By Jerry Mack Grubbs
“What’s a hayride?” asked Darrell. The entire band room roared with laughter. I felt sorry for Darrell but it did seem pretty stupid that a seventh grader didn’t know what a hayride was. Darrell and I played trumpet in the band. Band separates you in classes just like the world does. The world labels you as rich, average or poor. In band, you are either first, second or third chair. First chair trumpet players have the toughest music. Their part runs up and down the music scale darting like a rabbit being chased by my dog Piston. I wanted to name my dog Killer but something was missing in his gene pool. When he got excited he would bounce up and down like he was attached to an invisible pogo stick. His movements also reminded me of the way a piston goes up and down in an engine. I tried calling him Pogo but Piston is the name that stuck. It didn’t matter because mother didn’t like either name. My brother and I decided he behaved that way because his nap sack had only one you know what hanging in it. Well, you get the idea. First chair trumpet players are the cream of the crop and their music is challenging to play. I was the last of the third chair trumpet players. Our music consisted of boring whole and half notes punctuated with long rest periods. The fact that Darrell sat next to me meant he was the second worst trumpet player in the whole band.
Darrell’s humiliation that day was probably overshadowed by my own brother Bill’s embarrassment of having a brother like me in the band. He was an eight grader and he was the first chair trombonist. At least I didn’t further humiliate my brother by blurting out questions like what’s a hayride. When Mr. Marshall, the band director, told us we were going to have a hayride as our yearend activity, if I hadn’t known what he was talking about I would have at least waited until I got home and asked my mother to spell it out for me. Mother often grew tired of my questions but she never laughed at me even when common sense should have given me the answers. If I had never been on a hayride I think I could have figured out that the word “hayride” meant a ride in the hay. Shucks, by the seventh grade I had already been on several hayrides. I even knew what a roll in the hay was although I had never had that experience.
I decided right then and there I would invite Glenna Butler to go on the hayride with me. Although she was not the dream girl with whom I shared all my secrets, I had been sweet on her since the sixth grade. She was blond, had a pretty face and she lived close by. That living close by stuff was important because the only wheels I owned were attached to a bicycle. Glenna and I both lived on Ann Drive. I lived on Ann Drive from the fourth grade until I left for college and during all that time I never figured out who Ann was. Glenna said she was probably the daughter of the man who made the street. Glenna also said “yes” to my invitation to go on the hayride and I was elated. I think it was the Spearmint gum commercial where the guy jumps into the air and clicks his heels together . . . that’s how I felt. I had been real nervous to ask her because my friend David had gotten the big “no” when he asked Melinda on the hayride. You couldn’t really blame Melinda. David had buckteeth plus he had one of those secrets kids aren’t supposed to keep. I’ll tell you more about my hayride with Glenna later but for now I want to tell you what Mr. Marshall, the band director, taught me the day Darrell asked that stupid question. I have never forgotten the lesson and it had nothing to do with music or band.
Before the laughter had subsided, with poor Darrell wanting to crawl under his chair, Mr. Marshall subdued the class by asking three questions in rapid-fire succession. Before asking the questions he explained that any class members who knew the answers to the questions should raise their hand. With each question, the only hand that went into the air was attached to the long skinny arm of Darrell. I was almost proud of the fact that I was sitting next to this guy. I knew Darrell would not be raising his hand unless he really knew the answers. Forget about the answers, I didn’t even understand the questions. What I didn’t know and most likely none of the class members knew was that Darrell was a math whiz. Mr. Marshall knew this about Darrell and took the opportunity to ask us difficult math questions that he was sure only Darrell would know the answers to. Darrell got emotionally moved to the front of the class that day as far as I was concerned.
In the midst of all this ah and amazement of Darrell’s great knowledge, I still wondered why he was sitting next to the worst trumpet player in the band if he was so smart. I actually don’t know if he was better than the worst trumpet player because I never challenged him for his position. That’s how you get ahead in band. You challenge the person in the seat next to you to a musical sword fight. If you play the selected piece better than he does you get to take his chair and he slides down to your old position. I didn’t want to play a trumpet or challenge Darrel for his seat. I didn’t want to be in the band period. But when you live with a mother who is bound and determined to give you all the advantages she didn’t have growing up, you play trumpet, piano, violin and whatever else she makes up her mind that you need to play. At that age you would even play your fist to keep from getting your plate broke. That’s what my dad use to say, “Behave yourself, Mack, or you’ll get your plate broke and starve to death.”
Was that child abuse? Parents could get away with almost anything in those days. They would even teach you how to lie real good and then when they caught you telling a lie later on, they would threaten to break your plate or tan your hide. I’ll give you an example. I figured out who Santa Claus was and when I announced my discovery, my folks said, “You know that Beebe gun you want for Christmas? Well, if you don’t believe in Santa Claus, you won’t get it.” I became reconverted to Santa Claus so fast you would have thought I was attending a save Santa revival. But I can talk about parents teaching their kids to lie and what that leads to later. Right now I need to finish telling you about the hayride.
Darrell, the math whiz, survived that brutal day in the band room when he asked the stupid question about a hayride. And the day of our hayride finally came. It was ridiculous. I knew what a hayride was supposed to be like but this beat all I had ever seen. Well, it beat all I had ever seen with the exception of when I saw those two pigs rolling in the hay. I don’t know why we have to use code words like “rolling in the hay,” or “getting lucky.” It took me until the fifth grade to figure out who Lucky was. How confusing can that be? No wonder I was sitting last chair trumpet player by dumb Darrell. I never called him dumb Darrell out loud. I just paused and gave myself time to think the word “dumb” before I said his name. That was back before I figured out that thinking something bad was almost the same as doing something bad. No matter how big you are on the outside, putting labels on people makes you small on the inside. And you are the one who has to look at what is on the inside. You can’t get away from you.
Our hayride was in a moving van. No open trailer to dangle your feet off of or feel the cool evening breeze blowing in your face. We were crammed inside a stinking moving van. It was dark and hot. Everyone was throwing hay and sneezing like a cat with a feather up its nose. The darkness was okay because I was sitting next to Glenna. I wasn’t just sitting next to her; I was holding her hand. The only other time I had held her hand was in the sixth grade when we went on a tour of the Grand Saline salt mine. While going down an elevator shaft deep into the mine, smashed together like fish in the last shallow waterhole of a dried up lake, they turned out the lights to let us see how dark Hell was going to be like. There in the dark I took Glenna’s hand in mine. While we were supposed to be experiencing what Hell was going to be like, I was in Heaven. When the lights came back on I let go of her hand. We never talked about it but I often thought about that day. I had planned to wait for my dream girl to come along and hold her hand but Glenna got there first.
Yep, Glenna was my first. Well, she was my first if you don’t count cousins. My friend Buddy said, “Cousins don’t count.” That didn’t make any sense to me but his explanation was so complicated I thought my brain was swimming in a mixture of sand and honey. I guess cousins sharing the same blood make holding your cousin’s hand almost the same as holding your own sister’s hand. Yuk. That’s also why you don’t marry your cousin. When cousins marry, one plus one equals two just like everybody else but when they have a baby they only total two and a half people, not three. Buddy said when cousins have babies they produce halfwits. And that is why you count different when counting cousins, one plus one plus one equals two and a half. Anyway, if cousins don’t count, Glenna was my first.
