More random thoughts

My youngest son Jordan received a 1st division on his solo at the State solo/ensemble contest. It is a difficult contest and he played an excessively difficult piece-Parable by Persichetti. It is impressive for a junior to receive a first division at state, and he has continually progressed and improved to the point I believe he can become as good as he wants to be. Yet it is in the area of composition that he excels and demonstrates the greatest interest. On the other hand, composing is a tough road these days due to the plethora and eclectic music that pervades our culture.

Like everyone, I am totally disgusted with the ongoing saga of the oil spilling into the Gulf. This is a disaster that will likely affect the ecosystem for years to come. The environment is so incredibly interconnected that a change in the ocean will sympathetically cause a change in climate, germs, animals, not to mention the economy. We are a resilient people and the ecosystem will adjust, but not without pain. Very disturbing.

Church work is a tough gig. Yesterday at a funeral, a young lady wanted to sing with a track but unfortunately the CD did not function. She didn't get to sing at all. Technology causes problems and it is good to have a plan B. Meanwhile my church where I serve out of town is getting a little tougher. Some people are being critical of my choices of music. I work VERY hard to pick a balance of hymns, old choruses, gospel songs, and new choruses in an attempt to reach everyone. But there is always a risk then of offending everyone at least to an extent. Each of us has music preferences but in a collective worship service, we absolutely have to put aside our own preferences and think of the greater good.

I can handle criticism and have done so most of my career, but that doesn't mean I have to like it! Yet as I remind others, most criticism is overstated but most of it also has a grain of truth. The wise leader avoids over reacting but also tries to learn from the invective.

Sleep is often a mystery to me and I probably don't do it enough. We are told to get 7-8 hours yet 5 is common to me. I think I need to exercise more diligently and work on finishing my work each day so I don't go to sleep thinking about work. Also I think that getting older is presenting some challenges--sore heels, joints not moving as quickly, and a neck that needs additional support at night. Just common problems I suspect.

Sad about Al Gore and Tipper. No other thoughts than that I guess.

Books and family

It has been a whirlwind of a few days for me. Saturday Joel and I drove to Burnet to attend Mike Lewis' retirement party. I didn't think Mike was much older than I am, but I guess he had built up many years of teaching and can retire. He has had a wonderful career as a band director and teacher, as exemplified by the hundreds of pictures on the walls at the band hall and the hundreds maybe thousands of students who thanked him. I also treasure his friendship and have always held him in high regard. Fine Christian man and a great teacher for sure.

Sunday morning I drove to Brady and back. Napping and relaxing I received a text from youngest son Jordan wondering if he needed the original music for the state solo contest. The answer was yes. We found the music and proceeded to drive to Austin to deliver it. We arrived home around 9:30, got up early Monday and drove to Denton to deliver more furnishings and clothes to our oldest son and his fiance. We spent the day in Denton, bought a bed, ate lunch, swam in the apartment pool, and came home.

While in Denton, I went to Recycled Books to see if they would buy my two forged first editions I own. This is a source of great stress and consternation for me. I bought two signed first editions for quite a bit of money from a bookstore going out of business. But after further study and comparing signatures, I have determined they are forgeries. The store has a no return policy and now I am stuck. If I sell them as real signatures, I am breaking my own ethical integrity. If I inform a buyer I believe they are forgeries, I will never be able to sell them even as regular books. I could just use them as examples of poor judgment on my part for purchasing them in the first place. Not sure what to do. Recycled Books did not want them and I understand completely. I am embarrassed to have purchased them and almost see these books as evil examples of a terrible form of crime--forging signatures. I may end up circling the signatures in pen and stating they are forgeries. Then turn around and sell them. Mostly I wish I didn't have them. Great books but fake author signatures. Yuck.

Joel was funny yesterday. We pulled into the parking lot in Weatherford between Wendy's and Starbucks. It must have struck a memory tone for him because he proceeded to tell me with great excitement about all the shops in the area. He said two years ago we had parked in the same place. I never know what will trigger his brain into activity. Certain sparks of memory, sound, places, events seem to hyperdrive or give him a brain turbo boost.

Joel is always an adventure is trying to figure him out. Will it ever happen? Doubtful but the journey to that end is filled with joy!

Paragraph bytes for today

Not feeling overly profound but nevertheless needing to write something, I am offering a little information about the past week.

We lost a great man this week. His name was Dann Barger and I really held him in high regard for his humanitarian efforts, his Christian commitment, his personality, and his general demeanor. He died of cancer this week. Thinking about him, I recall his efforts to get me to stop biting my fingernails, a habit that has been a necessary part of my life since childhood. I want to stop but just can't. Dann's method was to address one finger at a time. He held me accountable and I was able to quit on three fingers. But alas I traveled for a few weeks, didn't see him, and fell into the old habits again. Concerned he would be critical, I hesitated to show him. Yet in his patient and firm way, he told me to start over. I think it is time to recommit myself to this project of ending the nail biting.

