A picture came my way, from a friend proud of her latest grandchild, and there he was, recently arrived, skin so new it had yet to make the acquaintance of the sun. My first thought was, ‘You were done right, little boy…you were done right…’
When you start listing grace in 1-2-3’s, getting born into a quality family is a Top Five.
Say what you will about people who overcome bad starts – and history is full of them – but when you start listing grace in 1-2-3’s, getting born into a quality family is a Top Five.
_____ _____ _____ _____ ____
My parents followed the human script: two imperfect people, just a rung or two up on the grownup ladder, making a life altering decision to marry each other, knowing so little, and so much to be revealed…becoming parents in their 20’s when they were hardly qualified to call themselves adults…
One of my father’s favorite sayings was “slip, slide ‘n stumble,” and that’s kind of how life, marriage, and family went. It was figure-it-out-as-you-go; with a Bible for a map, a sincere heart, knees known to bend, asking for His help, Dad patriarched our little family from first rabbit died to great-grands.
As a teen I did what teens do, defined myself against my parents, with big eyes on their flaws and no eyes on my own. Sometimes daydreams would flicker for a while, imagining who I’d be if I’d been born a Kennedy or a Rockefeller instead of some common, country Fontenot… and then I got on out there in the world, left, and left some more, went away, and went farther, met people from all over…and home got to looking pretty good…
_____ _____ _____ _____ ____
My parents were of quality character. They didn’t smoke, drink, or cuss…didn’t gossip, didn’t lie, didn’t hold grudges…anger never raised more flame than a birthday candle and they blew it out quick. They didn’t have a perfect marriage, but we kids never heard a raised voice, even in our small house, and it never crossed our minds that our parents would ever divorce. And they didn’t. As people, as parents, as neighbors, as Americans, if they failed the mark it wasn’t for low aiming.
I hate to state the obvious, but it needs to get said, there’s some awful screwed up people out there, and if you get in close, it holds to truth, that the apple don’t fall far from the tree. I knew this guy, and his memory of Thanksgiving was That Time when one of his uncles grabbed the turkey carving knife and went after another uncle. I knew another guy, announced it right quick, that his mother was a whore, and he meant it literally. My childhood was the great outdoors of a Louisiana farm; his was the slinky indoors of a Texas whorehouse.
I’ve been in houses, I won’t call them homes, that you’d think were welding shops, so much spark and fire and anger, anger, anger, and there’s some little kid over there in a high chair with his hand in the Cheerios ‘n milk, and I’m thinking, ‘This is gonna be his normal…’
I’ve known families where the family religion is money, and nobody knows what to buy each other at Christmas because everybody has everything they don’t need. Everybody is pretty bows and fancy wrapping, and nothing inside the box but stale air.
I’ve known families where the only gift daddy ever gave was sperm, and now all the females in the family are wary of men, and none of the sons know what a real man is…
There is thing called Deferred Gratification, and you need it, and most of us learn it from family. My grandparents finally bought new furniture after their 50th anniversary. Prior to treating themselves, they got their two sons a better education than they had, they bought land, and paid it off, they did without and did without, never bought a thing without sleeping on the decision. They didn’t demand a life of ease, but were happy to be the shoulders for their children to stand upon. I didn’t read this; I saw it, one steady day after another. Before I could shave I had seen more solid adulthood than other people, from different families, had seen before they were going bald.
Read these lips: That is grace. I type it, and then I want to go to knee and tell Him, THANK YOU!
_____ _____ _____ _____ ____
So this story all begins with a picture of a newborn baby. I know who begat whom, and what the family stands for, and I know how uncommonly impressive, and rare, this family is.
This little baby will know barefoot, and outdoors. He’ll know think-for-yourself and fix-for-yourself. He won’t be raised to lean, but to stand. He’ll learn that the answers aren’t far away, but near, and often, inside. He’ll learn old fashioned values, and when he’s an old man, he’ll be a rare candle, and people will come near, and appreciate the lighting.
…and little boy, one day I hope you know, it all began with Grace, the gift of your life, and the gift of your placement…
_____ _____ _____ _____ ____
The ole two-kinds-of-people thing applies to this Bedtime Story: none of us got perfect, but some of us got a better start.
If your childhood was hand grenades and land mines, I won’t insult you by presuming I know your shoe size, nor your path. I got a lot, but not all, and as much as I’ve hated the searching for the healing I needed, there is a This Is The Me That I’ve Made that I’m qualified to count only because I was part of the finding of what was missing, and the fixing of what was broke. I assume that holds, as you multiply the damage. To whom much is required, much is earned.
I’m in the other category. I’d be in danger of God’s lightning if at this stage of life I was still too dumb to know how good I got it. I was planted with grace. Many of you reading this feel the same.
Like me, maybe you were young and dumb, and took your raising for granted, thinking it common, and maybe low, when in fact it was High, and Rare, and worthy of Respect.
It’s too late, to apologize to all those gone to grave. I was a sprout on the forest floor and didn’t have eyes to see, how tall, and thick, and rooted, were them that raised me, parents, aunt and uncle, grandparents.
All I can do is appreciate it late, call it true, and aspire to cast the same shadow.
_____ _____ _____ _____ ____
This edition of Uncle P’s Bedtime Stories is brought to you by Eighty-one, where we hope you count your many blessings, and count them one by one, starting with the grace of a blessed beginning.
Uncle P’s Bedtime Stories can be found on Eighty-one’s Facebook page. He can be reached at 81creativity@gmail.com.
Comments are closed.