I wanted to finish telling you about my hayride with Glenna but it is getting late and my brain has quit working. My story has waited all these years to be told so I guess it can wait a little longer. Think about this in the mean time. Do you laugh and make fun of others because you think you are smarter than they? Think of Darrell, the math whiz. Do you teach your children to lie? Think about Santa Claus and the Beebe gun. Do you label people and fail to see the harm it causes you? Remember, no matter how big you are on the outside; your actions can make you appear pretty small on the inside. Does any of this make sense to you or am I just a halfwit even thought my mother didn’t marry her cousin? See you later, maybe.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Sunday, April 2, 2006
Sam and the Stranger
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
As I walked back to my office from a nearby park, I passed the Sugarhouse Boys & Girls Club where a group of young boys were playing behind a chain link fence. One of the boys called out, "Hey, what's your name?" I turned to see a rosy-cheeked little boy with a big smile on his face. I said, "My name is Jerry, what's your name?" Before he could respond, another boy about the same age grabbed him and said, "Stop talking to strangers." Ignoring the comment of other boy he said to me, "My name is Sam." Turning back to his friend he said, "He's not a stranger, his name is Jerry." Then calling out to me again Sam asked, "You're not a stranger, are you?" "I am a stranger to you because we don't know each other yet," I said. As I turned and continued to walk down the street, I could hear Sam's friend scolding him for telling a stranger his name.
Strangers are just friends I haven't met yet is a quote attributed to Will Rogers. To view everyone as a potential future friend is certainly a positive outlook on life. A friend is someone we would never intentionally wound. A friend is someone we would stop and allow into slow moving traffic. A friend is someone we would never speak despairingly about. The list could go on and on but I think you understand my train of thought.
Sam had been taught the right message. From behind a chain link fence with his adult supervisor standing nearby, Sam could see the world as a safe place. His playmate focused on the specific rule…don't talk to strangers. Through the safety of the fence, Sam saw a stranger as a possible future friend. His playground buddy saw a stranger as a potential danger regardless of the protective fence. Which of the two boys had the right perspective depends entirely on who the stranger was. It is sad that we live in a world where we need to teach our children to fear strangers. But it is the world we live in and strangers mistreat unsuspecting children every day. But it isn't just strangers who mistreat children. Some children are mistreated by those who should be their greatest protectors.
I grew up thinking that the world was a safe place. I don't remember my parents cautioning me to avoid strangers. We left our home unlocked when we went on vacation and told the neighbors to just toss the mail in on the kitchen floor. We didn't lock our car doors at home or when we went to the store. Our outside storage shed was never locked. Mother tells the story that the only time she recalls having something taken from our home was when my brother and sister (twins) had their baby clothes stolen from the clothesline. Mother simply said, "To steal baby clothes, their need must have been greater than ours." Life went on and we grew up not fearing the world.
As kids, I remember riding our bikes thirty miles to our grandparents home. On those winding backcountry roads we must have passed dozens of those strangers, friends we hadn't met yet. We played in the backwoods for hours on end without being checked up on by worried adults. We were turned loose at the county fair with a few dollars in our pockets to enjoy the rides and experience the thrills until the carnival closed for the night. It never crossed our minds that someone was lurking behind a vehicle or hiding in a darkened corner to reach out and forever destroy our feeling of safety and security.
Sam, my little talkative friend, didn't remind me of myself as a child, but he did remind me of my brother. I was much shyer than my brother but I didn't fear strangers. My fear was of the dark and no one had to teach me that. My imagination could run wild in the dark. At night I wanted to sleep with the light on but my mother always said no. With her helpful suggestions, I gradually gave away my fear of the dark.
I wish that our children didn't have to be taught to fear strangers. I wish that all those fears were just imagined and could be given away as I gave away my fear of the dark. Sadly, that is not the case. There is danger in the world and we have a responsibility to teach our children to be observant of their surroundings and what action they should take when necessary. Our challenge is to teach our children to be safe while at the same time instilling within them that the world itself is not a dangerous place. Danger is not lurking around every dark corner. No boogey men ever grabbed me as I made my way from our home to the outhouse and back again. It wasn't because I outran them. It was because the boogey men only existed in my imagination.
We can't eliminate all the dangerous men in the world but as adults we can make the world a better place by adopting the philosophy of Will Rogers. Imagine a world where every stranger is just a friend we haven't met yet. Imagine a world where children can run barefoot and free all day long without worry that some stranger will harm them. Imagine a world where there are no real boogey men. Until our imagination is reality and all the boogey men are gone, we must vigilantly teach our children of the potential danger of strangers.
The shaping of a child's view of the world is one of our most sacred stewardships. Thank you Sam for that little reminder of what the world was like when I grew up. I miss that world but I can only turn back the pages of time in my memory.
As I walked back to my office from a nearby park, I passed the Sugarhouse Boys & Girls Club where a group of young boys were playing behind a chain link fence. One of the boys called out, "Hey, what's your name?" I turned to see a rosy-cheeked little boy with a big smile on his face. I said, "My name is Jerry, what's your name?" Before he could respond, another boy about the same age grabbed him and said, "Stop talking to strangers." Ignoring the comment of other boy he said to me, "My name is Sam." Turning back to his friend he said, "He's not a stranger, his name is Jerry." Then calling out to me again Sam asked, "You're not a stranger, are you?" "I am a stranger to you because we don't know each other yet," I said. As I turned and continued to walk down the street, I could hear Sam's friend scolding him for telling a stranger his name.
Strangers are just friends I haven't met yet is a quote attributed to Will Rogers. To view everyone as a potential future friend is certainly a positive outlook on life. A friend is someone we would never intentionally wound. A friend is someone we would stop and allow into slow moving traffic. A friend is someone we would never speak despairingly about. The list could go on and on but I think you understand my train of thought.
Sam had been taught the right message. From behind a chain link fence with his adult supervisor standing nearby, Sam could see the world as a safe place. His playmate focused on the specific rule…don't talk to strangers. Through the safety of the fence, Sam saw a stranger as a possible future friend. His playground buddy saw a stranger as a potential danger regardless of the protective fence. Which of the two boys had the right perspective depends entirely on who the stranger was. It is sad that we live in a world where we need to teach our children to fear strangers. But it is the world we live in and strangers mistreat unsuspecting children every day. But it isn't just strangers who mistreat children. Some children are mistreated by those who should be their greatest protectors.
I grew up thinking that the world was a safe place. I don't remember my parents cautioning me to avoid strangers. We left our home unlocked when we went on vacation and told the neighbors to just toss the mail in on the kitchen floor. We didn't lock our car doors at home or when we went to the store. Our outside storage shed was never locked. Mother tells the story that the only time she recalls having something taken from our home was when my brother and sister (twins) had their baby clothes stolen from the clothesline. Mother simply said, "To steal baby clothes, their need must have been greater than ours." Life went on and we grew up not fearing the world.