Dann shared his wisdom, compassion, money, Christianity, and personality with everyone he met. He made the world a better place and helped thousands upon thousands of people, educated and uneducated, rich and poor, regardless of color, background, or attitude. He was absolutely unswerving in his devotion to others. I recall a situation where a man in prison asked to see me. The man had become somewhat obsessed with me and wanted to say some things to me. I was willing to go until Dann advised otherwise. He believed that my visiting the man would ultimately create further problems for him related to the other inmates. Dann was able to think beyond the obvious and delve into the complexities of relationships by always asking the question, "What is best for that individual?" I will miss Dann greatly and want to be more like him.

The board of directors of www.rareandnew.com met for the first time the other day. While they were excited about the new company, several expressed concern to the CEO. Apparently the CEO has not been proactive in holding the departments accountable. The result is low (actually no profits) profits and too much expense. The board encouraged the marketing department, sales, products, accounting, and distribution departments to be more efficient. The entire board was concerned with the poor quality of employees and the lack of productivity.

A man shot himself yesterday. He apparently was struggling with depression. We are not sure why he did this or what the problem was exactly. I feel saddened by the news and wish to do a better job of identifying anyone with depression problems, seeking to help anyone to avoid suicidal thoughts or actions. Life is so precious and so short that we must live it to our fullest each day.

Just finished another Parker book and am about to write another book review. My goal is to have 100 book reviews on Amazon. After my 100 I may get more selective about which books to review. I have always loved modern fiction but lately have found myself more interested in history and biography.

Today is brisket day. I am smoking two briskets, one for a friend and one for us. My system is exhausting but rewarding as well. I soak them in Dr. Pepper all night long, then place them on a hot smoker for about an hour or more. Then I slather them in barbecue sauce, olive oil, cooking wine and wrap them in foil for another 5-6 hours. I keep the smoker fairly hot most of the time until the last hour or so. I then keep them wrapped for about 2-4 hours before cutting. I then serve--pretty darn good stuff.

Listening to the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1. I love this piece and am amazed by the beauty and energy of the 2nd movement. Wonderful music in all respects with an emotional power and sensitivity not often found in concertos of the time.

Back to www.rareandnew.com. I am the owner, CEO, board of directors, marketing agent, sales department, distribution, and accountant. So far my business has gone nowhere with no sales at all. This could be the way it is. Kind of sad but also funny in a way!

Religious Division

Lately I have been a little discouraged with the division that exists in churches today, across denominations, and within the same basic belief system. Friendships ruined, families divided, institutions polarized, and nations at war. There are many causes of division which can range from major doctrinal disagreements to slight Biblical interpretations including practice and even human behavior. Color of carpet, size of sound systems, organ, piano, drums, guitar, screen, teenagers, children, older adults and the list goes on and on with division leading the way.

I as a classic moderate seeking after divine truth but open to Biblical interpretation with application today, continually marvel at how a simple, personal belief can wreak havoc on relationships, severing them completely and irrevocably. It is just downright sad. Yet it is also understandable when we consider the human spirit. So many things in life are simply preference of the individual from the clothes we wear, the food we eat, the music we hear, the relationships we build, all help shape the idea of individuality over collectivism.

But it seems that the more we establish a standard of beliefs, practice, or acceptance, the more likely we are to exclude an individual or group. For example, if a person only likes chicken and does not like hamburgers, then he casts a net of rejection over all cafes serving hamburgers. He may then, inadvertently, extend that rejection to anyone frequenting those establishments serving hamburgers. In his rejection of a person's preference, he focuses on the individual, grouping that person in the "other" camp, thereby polarizing the position of chicken versus hamburgers. All rather silly since it simply involves taste, but it is real nevertheless.

Obviously food preference should not be compared with Kingdom issues and yet there is a correlation in that a person's taste or preference simply defines the individual. In religion however, we attempt to serve the individual and create the collective at the same time, wanting to group together the individual choices made and call them denominations, reject those who don't think like we do. Silly yes, but real nevertheless.

While I do not wish to water down the value of the spiritual or get mired into the mediocrity of the lower common denominator, at the same time I do desire for our faith to unify us, not separate us. To that end, I will choose my own theology based on study, prayer, knowledge, and teaching. In doing so, I will reject the theology that is different, but I will NOT reject the people taking a different road to the same goal. Perhaps I will be the rejected one, but regardless, let it not be said that I did the rejecting of the person. Authoring peace and harmony, I may be accused of flexible standards occasionally or of embracing love over war or of accepting those who are missing the mark or of rejoicing over the consonance rather than the voluminous dissonance, disagreements are usually louder than agreements. But if I am accused of such things, then may I indeed be guilty, for division in religion cannot be healthy.

