reflecting on the decade of the
'50s; a time just prior to the onset of our national psychosis. I thought I'd reflect on a few of my light-hearted
memories from those great days when I was a kid.
I once
wrote a book called, "The Huckleberry Days of the '50s" describing my
personal experiences growing up in Los
Gatos during the '50s.
Silicon Valley back then was a blanket
of fruit trees. Schools had to adjust
their starting date based on the prune crop, because most students worked picking apricots and
prunes during the summer.
Blossom Hill Road,
running from Los Gatos to San Jose, provided a panoramic view of
blossoming fruit trees as far as the eye could see. Those magnificent miles of orchards were the
playground for young kids and a source of income for older kids.
The
orchards and open fields served another purpose - forts. The urge for young boys to build foxholes and
forts seems to be universal. I still
remember those “fort-building” days and the competition between the
ground-dwellers, who dug holes and camouflaged them, and the tree-dwellers, who
had the advantage of prehensile tails for climbing. The gopher guys
usually did better, because the monkey guys didn’t have opposable thumbs and
kept dropping their tools.
Miraculously
this building urge hit all my friends at about the same time. Our neighborhoods were pock-marked with
foxholes. It looked like the area had
been taken over by a hoard of large ground squirrels.
I remember
my younger brother building a better fort than the one my buddy and I had
built. Tom is smart. It takes brains to become a Captain for a
major airline. TWA honored him upon his
retirement, which was rarely done. I've always been proud of him. His mechanical skills blossomed early and I
envied his fort.
Tom had the
additional advantage of having a girl to share his domain. Tom didn't know the unwritten law that forts
were for boys only. Girls were not
allowed in a boy's fort. But Tom hadn't yet
grasped the concept that girls weren't boys.
He thought they were soft boys with long hair who ran funny.
But
ignorance of the law is no excuse. To
express our displeasure, my buddy and I lit Tom's fort on fire while he was
inside playing doctor with his girlfriend.
The poor kid tripped over his stethoscope as they both scrambled out in
a cloud of smoke.
If we had
given him a few more minutes to finish his exam, he may have resolved any question
he may have had as to why we didn't let soft boys who ran funny into our forts. Of course, that attitude changed dramatically
for all of us a few short years later, but by then we had forgotten how to
build a fort.
There is a
lingering rumor that my fort-building buddy used Tom's stethoscope on dates in
high school combining it with the reassuring ploy, "It's okay. I'm a doctor."
We needed
wood for our forts and we weren't adverse to commandeering wood anywhere we
could find it. A local contractor had
just completed a house on the next street over from ours. The word on the
street was that his house came up one bedroom and half a garage short. He
ran out of lumber. The poor guy was still studying his wood order when I
tossed the last of the camouflage over my hideout.
I have a
friend who was raised in Southern California
where orange orchards covered the land.
He and his buddies built the mother of all foxholes. It was deep.
It was huge. And it was very well
camouflaged. One sunny day my friend and
his buddies were making their daily trek to their underground home when they
heard the sound of a tractor. Suddenly
they saw a tractor make a turn down the very row where this huge foxhole had
been dug. It was the farmer who owned
the orchard blissfully guiding his tractor into fort-building history.
The boys
took off running as the tractor approached their camouflaged foxhole. They looked back just in time to see the
tractor disappear head first into the black hole. That was many decades in the past. Legend has it that the tractor is now buried
under a shopping mall and when it's real quiet and the moon is full, they say you
can hear the ghostly sounds of a tractor engine idling where orange trees once grew.
That's a
true story, except for the ghost tractor, and I may have embellished the thing
about burning down Tom's fort. But that
was the world I grew up in and it couldn't have been better.
Friday, April 3, 2015
Forgiveness
Easter means chocolate eggs, Easter egg hunts, and spring
break to some people. But for many
others, Easter is a celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Mel Gibson's movie, "The Passion of
Christ" gave us a realistic-maybe too realistic- depiction of what Jesus
went through prior to and during the crucifixion.
We've seen versions
of the crucifixion many times in a variety of movies. The unjustified brutality can elicit anger
and hate for the Roman soldiers and religious leaders who inflicted pain and
suffering on a man who only expressed love and kindness. The people chose the
criminal Barabbas for freedom and the sinless Jesus for crucifixion. Evil
abhors good.
One thing
that has always stood out to me is something I find very difficult to
comprehend. It's the fact that even on
the cross, while in excruciating pain and agony, Jesus looked down from the
cross at the Roman soldiers who were gambling for His clothes and said
something shocking. Jesus said,
"Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." He forgave them.
Could you
forgive those who had whipped and tortured you and had just pounded huge nails
through your wrists and feet? I
couldn't, but Christ did.
We live in
a time when Christians are persecuted, tortured, and killed world-wide. The persecution and hatred of Christians is
increasing in America. I have a visceral reaction to those
anti-Christian zealots, particularly Islamists who behead children in the name
of a Muslim god. The last thing I want to do is forgive them, but that is what
Jesus taught and demonstrated in the most horrific and least likely situation
one would expect to find forgiveness.
I suppose I
could forgive the Islamic savages after I killed them. I don't think forgiveness means acceptance
and I doubt that Christians are obliged to stand by passively while evil
primitives slaughter Christians and Jews, including innocent children. So there is a conflict, but Jesus said that
if we want to be forgiven, we must forgive others. Talk about a dilemma . . .
We always
think of forgiveness as forgiving others, but how about forgiving
ourselves? I think that is some cases
it's easier to forgive someone who did something to cause us pain than to
forgive ourselves for things that haunt our memories and cause a sense of guilt
and regret.
This whole
forgiveness thing is something I don't completely understand. It seems to go
against human nature. There have been
many times when I have been reminded of this obligation and have tried to
forgive with some degree of success. But it's difficult to wrap my mind around the
astounding fact that Jesus forgave while dying in agony on the cross.
That is
only one of many things that impact me personally when I consider an event that
happened over two thousand years ago; an event so powerful that it divided
history into BC and AD. That brief statement
by Christ from the cross is sometimes overlooked, but it is immensely
significant.
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