As kids, I remember riding our bikes thirty miles to our grandparents home. On those winding backcountry roads we must have passed dozens of those strangers, friends we hadn't met yet. We played in the backwoods for hours on end without being checked up on by worried adults. We were turned loose at the county fair with a few dollars in our pockets to enjoy the rides and experience the thrills until the carnival closed for the night. It never crossed our minds that someone was lurking behind a vehicle or hiding in a darkened corner to reach out and forever destroy our feeling of safety and security.
Sam, my little talkative friend, didn't remind me of myself as a child, but he did remind me of my brother. I was much shyer than my brother but I didn't fear strangers. My fear was of the dark and no one had to teach me that. My imagination could run wild in the dark. At night I wanted to sleep with the light on but my mother always said no. With her helpful suggestions, I gradually gave away my fear of the dark.
I wish that our children didn't have to be taught to fear strangers. I wish that all those fears were just imagined and could be given away as I gave away my fear of the dark. Sadly, that is not the case. There is danger in the world and we have a responsibility to teach our children to be observant of their surroundings and what action they should take when necessary. Our challenge is to teach our children to be safe while at the same time instilling within them that the world itself is not a dangerous place. Danger is not lurking around every dark corner. No boogey men ever grabbed me as I made my way from our home to the outhouse and back again. It wasn't because I outran them. It was because the boogey men only existed in my imagination.
We can't eliminate all the dangerous men in the world but as adults we can make the world a better place by adopting the philosophy of Will Rogers. Imagine a world where every stranger is just a friend we haven't met yet. Imagine a world where children can run barefoot and free all day long without worry that some stranger will harm them. Imagine a world where there are no real boogey men. Until our imagination is reality and all the boogey men are gone, we must vigilantly teach our children of the potential danger of strangers.
The shaping of a child's view of the world is one of our most sacred stewardships. Thank you Sam for that little reminder of what the world was like when I grew up. I miss that world but I can only turn back the pages of time in my memory.
Sunday, February 5, 2006
A Duck's Life
By Mack Grubbs
There is a park with a pond near my office where ducks live year round. Sometimes I take my lunch there and just sit in the shade and enjoy the beauty of nature as I eat my sandwich. Once in a while I take a walk through the park with a friend and get caught up on the latest happenings. But most of the time I just go there to feed the ducks. It is interesting to observe them as they interact with one another and it allows me to temporarily take the focus off myself.
When asked what I feed the ducks, my response is usually met with disapproval. The frequent comment I hear is that my treats are not good for their health. I’m sure that bits of stale hamburger buns aren’t nutritionally the best for ducks but the only complaint these ducks register is that there is never enough. Doctors take the Hippocratic oath that includes, “above all else, do no harm.” I’m not a duck doctor or an ornithologist specializing in bird nutrition. I’m just a guy who enjoys watching the ducks smile.
Anyone who doesn’t know that ducks can smile hasn’t spent any time with them. They not only smile, they pair off, swim together and peck at each other with affection. Once the ducks build a nest, they even share food. But until they build a nest together, they never share food. As the bits of stale hamburger buns are tossed into the air it is every duck for itself. They peck each other, push each other and even steal from each other. If you watch them long enough they will begin to remind you of humans. I try to not stay that long.
Ducks, like humans, have differing natures. Some are very shy while others are extremely aggressive. No matter the temperament of a specific duck, if I can get it’s attention and toss it a bit of stale hamburger bun, that particular duck will catch the morsel almost every time, even with fifty other ducks clamoring for that same piece of bread. In nature, it is that aggressiveness that ensures survival but I focus on the shy ones, those holding back from the pressing crowd. But remember, I’m not in charge of ensuring the survival of the duck population nor am I a duck doctor. I’m just trying to make a difference in a duck’s life. Interestingly, I always come away from the experience of feeding the ducks with more than I gave. Isn’t that how life is? When we help from the heart, we can never give more than we receive in return. Now, go make a duck smile. Or better still; give another person a reason to smile.
There is a park with a pond near my office where ducks live year round. Sometimes I take my lunch there and just sit in the shade and enjoy the beauty of nature as I eat my sandwich. Once in a while I take a walk through the park with a friend and get caught up on the latest happenings. But most of the time I just go there to feed the ducks. It is interesting to observe them as they interact with one another and it allows me to temporarily take the focus off myself.
When asked what I feed the ducks, my response is usually met with disapproval. The frequent comment I hear is that my treats are not good for their health. I’m sure that bits of stale hamburger buns aren’t nutritionally the best for ducks but the only complaint these ducks register is that there is never enough. Doctors take the Hippocratic oath that includes, “above all else, do no harm.” I’m not a duck doctor or an ornithologist specializing in bird nutrition. I’m just a guy who enjoys watching the ducks smile.
Anyone who doesn’t know that ducks can smile hasn’t spent any time with them. They not only smile, they pair off, swim together and peck at each other with affection. Once the ducks build a nest, they even share food. But until they build a nest together, they never share food. As the bits of stale hamburger buns are tossed into the air it is every duck for itself. They peck each other, push each other and even steal from each other. If you watch them long enough they will begin to remind you of humans. I try to not stay that long.
Ducks, like humans, have differing natures. Some are very shy while others are extremely aggressive. No matter the temperament of a specific duck, if I can get it’s attention and toss it a bit of stale hamburger bun, that particular duck will catch the morsel almost every time, even with fifty other ducks clamoring for that same piece of bread. In nature, it is that aggressiveness that ensures survival but I focus on the shy ones, those holding back from the pressing crowd. But remember, I’m not in charge of ensuring the survival of the duck population nor am I a duck doctor. I’m just trying to make a difference in a duck’s life. Interestingly, I always come away from the experience of feeding the ducks with more than I gave. Isn’t that how life is? When we help from the heart, we can never give more than we receive in return. Now, go make a duck smile. Or better still; give another person a reason to smile.
Sunday, January 1, 2006
Answers
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
My grandmother said that I had enough questions to fill the universe. I have often wished that I had as many answers as I have questions. I have discovered that with patience some answers flow naturally. That’s what I am looking for today, answers.
I called my brother Bill and asked, “Had any dreams lately?” “Yes,” he replied. After a pause I said, “Want to hear about my dream?” “Sure,” he said with some hesitation in his voice. I could just imagine him glancing at his watch and wondering how long this little adventure was going to take. With his permission the tale began.
Dad and I were traveling along the old Kilgore highway just west of Longview, Texas. He was driving and we were in my ’76 black jeep with the top and doors off. Dad was in a nostalgic mood because I was leaving the following day. He was determined to show me something before I left. I quizzed him about our destination but it was useless. He just smiled and said, “We’ll be there soon enough, then you’ll see for yourself.”
I looked over and there was a mischievous smile on his face; that same smile that I had grown so fond of over the years. Tomorrow I would miss that smile, his upbeat attitude and just the opportunity to spend time with him. Without signaling, he abruptly turned off onto a narrow dirt road. It was more of a trail than a road because it couldn’t be more than ten feet wide. There were tall trees bordering either side of the road and although it was nothing more than graded dirt, the road was as smooth as fresh laid asphalt.