I preach and teach harmony as a result of many congruent melodies operating within a social context. To my friends and family who practice and believe something slightly different I say yes we have our preferences, but let's continue to make music!

More on performing

After reading my last entry, I decided to write something a little more positive. True that performing has been an albatross on my neck at times, partially due to my own demands and partially due to my abilities. Not in his league yet able to relate to his feelings, Pablo Casals, the great cellist once said after falling and breaking his hand, "I'll never have to play the cello again!" Being good at something is a double-edged sword, one that brings great pleasure and great burden simultaneously.

That said, I have been blessed to have the opportunity to play my horn in outstanding orchestras all my life--El Paso, Cincinnati, Dayton, Midland, Lake Charles, San Angelo, Abilene, to name a few. Beethoven, Mahler, Brahms, Strauss, Stravinsky are but a few of the composers I have performed on a large scale. In addition, I have performed all the Mozart concertos at some point, the woodwind quintet repertoire, brass quintet repertoire, and a plethora of chamber music of all shapes and sizes. Add to this a vast amount of experience playing and conducting concert bands, and it all forms a pretty experienced horn performer.

I have played first horn as a soloist, 2nd, 3rd, and my personal favorite--4th horn (I like being last chair!). I have rejoiced in the amazing performances of great pieces, and sweated through the difficult ones. I have had funny events in performance, dramatic events, emotional moments, apathetic ones, dull ones, and tremendously moving ones. It has been and hopefully will continue to be an exciting career as a performer. I intend to keep my horn active when possible and not let it collect too much dust. When I hold it, it feels like an old friend and I find myself immediately drawn into the relationship of comfort. We have been together through thick and thin, richer and poorer, in sickness and health (okay, getting a little weird I know!).

Deep down, in spite of my topsy-turvy emotions of horn playing, I feel lucky to have the ability to play and blessed to have had experiences that in many ways are like dreams. I often thank the Lord for giving me the things I need "the family, the job, the friends, and the horn!"

Performing Music

Spending my life as a performing musician has been and continues to be full of great joy mingled with extreme anxiety. In my teens and onward through my twenties, I experienced excessive performance anxiety nearly all the time on stage. The symptoms ranged from shaking to breathing problems to a near catatonic state of neurological misfiring. Often unable to speak, feeling like an impending stroke, and wondering if the shimmering waves of death were upon me, I played my horn with dread, anticipating the conclusion so I could live in the normal world again until the next time.

Part of the problem of my performance anxiety, in addition to my excessive adrenalin and desire for perfection, is my need to be better than last time. Each performance should provide a basket full of musical lessons that can be applied for the next performance. In this manner, a lifetime of performances ought to result in perfection at some point. Yet for me, the elusive dream of flawless performance seemed to slowly but surely be unattainable. And in truth it is. I can never be good enough in that there is always room for improvement. Intonation, articulation, phrasing, technique, communication, dynamics, precision, expression, accuracy. All of these and more must get better at each performance.

This kind of commitment causes an inevitable neurosis of confusion for a performer. The need to be bold like a lion yet sensitive like a lamb adds to the myriad demands, not to mention the expectations of others. For me it has both added to and subtracted from the joy of music. My dissatisfaction with myself as a musician has torn me into emotional shreds while teaching me to accept the ultimate truth of imperfection being okay. So I dedicate myself to excellence, offer my best, work diligently for it, present it, and then let it go.

The result is a deepening awareness of my own failings but also a greater sense of the joy of making music. I cannot be perfect but I can love what I do. Ultimately it is about communicating and manifesting to the world what is inside. And as my friend Mike Ewald used to say, "Keep your mind, your body, your music, and your spiritual life strong by working on them constantly."

Performance anxiety gone replaced by joy--as it should be! That said, I need to practice more to be ready for the next gig.

More on composing music

Being an intermittent, not so prolific composer since the age of 15, I often vacillate between the euphoria of a public performance of my music and the discouragement of few to no performances of my music. This is not to say I haven't had some success. I have five official publications, many commissions, and a portfolio of music that would be the envy of many composers. My music has been performed throughout Texas, Louisiana, and even Arkansas. I have heard of performances in other states but have not received official documentation for those.

