Pleading the Fourth

This one might make a better Sunday entry, but as I have to get a few things done at the old barn this Saturday and feel a bit inspired by it this minute, I'll put it out there today.

We all know the Ten Commandments. An old priest once explained to me that they're a hierarchy: though they are each tremendously important in their own right, the lower the number, the more significant it is.

The first three deal with our relationship with God. The other seven concern our relationship with each other. And what's the first of those?

Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother.

Why is this Fourth Commandment so important? Of course, because as a rule our parents merit veneration and respect. But beyond that? The priest told me that when you violate any of the other Commandments you at the same time violate this one. Why? Because when you lie, cheat, and steal you're telling the world that your folks taught you that was okay. You impugn their integrity by making it appear they taught you that lying and so forth are all right. You insult your mother and father when you do wrong things.

About time y'all started listening to Momma again, eh?

April 19, 1775

On this day in 1775 the American Revolution began in earnest. The militiamen, the ordinary citizen soldiers of Lexington and Concord, turned back the more organized and more highly trained British, harassing them all the way back to Charlestown outside of Boston. The Shot Heard Round the World had been fired. April 19, 1775 had secured its place in American and World history.

The significance of this event cannot be underscored enough. To date, it lit the lamp of almost surely the only large scale revolution which has had any modicum of positive success. Most new nations sink into anarchy, more terrible tyranny, or simply the same old same old with a new face after a known form of government falls.

To be sure, even our Revolution was subject to severe trials early on. It was no certainty that a civil government based on popular will would result from the breaking age old ties. Yet somehow it did; I believe that it was American Exceptionalism through Divine Providence that our nation rose from those battles as it did.

I do not mean this as an insult towards other people and nations who have or are now seeking similar freedom and respect. I know that we aren't and never have been perfect, and that there are and have been other rightly proud and blessed peoples and countries. But the fact is that popular uprisings need more than simple change. They need enlightened leadership. They need more than mob mentality. Any dictator with charisma and organizational skills can turn crowds to their will quite readily.

The colonists had rational leadership. The colonist themselves were on the whole reasonable people. They were able to overcome the occasional rabble to form a stable, reasonably free nation. And that's exactly what makes April 19, 1775 so memorable. Our revolution is truly unique in history. It was essentially founded 249 years ago today.

The Master Quips

Look, I know the old saw about going to the well too often. Yesterday's blog was filler, something I put together in the wee hours of Wednesday because I had to leave on a business trip at 2:30 AM and needed to get a few new words out into the ether. A blogger is supposed to blog every day, even just a sentence or two.

Here's today's bit of filler.

Many of us are familiar with Alfred Hitchcock Presents; I mentioned watching it just yesterday in fact. Hitch lead in and offered exit messages on each show's episode. Once he mentioned having sympathy with a character having wardrobe troubles. "I myself was once arrested for indecent exposure. It was when I removed my mask at a Halloween gala."

Some days I just shine in another's light.

With a Hitch

April 17. Another day, another dollar. So they say.

The Tigers are doing all right. 10-7, with good pitching. Could stand to score a few more runs though.

Alfred Hitchcock is on the telly. I call it that because Hitch was English and that's their slang for television.

The Twilight Zone just had an episode where two people, a man and a woman, both astronauts, were stranded on a distant planet. He was named Adam, she Eve. I suppose it was clever at the time.

In a couple of days it'll be April 19. If my math is right.

You know, stream of consciousness isn't so easy as it seems.

Because I Want To

I rarely have trouble with Canada customs. Whenever I head over, it's almost universally a rubber stamp. Show my identification, answer a couple perfunctory questions, and they let me on my way. 

But yesterday heading to Windsor for an end of season curling dinner, wow. I had to draw a deep breath to keep my cool. 

After derisively commenting on the size of my newer older van, the 1996 Chevy conversion van which I bought off my brother-in-law, the little snot in the booth asked with no small amount of disdain, "Why aren't you driving a regular car?"

I tell you, and I mean this quite seriously, I was instantly enraged. It was a burning, deep anger right to the core of my being. What? Did I miss the memo that Marty can't drive his van to Canada? Has Parliament passed a law that henceforth and in perpetuity Charles Martin Cosgriff shalt ne'er again pilot the motor car of his choice into these Canadian Dominions? 

What's it to you what I drive, ya little punk? Different country or not, I don't have to justify this to you. I wanted to smack that sneer right off his face. I wanted to yell, "Because I %$@!!&! want to drive my van!" That's why I don't drive a regular car, whatever the hell you mean by that.

Instead I took a deep, deep breath and answered, trying not to grit my teeth, "I just like driving my van."

That's crap, folks. Just crap.

Technology Spoiler

I watch my share of golf, and as with many other things I've noticed how innovation has crept into the coverage of the sport. What I like most are the arcing trails which typically appear on the TV screen indicating where a shot is headed. 

Imagine my confusion then when the technical wizards don't do it. Here's guy a teeing off: immediately after striking the ball there's a glorious arc showing just where it's going, with the highest point and the ball speed all right on the screen. Then on the very next shot, they don't do it.

Don't tease, folks. Every time or no time, please. I wouldn't mind it even on the putts.

Zeke and the Masters

I don't watch golf very often. But I always watch the Masters. Although I do find that I like the game more and more as I grow older, there's a part of me which still doesn't really see the allure. Hitting a small ball hundreds of yards into a cup maybe twice the size of that ball just doesn't seem a very entertaining way to spend an afternoon. Still, I find that golf and I have a history. Lately that's been played out through 'swing and sweeps', combined golf and curling tournaments. They're great fun, especially if, as a curler (as I am) it gets you two more curling games per season. I do look forward to them.

But more than that. My father's youngest brother, my Uncle John, who we sometimes called Zeke, liked to golf. He always bet something or other with a coworker on the outcome of the Masters. He and his boss would pick five guys alternately, and who had the winner won a sleeve of balls. I'm not sure who won most often. But I know my uncle was always proud of his picks.

I golfed with him many times years ago, when he was young and I was younger. We'd go out for nine holes after work many a summer's day. Those evenings were always good fun. If I could relive just one...we would joke and laugh, and simply enjoy the quiet and the game.

He was a lefty. That was fairly rare in golf at the time. His swing seemed unusual even to me, but for a duffer he was okay. I scored my only birdie to this date while golfing with him. The Eighth hole at Dearborn Hills, a 170 yard par 3, a Thursday night in an August which escapes my memory. I made the green off the tee with a four iron, and hit a 25 foot putt which ran hard left to right right into the cup. I made him sign the scorecard to attest that I had birdied. He remarked, "No one will believe us, because I'm family." It was lightly drizzling as he signed the card under the glare of my car's headlight after that round. I still see him doing it. Why do such things stay in our memories? But when he died, the first thing I did was dig up the scorecard and the ball that I birdied with.

When he had decided he was through with golf he gave me his left handed clubs. Several times I played rounds with them. If you have any idea how poorly I golf, you would realize that it hardly mattered from which side of the tee I would address the ball. Might as well play lefty.

I kept those clubs for years. Then I bought a better-than-mine set of used right handed clubs (used better than I ever will), and decided to sell Uncle John's clubs at a yard sale. Who needs two sets of clubs, especially opposite sided ones, right? A young left handed guy came by, practice swung a few of them, decided that he wanted to golf enough so that he ought to have his own clubs, and made his purchase.

I watched him walk away, dragging Uncle John's clubs behind on the cart which went with the deal. I felt a pang of remorse as the man disappeared with his new found treasure.

I sincerely hope that he has golfed well with them. And I wish I still had those clubs.