We traveled only a few hundred feet when we emerged into a beautiful meadow. The grass was as green as I had ever seen and it was perfectly manicured. Dad stopped the jeep, turned off the engine and asked, “Well, what do you think?” The sight was so beautiful and peaceful it almost took my breath away. I climbed out of the jeep but hesitated because I didn’t want to step on the lush green grass in front of me. Dad said, “Go ahead son, you won’t hurt the grass. You won’t even leave any footprints.” As I walked out into the meadow and looked back I saw that dad was right. The grass was like a soft plush carpet yet there was no evidence of my footprints.
A light breeze cooled my face as I looked around and absorbed all the beauties of nature. As I glanced back at dad he had an “I told you so” look on his face yet he had told me nothing in advance of our arrival. He smiled as I pointed and marveled at the incomparable beauty of everything in the meadow. I knew that dad was sharing with me something that was very precious to him. “How did you ever find this place?” I asked. “I didn’t find it. It found me,” he said. “What does that mean?” I asked. “It means that the answer to your question will come on its own,” he stated. I shrugged my shoulders knowing that it was futile to think I could pry an answer out of him that he was not willing or possibly not permitted to share.
Dad and I walked down a gentle slope until we came to a waterfall. Below the waterfall was an oval shaped pool that gradually narrowed into a streambed that carried the water beyond my vision. The water in the pool was so clear it was difficult to detect where the water stopped and the air above the pool began. The bottom of the pool was visible. You could see all the vegetation and marine life living within the water. Dad pointed to fishing poles lying in the grass and said, “Let’s go fishing.” The poles were for fly-fishing and I had no experience using this type of equipment. Hand tied flies had already been placed on the lines of the poles and the opportunity proved irresistible. Dad said, “Don’t worry about your lack of training. Just focus on the spot you want the fly to land and give it a cast.” I did as he instructed and sure enough, the fly landed in the exact spot each time. There were plenty of fish in the pool but neither of us got a nibble. I thought we should try a different fly. When I suggested this idea to dad he looked at me with puzzlement and asked, “Are you hungry?” “No,” I said, “but why are we fishing if not to catch fish?” “I thought it would help you relax. You seem a little nervous,” dad said. “I am nervous. We are on someone else’s property using their fishing poles without permission,” I said.
“Well, don’t worry about permission. But if you are hungry just tell one of the fish to get on your line and it will obey you. They know and accept their purpose for being here,” he said. “I’m not hungry and if I were I wouldn’t kill and eat a fish that could understand and obey me,” I said. “Would you rather eat a fish that can’t understand you?” asked dad. “Am I really having this conversation?” I thought. I sat my pole down and walked up the bank toward the jeep but the jeep wasn’t where we had left it. As I turned to call out to dad and tell him about the jeep I noticed a beautiful wooden dining room table displaying all manner of fruits and vegetables. The table, surrounded by comfortable chairs, was resting on a naturally formed slab of stone. The stone floor had been chiseled and placed there by nature and not by the hands of man.
I called out to dad to come have something to eat. While continuing to fish, he turned his head and said, “I thought you weren’t hungry”. I wasn’t hungry but I couldn’t resist the bowl of ripe peaches that caught my attention. I bit into one and it was the best peach I had ever tasted. Words cannot describe nor do justice to the flavor and sweetness I experienced. Juice trickled down my chin as I bit into the peach. I wanted dad to come and enjoy a peach with me. Then I remembered that peaches weren’t one of his favorite fruits. Before returning to his fishing, dad pointed in another direction and motioned for me to look.
What I saw bewildered me. There in the meadow was a bed all made up with a fluffy down comforter and throw pillows. It looked oddly familiar. As I drew closer, I realized that it was my favorite bed, the bed that is in my daughter’s room. While standing there by the bed, I was startled by a voice from behind me saying, “Lie down and rest if you like”. I spun around and came face to face with a man and woman about my own age. With the unfinished peach still in my hand I began to apologize for being there uninvited, for using their fishing gear and eating their food. “Oh, you were invited or you wouldn’t be here,” said the woman. “We knew you were coming and chose to give you time alone to adjust to the surroundings before intruding on your peaceful experience,” replied the man. They both looked vaguely familiar but their names rang no bell of recollection. “Go ahead and rest for a while,” said the woman. “I wouldn’t want to mess up such a beautiful comforter,” I said. “You can’t hurt this bed anymore than you have hurt the grass you have been walking on.” she replied. Looking down at the grass, I remembered that my footprints vanished almost as quickly as they had formed from my shoes. “And as for the fruit you have eaten you will notice that it has already been replaced,” said the man. In astonishment, I looked back at the dining table and the bowl of peaches was perfectly arranged with no missing fruit.
Shaking my head I tried to clear my thoughts. I was in a place where animals understood and obeyed, where there was an abundance of food that replenished itself and no one cared if I laid down and rested on top of a down filled comforter. The only thing I was missing was the old stuffed rabbit I propped up between the pillows of that bed. The woman gesturing with a pointed finger showed me that stuffed rabbit snuggled up between the pillows.
With a half laugh I said, “I better be careful what I wish for”. Without hesitation the man said, “Well spoken”. Then he showed me the most emaciated lion I have ever seen in my life. His body was shriveled and his hair had fallen out from malnutrition. Even with an abundance of food all around, he was too weak and old to eat. He was gradually starving to death. “Why don’t you put him out of his misery?” I asked. “That is not the lion’s wish,” said the man. “Why don’t you take him where he can get help?” I asked. “Because that is not the lion’s wish,” he said, emphasizing the word wish. “It was your dad’s wish that you have the opportunity to come and experience this place,” said the woman. “Aren’t you glad his wish was granted?”
Glancing back toward the pool at the bottom of the meadow, I said, “Why does dad continue to fish if he isn’t hungry and isn’t going to catch anything?” “Your dad isn’t fishing, he isn’t even down there. You see him there because you feel safer with him there. He left when you walked away from the pool. He will rejoin you when you are ready to leave,” she explained. “Here he comes now,” said the man, as he pointed to the jeep that hadn’t been there just a moment ago. Dad slid out from under the steering wheel and walked around to the front of the jeep. Leaning back against the hood, he smiled that familiar broad smile and I knew it was time to leave. I was leaving with more questions than answers but a peaceful feeling swam around me and it was okay.
It was just a dream but I can still close my eyes and feel that same peace that I felt while visiting that meadow. Where is your peaceful place? How easy is it to get there in your mind? Many questions will not have answers in mortality. I have no answers concerning this dream. Sometimes peace is more important than answers.
My grandmother said that I had enough questions to fill the universe. I have often wished that I had as many answers as I have questions. I have discovered that with patience some answers flow naturally. That’s what I am looking for today, answers.
I called my brother Bill and asked, “Had any dreams lately?” “Yes,” he replied. After a pause I said, “Want to hear about my dream?” “Sure,” he said with some hesitation in his voice. I could just imagine him glancing at his watch and wondering how long this little adventure was going to take. With his permission the tale began.