I am comfortable writing in a wide variety of genres, styles, instrumentation, and forms. My music has moments of darkness, profundity, complexity, and intellectualism for the educated elite. Other times my music is fun, light, shimmering with joyful energy, with an attempt to cast the net broadly and reach the masses. I like wide dynamic contrasts and find myself writing in extremes--fast, slow, loud, soft, dark, light. Influenced by modern culture yet steeped in the classics, my music ranges from Mozart-like and Brahmsish to 70's rock and jazz. The objective fastidiousness of Messiaen, Webern, and Boulez also creeps in at times in my music.

Yet I continually question not just my abilities but mostly my purpose in writing music at all. Do people really care that much about it? Am I altering the world in any way with my musical expressions? Is it worth the effort?

I write music because it is in me to write. I do not write for the money (and it's a darn good thing too!), I do not write because I have something new to say (much of my music sounds like other things heard I suspect), and I do not write because anyone makes me. I write music because I have to for my own satisfaction.

As said before, each piece I finish feels like an extraction of part of my heart and soul. I reach down deep and give part of myself to the world. As I feel exhausted and partially lost from the outpouring of my soul, at the same moment, I feel invigorated, with my batteries getting recharged. I lose and gain from every piece.

So in spite of my general lack of compositional success, I forge ahead, needing to write what lies inside, hoping something will catch on, and seeking at least to an extent a little public affirmation and appreciation for the next Tucker piece!

A bit of whining

I am not a whiner normally. Like anybody, I do get a little down here and there, but try to keep myself going through exercise, reading, writing, and various academic disciplines. But I would like to take a moment to whine a little. I am not whining, however that for the second year in a row, I was not announced as a dean at our commencement ceremony. I believe it was just an oversight on the officials part and I simply was not on the script. When it happened today, I should have been hurt and disappointed, but honestly I was not. It did not bother me at all (I think my family members were upset a little), shrugging it off as a mistake. I do not need public affirmation for my status or position in life. Were I a millionaire, I would have no personal need for anyone to know. Were I the President of the university or a CEO of a large corporation or a brain surgeon, I would have no ego need to be affirmed for my position or any attainments that have been achieved. Status is earned from productivity and achievement, making the production much more valuable than the position.

Yet in contrast, and here is where I start whining, last year I wrote a piece of music for the commencement. Polite applause followed the performance of the song for soprano and piano and I received a total of two compliments after the ceremony. It was and continues to be difficult to be aware that the piece I wrote was not well-received (particularly since I think it is very strong piece of music), and hard for me to realize that nobody really cares about the amount of work it takes to write a piece of music. If I cannot be affirmed for the actual piece, perhaps someone could acknowledge effort?

So once again I wrote another piece for the commencement this year. Except this year was a vibrant, shimmering arrangement of a familiar hymn. It zinged along at a fast pace, expressing the joy of the Almighty King, replete with a wide range of dynamics and rhythmic energy. My name was in the program but nothing was said that the Dean of Music wrote the piece and it was a premiere performance.

Admittedly I wrote the piece in about a week, but it was still an outpouring of what is in me. Every time I write a new piece, I feel as though I have both lost and gained a part of me. My music is a manifestation of my emotions, my thoughts, my reflection, and my world-view. This means that each time it comes forth, I have given part of me to the world, yet gained an opportunity to cleanse myself of those expressions.

Knowing though that I am probably an average composer, and that my music will not survive the test of time, I often wish I would be affirmed not for my status or position, which has very little meaning to me, but rather for my production. For when I leave this earth, I want to give two things back to the world: my family and my work. My family in the form of my sons, their wives, and eventually their children. My work in the form of writing words and music. And therefore I request of those who know me to acknowledge my external musical and literary expressions, giving respect to the effort to create something, offering acknowledgment for the time spent and the emotions portrayed. The light of the world shines on those who discard self-pity and selflessly reach out in goodness, so please forgive my pathetic whining. Every now and then I think I need it.

A new installment of a text from Joel

We continue to receive long texts from Joel that are both informative and useful.

Hey dad is my coat that i bought at j.c. Penney back from the cleaners? I am wanting to wear it sunday at church! What are you going to wear this sunday dad? I am going to wear all black this sunday? It is supposed to get really cold this weekend! I think it is supposed to snow on sunday again! I am ready to have the ultimate snowball fight and build a really big snowman with sticks and a stick for a nose and a hate a scarf for buttons for eyes mouth and shirt and my tie around its neck! I am just ready to play the organ at church around jacob's spring break! I might play some easter hymns like christ the lord is risen today, crown him with many crowns, and it is well with my soul! I might want to do them for an easter medley! I am about to be on my way to HPU here in a few minutes! I will see you in fifteen minutes! I am just about to get a drink of water and head out of here! I will ttyl bye father!!!!!!! :-)

I notice that he is foregoing the capitalization process in his texts although he still needs to be complete in everything else. The ttyl is a good sign overall I think. While I miss the precision a little (since that was part of the charm of Joel's earlier texts), I think his lack of precision is actually a good sign. It has been said by Temple Grandin that autism improves slowly over a period of time. I believe this is due to the ability to cope and find ways to fit into a world that otherwise does not make sense. Sort of an ability to be a successful actor in order for others to accept you into their world.

Perhaps Joel is finding a way to pretend he is normal and find a way to adjust to the strange world in which he finds himself.

New suit and steps

Tired of Joel using my pants (we are close to the same size in pants in spite of his being taller and thinner), because of his insistence on wearing black, pleated pants, I finally convinced him it was time to buy some new ones. Expanding this concept to a complete suit, it was with great anticipation that we headed to J.C. Penney to buy new clothes, clothes that would hopefully prevent him from getting my clothes out of my closet!

On the way it occurred to me to ask him some questions about work. He works every afternoon in the public library putting away books that have been placed on the cart. Some days he puts away as many as 70 while other days it is around 30. The books range from fiction to reference to children's books. He says he has NEVER placed a book in the wrong place and he further insists he knows the location of every book in the library. As we talked, I asked him if putting the books away, required many steps. He said yes and said sometimes just 300 steps but other days as much as 700. A little surprised, although I probably should not be, I asked him if he counted his steps everyday. He said yes.

More questioning revealed that he has counted his steps in various locations and various trips for ten years. There are about 350 steps from my office to the cafeteria, 450 from the library to the church, 200 from church to my office. Having never given much thought to the number of steps from one place to another, I realized that for Joel, in many ways, every step is victory! Never easy for him, as he journeys, he is accomplishing something special and positive. Maybe we should all consider our steps along the way.

Back to the suit. Walking into Penney's and heading for the men's section, Joel reminded me of the need to find pleated pants and a matching coat. This should have been a clue to the upcoming events. We proceeded to look at nearly every pair of black pants hanging or folded on the shelves. Identifying the pleated ones, we then could not seem to settle on the size. I kept mentioning that he probably was a 32/34, but he kept insisting he was a 34/32. I did say that a waist size of 33 was probably about right and he agreed. We found some black 33/34 that were perfect but couldn't find a matching coat. I found some 34/32 and matching coat but he was not happy. On and on, until finally I just said to buy whatever he wanted. This is a typical reaction to the frustrations he presents.

In the end, he found a nice matching suit with pleated pants. We paid and went home where I collapsed on the couch. Of course, he was happy and got dressed in his new suit for the band banquet. At the banquet, he spilled guacamole on his new coat which is currently at the cleaners!

Two Razors

He could not get past the fact that two razors instead of one were in the shower. It caused him great consternation, leading to an total interruption of the process of showering, resulting in emotional grief unlike anything experienced in a long time.

As an autistic 20 year old, Joel relies on routine and established expectations for his general practice and behavior. Although somewhat flexible in certain situations, it is usually in circumstances where there is not an expected routine or expected ordering of events. Were we to set out on an adventure to the mall or the lake or to another city, because Joel is not sure what to expect, he prescribes his lack of anticipation. He decides in advance that his world cannot be ordered so it then becomes comfortable to adjust to the circumstances. Yet if he knows what to expect, has pre-ordered said events, prescribed the details in his mind, then his world gets rocked when the system is altered.

He plans the event unless the plan is not to have a plan. In a general sense, he enjoys knowing where we are going and what we are going to do, but he has no need to know the specifics. Yet, we must be careful for to present the specific information would be to set him up for despair. For example, we may make a trip to Abilene to go shopping. We leave this idea "open" to an extent so as not to have him order the shopping events and prescribe where we are going exactly, how we will proceed, and exactly what will happen. To do so is to guarantee tension when the plans are altered. The plan then is to have no plan which is fine with Joel.

But when there is a plan, and it is outlined specifically, then we must follow it. While routine is necessary in Joel's world, it can also be a little frustrating. Such was the case with the two razors in the shower.

Altering Joel's expectations creates a huge teeter-totter of insecurity and one that is only settled by putting the situation back in his control. Although he operates rationally and objectively, often devoid of emotion based decisions, when his expectations are not met, logical rational explanations do not solve the problem. He sees the two razors in the shower and expecting only one (and it must be the right one), gets very upset and demands the removal of the wrong one. My suspicion is that had we not removed it, he would have refused to shave and justified his refusal by the presence of the two razors.