Dad and I were traveling along the old Kilgore highway just west of Longview, Texas. He was driving and we were in my ’76 black jeep with the top and doors off. Dad was in a nostalgic mood because I was leaving the following day. He was determined to show me something before I left. I quizzed him about our destination but it was useless. He just smiled and said, “We’ll be there soon enough, then you’ll see for yourself.”
I looked over and there was a mischievous smile on his face; that same smile that I had grown so fond of over the years. Tomorrow I would miss that smile, his upbeat attitude and just the opportunity to spend time with him. Without signaling, he abruptly turned off onto a narrow dirt road. It was more of a trail than a road because it couldn’t be more than ten feet wide. There were tall trees bordering either side of the road and although it was nothing more than graded dirt, the road was as smooth as fresh laid asphalt.
We traveled only a few hundred feet when we emerged into a beautiful meadow. The grass was as green as I had ever seen and it was perfectly manicured. Dad stopped the jeep, turned off the engine and asked, “Well, what do you think?” The sight was so beautiful and peaceful it almost took my breath away. I climbed out of the jeep but hesitated because I didn’t want to step on the lush green grass in front of me. Dad said, “Go ahead son, you won’t hurt the grass. You won’t even leave any footprints.” As I walked out into the meadow and looked back I saw that dad was right. The grass was like a soft plush carpet yet there was no evidence of my footprints.
A light breeze cooled my face as I looked around and absorbed all the beauties of nature. As I glanced back at dad he had an “I told you so” look on his face yet he had told me nothing in advance of our arrival. He smiled as I pointed and marveled at the incomparable beauty of everything in the meadow. I knew that dad was sharing with me something that was very precious to him. “How did you ever find this place?” I asked. “I didn’t find it. It found me,” he said. “What does that mean?” I asked. “It means that the answer to your question will come on its own,” he stated. I shrugged my shoulders knowing that it was futile to think I could pry an answer out of him that he was not willing or possibly not permitted to share.
Dad and I walked down a gentle slope until we came to a waterfall. Below the waterfall was an oval shaped pool that gradually narrowed into a streambed that carried the water beyond my vision. The water in the pool was so clear it was difficult to detect where the water stopped and the air above the pool began. The bottom of the pool was visible. You could see all the vegetation and marine life living within the water. Dad pointed to fishing poles lying in the grass and said, “Let’s go fishing.” The poles were for fly-fishing and I had no experience using this type of equipment. Hand tied flies had already been placed on the lines of the poles and the opportunity proved irresistible. Dad said, “Don’t worry about your lack of training. Just focus on the spot you want the fly to land and give it a cast.” I did as he instructed and sure enough, the fly landed in the exact spot each time. There were plenty of fish in the pool but neither of us got a nibble. I thought we should try a different fly. When I suggested this idea to dad he looked at me with puzzlement and asked, “Are you hungry?” “No,” I said, “but why are we fishing if not to catch fish?” “I thought it would help you relax. You seem a little nervous,” dad said. “I am nervous. We are on someone else’s property using their fishing poles without permission,” I said.
“Well, don’t worry about permission. But if you are hungry just tell one of the fish to get on your line and it will obey you. They know and accept their purpose for being here,” he said. “I’m not hungry and if I were I wouldn’t kill and eat a fish that could understand and obey me,” I said. “Would you rather eat a fish that can’t understand you?” asked dad. “Am I really having this conversation?” I thought. I sat my pole down and walked up the bank toward the jeep but the jeep wasn’t where we had left it. As I turned to call out to dad and tell him about the jeep I noticed a beautiful wooden dining room table displaying all manner of fruits and vegetables. The table, surrounded by comfortable chairs, was resting on a naturally formed slab of stone. The stone floor had been chiseled and placed there by nature and not by the hands of man.
I called out to dad to come have something to eat. While continuing to fish, he turned his head and said, “I thought you weren’t hungry”. I wasn’t hungry but I couldn’t resist the bowl of ripe peaches that caught my attention. I bit into one and it was the best peach I had ever tasted. Words cannot describe nor do justice to the flavor and sweetness I experienced. Juice trickled down my chin as I bit into the peach. I wanted dad to come and enjoy a peach with me. Then I remembered that peaches weren’t one of his favorite fruits. Before returning to his fishing, dad pointed in another direction and motioned for me to look.
What I saw bewildered me. There in the meadow was a bed all made up with a fluffy down comforter and throw pillows. It looked oddly familiar. As I drew closer, I realized that it was my favorite bed, the bed that is in my daughter’s room. While standing there by the bed, I was startled by a voice from behind me saying, “Lie down and rest if you like”. I spun around and came face to face with a man and woman about my own age. With the unfinished peach still in my hand I began to apologize for being there uninvited, for using their fishing gear and eating their food. “Oh, you were invited or you wouldn’t be here,” said the woman. “We knew you were coming and chose to give you time alone to adjust to the surroundings before intruding on your peaceful experience,” replied the man. They both looked vaguely familiar but their names rang no bell of recollection. “Go ahead and rest for a while,” said the woman. “I wouldn’t want to mess up such a beautiful comforter,” I said. “You can’t hurt this bed anymore than you have hurt the grass you have been walking on.” she replied. Looking down at the grass, I remembered that my footprints vanished almost as quickly as they had formed from my shoes. “And as for the fruit you have eaten you will notice that it has already been replaced,” said the man. In astonishment, I looked back at the dining table and the bowl of peaches was perfectly arranged with no missing fruit.
Shaking my head I tried to clear my thoughts. I was in a place where animals understood and obeyed, where there was an abundance of food that replenished itself and no one cared if I laid down and rested on top of a down filled comforter. The only thing I was missing was the old stuffed rabbit I propped up between the pillows of that bed. The woman gesturing with a pointed finger showed me that stuffed rabbit snuggled up between the pillows.
With a half laugh I said, “I better be careful what I wish for”. Without hesitation the man said, “Well spoken”. Then he showed me the most emaciated lion I have ever seen in my life. His body was shriveled and his hair had fallen out from malnutrition. Even with an abundance of food all around, he was too weak and old to eat. He was gradually starving to death. “Why don’t you put him out of his misery?” I asked. “That is not the lion’s wish,” said the man. “Why don’t you take him where he can get help?” I asked. “Because that is not the lion’s wish,” he said, emphasizing the word wish. “It was your dad’s wish that you have the opportunity to come and experience this place,” said the woman. “Aren’t you glad his wish was granted?”
Glancing back toward the pool at the bottom of the meadow, I said, “Why does dad continue to fish if he isn’t hungry and isn’t going to catch anything?” “Your dad isn’t fishing, he isn’t even down there. You see him there because you feel safer with him there. He left when you walked away from the pool. He will rejoin you when you are ready to leave,” she explained. “Here he comes now,” said the man, as he pointed to the jeep that hadn’t been there just a moment ago. Dad slid out from under the steering wheel and walked around to the front of the jeep. Leaning back against the hood, he smiled that familiar broad smile and I knew it was time to leave. I was leaving with more questions than answers but a peaceful feeling swam around me and it was okay.