Using the situation as a "teachable moment" would have been a total failure. While part of me wanted to explain that two razors are better than one or that two razors signifies the possibility that one is becoming dull or that he has a right to choose which one he wants or that life doesn't always work out the way we want, I also recognized that removing the unwanted object would quickly solve the problem. So I did and all was well. He shaved and came out happy.

We continue to make effort to educate Joel how to deal with those happenstance events that are out of our and his control and to help him cope with the unexpected, to be flexible, to make "lemonade out of lemons." Yet in spite of our continued and dedicated effort, there are times when the best approach is to fix the problem and go on. Such is the complicate world of parenting an autistic child. It can be quite entertaining, or quite frightening, but it is always something new!

Booking again

At a music conference for music administrators but finally getting some time to get away, I headed to a large bookstore to scout for some good deals, and it was certainly productive. This particular shop is extensive with a very nice collectible section in the back. After walking through the front door, I did my usual pause and took a moment for a quick study. I enjoy the smell, the energy, the general ambiance of a book store and am particularly interested in the focus. As I have mentioned before, most stores tend to emphasize certain genres of book. This store has a large collectible section but also an extensive non-fiction section.

On the way back to the collectibles, I glanced over and saw several McMurtry books on the shelf. Since I already own a very fine collection of First edition McMurtry books, I was not necessarily curious about the ones I saw. Yet, I paused just in case, recalling the time last year when I found a 2nd printing Horseman, Pass By worth around $150. It was priced at $5.98! So I decided a quick look was certainly appropriate.

Owning 2 copies of Lonesome Dove, I generally have no need to see what editions are on the shelf. Lonesome Dove is probably McMurtry's most famous book due to the movie and subsequent series on television. Also the Pulitzer prize has helped it along! It is a great read and certainly recommended. In some ways, the ultimate Western journey book. Anyway, I pulled out a 17th printing Lonesome Dove and quickly placed it back. Fine book but not collectible and not valued at any more than about $10.00. Beside it stood another copy. A little curious, I pulled it out of the shelf and to my shock realized I was holding a 1st edition, 1st printing before the Pulitzer emblem was placed on the jacket! I checked the point (there is a misspelled word on 621), looked at the condition, and realized I was holding a treasure. Aside from someone's name in pen on the inside board, it was a clean copy in fine condition. All for $9.98!

I grabbed it, did some more scouting, and ended up with a nice little collection including a signed McGarrity, a signed Koontz, a nice Updike, and a signed Morrell. It was all exciting stuff for a book scout and a very productive evening. I am around the corner from starting my own online bookstore called www.rareandnew.com.

Cliches and Expressions

Driving to another city last night and needing to make a stop, we looked for the best place that would be quick but provide for some necessities. After stopping the truck and getting out and because we are in the coldest part of Winter, I said, "Brrr, it's colder than a banker's heart out here," and proceeded to hurry in the store. We bought a couple of things, got back in the truck and headed out.

Approximately 30 minutes later, from the back seat I hear Joel, our autistic 20 year old son, say "Dad, why do you say colder than a banker's heart? Why don't you say colder than a polar bear's heart or a teacher's heart or a worker's heart or anything else. Why do you say banker?"

Joel's disability causes a lack of understanding of subtleties, expressions, and cliches, particular those kinds of phrases that are metaphorical or analogous. This problem is connected to the lack of creativity that is inherent with forms of autism, a missing element that allows for a depth of thinking and perception of the environment. Unfortunately, creativity can also be the element that leads to deception, lying, stealing, and manipulation--all traits that do not exist in Joel.

An expression such as "cold as a banker's heart" not only compares weather conditions to a person, it also compares the situation to a particular item, in this case a heart. In addition, it requires a depth of concept of the heart that goes beyond the physical thing and into an emotional analysis. So a person who hears this phrase processes it in several ways: 1) It is cold outside, 2) A banker is a person who works in a bank, 3) A heart keeps the blood flowing in the body, 4) A heart is also used as a reference tool for love and compassion in a person, and 5) A cold heart is not literally possible without death, 6) In this case, the heart is an emotion, 7)The emotion must be a lack of compassion. After putting these things together, the typical person might smile (or if he is a banker, might be irritated!), might disagree, might laugh uproariously (doubtful) or simply focus attention on the cold weather rather than considering the insult to the poor, innocent (is that possible?) banker!

Back to Joel. When he heard this phrase, he was not able to process through the phrase and conclude that it is both cold and a banker is without compassion. In fact, the phrase makes no literal sense whatsoever. No person living can have a cold heart. A banker is a living person. He does not have a cold heart, therefore the phrase is not a truth.

But the phrase also has another problem for Joel. It assumes that people are aware of the bias against banking officers who call in debt and are without the compassion of forgiveness. Yet for Joel there are two problems, 1)he does not have an understanding of the role of a banker, 2) he does not understand insults nor negative actions of people. Joel believes in the good in everyone and has never met anyone he doesn't like. In fact, Joel cannot imagine a person doing something bad to another person. Everyone is good so how can a banker have a cold heart? On many levels, it is a phrase that cannot be comprehended by Joel.

Joel serves as a reminder to me to avoid several things in conversation with him. Analogies, metaphors, insults, and poor humor! The easiest level for quick understanding is literal, direct, concrete, and mostly positive. This is a pattern that works best in conversation with most autistic children.

The next morning when we ventured outside, I looked at Joel and said, "brrr...it sure is cold." He said with a grin, "It's colder than an Eskimo." I'm guessing he thought of that and was anxious to use it. Truth is that his metaphor made sense whereas mine really did not!

Archer City--Booked Up

Heading out with some friends to Archer City, we made the 2 1/2 hour drive with great anticipation. It was book day! I set aside days to do some book shopping. Sometimes I shop for books to read, sometimes for books to sell, sometimes for books to do research (although libraries are usually just as well for this), and sometimes just out of tremendous curiosity, and what better place to satisfy my hunger for books than Archer City, Texas, the mecca of used book stores with more than 500,000 books for perusing.

And peruse I did. Starting at Booked Up One--there are four large stores around the town square, each labeled a number--I immediately found the book I wanted to buy last time, Georgia Slave Songs. I spent some time in the folk song section marveling at the amazing collection of folk song books, then walked around the aisles to study on the mystery section. Knowing Mr. McMurtry, the owner of the stores, does not have great affection for mysteries and probably had not added to the collection, I walked over to the general area where I found a nice Graham Greene book. I am a fairly diligent collector of Graham Greene, an author I consider one of the finest of the twentieth century.

Knowing I was spending too much time in number one, I wandered across the street for a quick look at Booked Up Two. Unfortunately my quick look lasted quite awhile as I studied the Anthony Burgess books, the Graham Greene's, Roth, Vidal, and then finally the rare book room. In that room, I wrestled with the compilation of short stories edited by John Updike, searched for the signed Carl Sandburg that was there last time, glanced at the Beloved by Toni Morrison, and then spent some time in the poetry section.

Passing by Booked Up Three, a nice store with older books and foreign copies, I headed over to Booked Up Four. As I headed that way, I smiled thinking about the set for The Last Picture Show which is nearby, the writers conference held each year at motel down the street, and thought briefly about a small town with one of the largest bookstores in the world in the middle of the town square. How ironic and joyful is the world!

Walking into Booked Up Four, where books on the arts, reference materials, biographies, sports, and some fiction reside, I found the book by George Plimpton I sought, glanced at several other books, and spied a nice book by Theodore Dreiser. Amazed at the number of Philip Roth books not to mention Gore Vidal, I decided to grab a bite to eat. Following a delicious hamburger at a cafe located about 25 yards from Booked Up four, I wandered across the street and down to return to number one.

As I walked, I found myself laughing at the conversation I had just had with the waitress. She was very nice, and as I was paying for the meal I asked her if she had ever visited the bookstores on the square. She said no, but then proceeded to tell me that she did read a book about a month ago and enjoyed it! For me, a book lover willing to drive several hours to visit Archer City, it is astounding that a local would never darken the door of the bookstores in their own backyard.

A prophet is without honor in his own country and a bookstore is without meaning in its own little town! Returning to Booked Up One, I drooled over a first edition Booked to Die, grabbed a Reveille by David Morrell and checked out. The ladies were just as sweet as always and I hated leaving the 500,000 plus books as always. It was a great day. For some it is the movies, others clothes, perhaps for some it is a theme park with its wondrous sights and sounds, or maybe a sports event, or a camping trip or any number of great enjoyable events. I certainly like all those things and more, but one of my favorite days is book day when I get to visit Archer City!

Communication--ongoing challenges

His voice is too soft he has trouble looking a people in the eyes, and it is difficult to have meaningful or creative conversation. He is able to answer questions, respond using short answers, nod, smile, and can use his body to reflect the nature of the conversation. Yet when responses begin to require creativity or use picturesque language or take a deeper approach, he tends to shut the mental door and seeks to escape the situation. The person we are discussing is Joel Tucker, our 20 year old autistic son.

The problems of communication are compounded by Joel's tendency to believe that others are thinking the same thoughts he is thinking. When asked what he thinks other people are thinking, he responds with his own thoughts rather than working to perceiving what others might be thinking. Connected to this problem is his inability to understand facial expressions and respond according to what he sees. Not recognizing bad moods or anger or fear in other people, he assumes everyone is happy and thinking what he thinks. This then causes verbal communication to be redundant and unnecessary.