It was just a dream but I can still close my eyes and feel that same peace that I felt while visiting that meadow. Where is your peaceful place? How easy is it to get there in your mind? Many questions will not have answers in mortality. I have no answers concerning this dream. Sometimes peace is more important than answers.
Saturday, January 8, 2005
Death's Door
By Mack Grubbs
Today I attended the funeral of a good friend. Death came knocking for him on Christmas Eve. He was more ready to pass through that door than most of us. The service was simple and honestly depicted his life of kindness toward others. The tenderness with which his family remembered him invited the spirit into the room and touched my heart. Have you ever attended a funeral and as the speakers delivered their eulogies, wondered who they were speaking of? Well, not this man. He was the personification of every accolade attached to his life story. The knock at death’s door that came to him has helped me reexamine my own mortality.
What a blessing to listen to the knock at death’s door: not to be almost scared to death or have a close call with a near death experience. The blessing is that of being able to look in the face of a deceased family member or close friend and be reminded just how fragile and temporary mortality is. To realize that the knock came, the knock was heard, and it was for someone else; giving us a little more time to do the things that we consider important. For some that means making adjustments and corrections in our journey of life. For others, it could mean saying, “I’m sorry,” for wrongs committed or harsh words spoken. These are the positive experiences of hearing the knock at the door.
For others, that knock instills fear. The fear of not having done all the living they want to do; that next thrill, that next vacation, etc. Interestingly enough, death of another instills either peace or fear. Just like boiling water softens carrots and hardens eggs, death of a dear one can have different affects upon us, depending on how we view it. More truthfully, it is not how we view death but more significantly how we view ourselves.
Upon viewing death I can have a feeling of abundance or a feeling of scarcity. I can come away with a greater desire to give, to serve, to listen, to care and love. I can also step back from the knocking at death’s door with the opposite feeling. I can be softened or hardened; the choice is mine.
In the military the saying goes around that you never hear the shot that takes your life. Some apparently don’t hear the knock of death that comes to them. Whether I hear the knock for me or not; I have been moved for good as I hear of the knocks from death’s door that have come to friends and family. Those knocks can give us opportunity to stop, or at least slow down a little and reflect upon what is truly important. These experiences can either harden me or soften me. Those are my choices.
One of my goals is to come to a point in my life where all things will serve to soften me. Through that softening, I know that I will be more caring, more loving, more forgiving and more useful to my Heavenly Father’s plan. May you feel His smile upon you, not only in times of pain and sorrow, but in all the days of your lives. Whether or not we feel that smile is up to us. Whether the difficult times, the boiling water, softens or hardens us is our choice. Choose well.
Today I attended the funeral of a good friend. Death came knocking for him on Christmas Eve. He was more ready to pass through that door than most of us. The service was simple and honestly depicted his life of kindness toward others. The tenderness with which his family remembered him invited the spirit into the room and touched my heart. Have you ever attended a funeral and as the speakers delivered their eulogies, wondered who they were speaking of? Well, not this man. He was the personification of every accolade attached to his life story. The knock at death’s door that came to him has helped me reexamine my own mortality.
What a blessing to listen to the knock at death’s door: not to be almost scared to death or have a close call with a near death experience. The blessing is that of being able to look in the face of a deceased family member or close friend and be reminded just how fragile and temporary mortality is. To realize that the knock came, the knock was heard, and it was for someone else; giving us a little more time to do the things that we consider important. For some that means making adjustments and corrections in our journey of life. For others, it could mean saying, “I’m sorry,” for wrongs committed or harsh words spoken. These are the positive experiences of hearing the knock at the door.
For others, that knock instills fear. The fear of not having done all the living they want to do; that next thrill, that next vacation, etc. Interestingly enough, death of another instills either peace or fear. Just like boiling water softens carrots and hardens eggs, death of a dear one can have different affects upon us, depending on how we view it. More truthfully, it is not how we view death but more significantly how we view ourselves.
Upon viewing death I can have a feeling of abundance or a feeling of scarcity. I can come away with a greater desire to give, to serve, to listen, to care and love. I can also step back from the knocking at death’s door with the opposite feeling. I can be softened or hardened; the choice is mine.
In the military the saying goes around that you never hear the shot that takes your life. Some apparently don’t hear the knock of death that comes to them. Whether I hear the knock for me or not; I have been moved for good as I hear of the knocks from death’s door that have come to friends and family. Those knocks can give us opportunity to stop, or at least slow down a little and reflect upon what is truly important. These experiences can either harden me or soften me. Those are my choices.
One of my goals is to come to a point in my life where all things will serve to soften me. Through that softening, I know that I will be more caring, more loving, more forgiving and more useful to my Heavenly Father’s plan. May you feel His smile upon you, not only in times of pain and sorrow, but in all the days of your lives. Whether or not we feel that smile is up to us. Whether the difficult times, the boiling water, softens or hardens us is our choice. Choose well.
Friday, March 5, 2004
My Other Daughter
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
Most of my dreams linger in my mind a few moments after awakening and then they drift into oblivion. Once in a while I am impressed enough to arise, find a writing tablet and record my experience before it is lost forever.
In the wee hours of January 19, 2004 I was standing in a room that appeared to be quite sparse of furnishings. I was looking around, wondering what I was doing there when a door opened and a woman with a small child entered the room. The woman brought the child over and seated her before me on an overstuffed love seat. The little girl wore a white dress with a white sash tied around the waist. She also had a white ribbon in her hair and was wearing white shoes and socks.
The sound of the door closing brought my attention back to the woman. I looked around to discover that the woman who had entered the room with the child was gone. I hurried and opened the door but she was gone. I returned my attention to the child. She was sitting with her hands in her lap and looking up at me with the most peaceful expression on her face. She appeared to have no fear of me even though I was a stranger to her. As I approached her, she explained to me that her mother had brought her here for me to take care of. She said that her mother was going to be very busy and that I would be taking care of her now. “Why did your mother bring you to me?” I asked. “Because you are my daddy,” she answered almost in a questioning tone. Without being able to hide the shock on my face I said, “No, your mother has made a mistake.” “Who is your mother?” I asked. My statement and question fell on this child like a hammer blow to the forehead. She began to sob in such a way that it pierced my heart. I wanted to absorb all her pain and fear. I sat down beside her and took her in my arms and just held her and rocked her like an infant.
As her mournful sobs softened into a whimpering between short gasps of air I continued to hold her tight against my chest. Eventually I asked her who her mother was. Looking up at me with that same fear laced across her face she asked, “You don’t know my mommy?” “What is your mother’s name?” I asked again. She answered my question but didn’t give me the information I asked for. “Mommy said that my father didn’t want me so you would be my daddy. She told me you would be my daddy even though you aren’t my father.” “Who is your mommy?” I asked for the third time. “Mommy said to tell you that Elizabeth brought me here,” she answered. “You know Elizabeth don’t you?” she asked with hesitation in her voice. Now I was beginning to understand why her mother brought her here. “Yes I know Elizabeth very well,” I said. “Who is she?” asked the little girl. “She is the very best of all that is good in your mother,” I said. I will be your daddy and take good care of you while your mommy is away.” “Will she ever come back?” asked the child. “If your mother said that she will come back, then she will return,” I said. “I can also tell you that your mother will never forget you and she will always be thinking about you.”
“Will you give me a nickname like you gave your other children or will you call me by my real name,” she asked? “What is your name?” I asked. “Katherine Alexandra,” came her reply. “I think we should let your mother make the decision whether or not you have a nickname,” I said. “That would make me happy. Mamma said you would probably call me Kate or Alex and I was afraid I wouldn’t be brave enough to tell you I didn’t like those names.” Still holding her in my arms I said, “I hope that you never feel afraid to tell me what you are thinking and feeling. There isn’t anything you could say to me that would cause me to stop loving you.” “Will mamma stop loving me?” “No, Katherine Alexandra.” That peaceful expression came back into her countenance. Without saying another word she snuggled down into my arms once more, revealing to me that the daughter, who wasn’t mine before today, was home.
Most of my dreams linger in my mind a few moments after awakening and then they drift into oblivion. Once in a while I am impressed enough to arise, find a writing tablet and record my experience before it is lost forever.
In the wee hours of January 19, 2004 I was standing in a room that appeared to be quite sparse of furnishings. I was looking around, wondering what I was doing there when a door opened and a woman with a small child entered the room. The woman brought the child over and seated her before me on an overstuffed love seat. The little girl wore a white dress with a white sash tied around the waist. She also had a white ribbon in her hair and was wearing white shoes and socks.
The sound of the door closing brought my attention back to the woman. I looked around to discover that the woman who had entered the room with the child was gone. I hurried and opened the door but she was gone. I returned my attention to the child. She was sitting with her hands in her lap and looking up at me with the most peaceful expression on her face. She appeared to have no fear of me even though I was a stranger to her. As I approached her, she explained to me that her mother had brought her here for me to take care of. She said that her mother was going to be very busy and that I would be taking care of her now. “Why did your mother bring you to me?” I asked. “Because you are my daddy,” she answered almost in a questioning tone. Without being able to hide the shock on my face I said, “No, your mother has made a mistake.” “Who is your mother?” I asked. My statement and question fell on this child like a hammer blow to the forehead. She began to sob in such a way that it pierced my heart. I wanted to absorb all her pain and fear. I sat down beside her and took her in my arms and just held her and rocked her like an infant.
As her mournful sobs softened into a whimpering between short gasps of air I continued to hold her tight against my chest. Eventually I asked her who her mother was. Looking up at me with that same fear laced across her face she asked, “You don’t know my mommy?” “What is your mother’s name?” I asked again. She answered my question but didn’t give me the information I asked for. “Mommy said that my father didn’t want me so you would be my daddy. She told me you would be my daddy even though you aren’t my father.” “Who is your mommy?” I asked for the third time. “Mommy said to tell you that Elizabeth brought me here,” she answered. “You know Elizabeth don’t you?” she asked with hesitation in her voice. Now I was beginning to understand why her mother brought her here. “Yes I know Elizabeth very well,” I said. “Who is she?” asked the little girl. “She is the very best of all that is good in your mother,” I said. I will be your daddy and take good care of you while your mommy is away.” “Will she ever come back?” asked the child. “If your mother said that she will come back, then she will return,” I said. “I can also tell you that your mother will never forget you and she will always be thinking about you.”
“Will you give me a nickname like you gave your other children or will you call me by my real name,” she asked? “What is your name?” I asked. “Katherine Alexandra,” came her reply. “I think we should let your mother make the decision whether or not you have a nickname,” I said. “That would make me happy. Mamma said you would probably call me Kate or Alex and I was afraid I wouldn’t be brave enough to tell you I didn’t like those names.” Still holding her in my arms I said, “I hope that you never feel afraid to tell me what you are thinking and feeling. There isn’t anything you could say to me that would cause me to stop loving you.” “Will mamma stop loving me?” “No, Katherine Alexandra.” That peaceful expression came back into her countenance. Without saying another word she snuggled down into my arms once more, revealing to me that the daughter, who wasn’t mine before today, was home.
Friday, August 21, 1987
Jewels
By Jerry Mack Grubbs
I was invited to attend a dinner party. The invitation said the party would be semi-formal. It was winter time and there was snow hanging heavy on the pine trees surrounding the home as I walked up to the entrance. It was a beautiful, peaceful setting. I knocked on the door and was quickly ushered inside out of the cold. The young lady who answered the door was dressed in a white blouse and black skirt with a serving apron tied at her waist. She was very cordial and offered to take my overcoat. That is when I noticed the silhouette of flower bouquets etched in the mirrored glass of the foyer. The young lady opened one of the flowered panels and revealed a closet behind the mirrors. Just as she finished hanging my coat, I was touched on the arm by someone standing behind me and was asked if I would care for some refreshment. I turned to respond and was taken off guard by the fact that it was a huge rabbit who had spoken to me. He knew me by name and offered me a drink. Somewhat startled, I turned back toward the young lady who had just taken my coat but she seemed to be unaffected by a large rabbit standing on his hind legs, dressed like a court jester. She didn’t even seem to be bothered by the fact that this rabbit could speak. She acted as though she had not even seen him.
Once again, the rabbit offered me a drink. As I looked down at his serving tray I saw what I supposed was a glass of red wine. Beside the wine glass was a glass of what appeared to be water. Based on how he was dressed I quickly concluded that this was all a practical joke on me and I wasn’t going to be the brunt of someone’s humor. The rabbit spoke to me again and suggested that even though he knew my beverage of choice would be water, I was welcome to try the red wine if I desired. I took the glass of water and carefully put it to my lips; drinking cautiously until I knew for sure that it was water. Feeling uneasy and anxious to move away from the rabbit, I turned my attention to the other guests.
Looking at the people who had gathered in the living room I quickly saw that all the men were dressed in long tail tuxedos and the women were in beautiful evening gowns. The rabbit, eyeing me through that one eyed spectacle resting between his right cheek bone and eyebrow, saw the concerned look on my face. He suggested that I might be a little underdressed for the occasion. He informed me that even though the invitation said semi-formal, everyone who was anyone knew that tuxedos were expected. Before I could respond to his statement, the rabbit offered to provide the proper attire for me to slip into before joining the other dinner guests. Sensing my bewilderment and confusion, the rabbit simply said, “I am called Jewels, it is short for….oh, never mind, it isn’t important. I knew that you would be coming underdressed so I made arrangements so that you would not feel embarrassed or out of place.”
I wasn’t so much bewildered and embarrassed as I was confused. How was this rabbit able to speak? How did he know my name? How did he know that I would choose water over red wine, and come dressed in a suit when everyone else would be dressed in a tux? Not having uttered a word to the rabbit up to this point, my first response was, “No I do not want to slip into the tux you arranged for me, I will stay dressed as I came.” The rabbit nicknamed Jewels shrugged his shoulders and said, “Suit yourself but you will not be well received.” I wondered why he wasn’t concerned about his own manner of dress. He wore a floppy red hat, white neck scarf, and an oversized red jacket, blue top and gold tights. As I mentioned before he reminded me of a court jester. Finding no answers to my mental questions and still holding my glass of water, I stepped into the area with the rest of the dinner guests.
I looked around the room for someone I might recognize but there were no familiar faces in the crowd. Everyone was dressed to the nines and each person was holding a glass of red wine, sipping occasionally as they conversed with one another. Very quickly it became evident that I was drawing considerable attention because I was not dressed like everyone else or drinking the beverage of choice. Some whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I wonder who invited him?” while others suggested, “You can tell this is his first visit.” Eventually a gentleman approached me and we began to make small talk. Actually we were just being polite to one another, but I appreciated his willingness to engage me in conversation. As we talked I looked around for Jewels, but the talking rabbit was no where to be found.
As the gentleman and I chatted, someone from behind accidentally bumped my arm causing me to spill my water on the edge of the carpet. Immediately the gentleman with whom I had been conversing, snapped his fingers, pointed to one of the serving ladies, and motioned for her to come take care to the spilled water. I was surprised at the speed with which she came and began wiping up the water. I wondered if she thought I had spilled red wine on the carpet instead of water. I kneeled down beside her and asked if I could clean up the spill for her but she refused my help.
As she knelt there on the carpet, I realized that she was dressed identical to the lady who let me in the front door and took my overcoat. She wore a white blouse and black skirt with a serving apron tied around her waist. As she stood she began apologizing to the gentleman with whom I had been speaking. He spoke harshly to her for not having taken care of the spill before it stained the carpet. I didn’t understand what was going on until I looked down and to my surprise; the water had stained the beautiful carpet. My mind began to enter a state of confusion once again. Quickly I assessed my situation: a semi-formal dinner that was really formal, a talking rabbit nicknamed Jewels who knew that I would come to the dinner party underdressed and that I preferred to drink water over red wine. And now, I had spilt water that left a white stain on the carpet. How could water turn a carpet white?
Coming back to my senses, I returned my attention to the serving lady who had cleaned up the spilled water. Uncomfortable with the treatment she was receiving, I took her by the arm and turned her around to face me. At that moment I realized she was the same lady who had met me in the foyer, but to my astonishment, her white blouse had taken on a sheer appearance, revealing her breasts. It puzzled me why she would dress in such a provocative way. I turned and looked at the other serving ladies in the room. As I focused on each lady, her face took on the appearance of the lady standing by my side. It was as if she was the only image I could see. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed her revealing attire before. Had I been aware of her suggestive apparel at the door I would have never entered the home. Maybe it was Jewels who distracted me; but then, I saw the lady at the door before I ever encountered the talking rabbit.
Still holding the young lady by the arm, I gave a slight tug and said, “Let’s leave this place.” She said, “Oh we don’t have to leave for me to take care of your needs, the owner has made arrangements right here in room number one, The Pleasure Room.” As she spoke she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out two individually wrapped condoms and offered them to me. Before I could regain my composure and respond to her comment, the gentleman I had been speaking with said in a boisterous voice, “Our guest has chosen the pleasure room first and what a fresh plum he has picked! She will satisfy your every desire.” I had not chosen pleasure! The only thing I had chosen was to get out of there quickly. To the young lady I said, “Are you coming with me?” She responded, “No I won’t be leaving with you. You wouldn’t be able to give me what I want. I have much to learn from these important people. It is an honor to be invited here, even as a servant. They have assured me that as I fulfill my role in the pleasure room, I will be able to visit each of the other three rooms where I will be taught how the world operates. And then one day I will be able to purchase my own place just like this beautiful home.” With that comment, she stepped away from me and stood by the gentleman who had spoken so harshly to her.
With all the eyes in the room focused on me, I sat my water glass down on a nearby table and began to walk toward the foyer. Jewels reappeared and took me by the arm. “You aren’t leaving so soon are you?” he asked. “Yes, I am,” I stated. “You will be back,” said Jewels. “No I won’t,” was my reply. “Oh yes, once you have tasted the wine you will return,” he said with authority. “I did not drink the wine, I drank water,” I told him. “You might not have drunk wine with your lips but tonight you experienced a taste of the addictive wine of pleasure, power, prestige, and wealth. They are all yours for the taking if you will stay and visit each of the four rooms where they are taught. You will hunger for them until you return and partake as each of these people here tonight has done in the past. They were just like you when they first came. They didn’t understand the rules, felt embarrassed, bewildered, even confused, until they entered each of the four rooms and were properly taught by the others.” Taking a deep breath I said, “These people may have vast amounts of wealth, hold positions of great power, enjoy the honor and accolades of men, and indulge themselves in all forms of pleasure, but I will not be back. They have nothing to teach me that will help me be a better person.” Adjusting his spectacle Jewels said, “Oh, now I am beginning to see more clearly who you really are; but you will still return because deep down inside you think you can help these people understand what is truly important. Now I know why I was warned about you. I will not be so friendly when you return. My people do not want your help, they are happy as they are. They will not listen to anything you have to say.”
In a challenging tone of voice Jewels said, “These people have ears to hear, but they hear not. They have eyes to see, but they see not. I no longer offer them water as I did you tonight because they always choose wine. The wine dulls their senses and relaxes their inhibitions so they can better enjoy the moment. When you return I will not be your friend, I will be your enemy.” “Just how formidable of a foe can a rabbit be?” I said with a smirk. “I can take on any form I choose,” responded Jewels. “I appeared to you as a rabbit because no creature on earth feels threatened by a rabbit. I could have shown myself as a human but you would have taken no notice of me. I could have come as a wolf but you would have been frightened away. Even though I may appear harmless, my features have specific meaning and purpose. These ears that look like those of a rabbit are large so they can absorb all your words and protect my people from hearing your voice. My eye is fitted with a spectacle so I can watch your every move and stand as a barrier between you and them. My costume is designed to attract the eye and distract the mind of the viewer.” “Distract my mind from what?” I asked.
“These people no longer see me as you see me. They no longer hear me as you hear me because they choose to not see or hear me. They are doing quite well without my help. They practice what they have learned in the four rooms of pleasure, power, prestige, and wealth. They have learned the world’s definition of success. My responsibility is to help them focus on and obtain all that this world has to offer. I will shield and protect them from you because you would take away their contentment: their comfortable and complacent way of life.” At that moment I became silent. I decided that I had heard enough. When I offered no response to Jewels comments he said, “As I told you before, Jewels is only my nickname. Aren’t you curious to know my real name before you leave?” Those were the last words I heard Jewels speak. I pulled free of his grasp, went to the foyer, opened the closet door behind the plate glass mirrors etched with flower bouquets and retrieved my overcoat. As I opened the front door I glanced back one last time to see if the serving lady had changed her mind. Our eyes met, an unseen magnet seemed to be pulling us toward one another. In my mind she was moving toward me but in reality, the gentleman standing beside her reached up and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. She broke our shared gaze by casting her eyes toward the floor. She had made her decision. Saddened, I stepped out into the cold night air. The dream ended.
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