The talking soft is a little harder to explain since he seems to enjoy playing the piano and the organ at extreme volumes. Somehow, though, it is related to expressing what is inside him. Since it is basically unnecessary due to other people thinking what he thinks, it is not important to speak loud enough for others to hear. Unfortunately, this means that those who are hearing impaired or simply a little hard of hearing assume that Joel simply does not speak. They cannot hear him, he doesn't move his mouth very much, so he does not communicate. Since the expectation is for him not to speak, and human beings generally fulfill the level of expectations set forth, Joel responds by talking less.

Yet communication can take many forms including cell phones and body language, both of which he practices to great success. He enjoys texting on his phone and time has shown us how to read his body language. As is usual with Joel, we do not have the answers to his communication challenges, but we do have the tenacity to keep trying, to discover, to help, to suggest, and mostly to love. Somehow, someway he gets the point!

Finding his niche

Parents everywhere wonder what their children will become or what their abilities are or where their interests lie. These worries are more paramount for parents of autistic children. The famous song Que Sera Sera that Doris Day sings so beautifully may be warm and charming to most parents but unfortunately parents of autistic children do not have the luxury of subscribing to its tenants.

We knew Joel had certain gifts at a young age but we could not decide if those gifts were merely interests or special abilities. Nevertheless it was apparent that he had a thorough understanding and keen interest in the alphabet. Looking back, it should have been obvious that his abilities to sort in alphabetical order and memorize words and systems accordingly were his destiny for his career.

It began with saying the alphabet forward and backward followed by the ability to number the alphabet and identify the letter from its ordered number. This led to an exceptional ability to spell words and identify words misspelled. In school Joel did not win spelling contests partly due to his hesitancy to vocalize the correct spelling of the word and partly due to his not being able to operate within time constraints. That stated, his spelling prowess was and is simply an extension of his knowledge of the alphabet and how words are put together.

It was then logical that Joel would eventually end up in a library sorting books which is what he does every afternoon. While we have little first hand knowledge of his competency, neither have we heard any complaints. According to Joel, he has never made a mistake and puts away between 40 and 100 books each day. He further states that he knows every book in the library and can find any book that is requested. This makes his gifts extraordinary in some ways and invaluable to a library. It oddly renders a card catalog, particularly the title section, virtually ineffective as a distinguishing system for finding a book.

And yet, in spite of these unusual abilities, Joel does not seem to apply joyful emotion to his experience nor his competency. While most people would express pride at their ability to sort books and memorize a library, Joel approaches this skill with the same objectivity of most events. His emotion is stoic, neither joyful nor sad, neither prideful nor humble, simply factual without expressive intent. In spite of this seeming indifference, he is excellent at his job and for that we are grateful. We are fortunate to have found a skill for Joel that is both useful and unusual.

Clothes

Joel has always been caught up in clothes and particularly the value of matching. He prefers his clothes match and that his ensemble presentation be of high quality. This is in contrast to his personal appearance of his face, hair, and teeth. We do not understand the disparity in the concepts but there is no doubt that he has high standards with regard to clothing and low standards with regard to his personal hygiene and appearance.

Sometimes as much as three days away from Sunday, he will pick out his clothes and place them aside. This could include a shirt, matching tie, pants, and coat with an added sweater during the winter months. Recently he asked me if he could pick out his clothes for Sunday. I said sure but asked him what he was thinking about. He looked at me quizzically and so I altered my question:

Dad: "Joel what are you imagining that you will wear to church?"
Joel (with a perplexed face): "Clothes"
Dad: "What color of clothes?"
Joel: "Matching"
Dad: "Anything specific in mind"
Joel: "Nice clothes"
Dad: "What kind of nice clothes?"
Joel: "Church clothes"

Joel's lack of imagination is extended to virtually all activities in life, resulting in a lack of conceptual thinking and establishment of certain expectations. His approach to determining the best clothes or what to eat is broad and conceived more from experience than from specific imagined details. Rather than visually himself in particular clothes, looking a certain way, and then finding clothes to match the visualization, he instead has a general idea in his mind of what to expect, then seeks the object to meet those broad expectations.

His lack of imagination is directly related to his limited creativity. Although he is primarily a visual learning, visualization in the mind is a creative project rooted in and formed by the imagination. This is true for everyone. Using creativity we design a picture in our mind which then becomes our imagination, which leads to a concrete picture forming a concept of the item or event. If creativity is limited so goes the imagination. If the imagination is limited so goes the concept. Without a concept, we are dependent on the concrete items for the design.

Such is Joel. He has the broad sense of what he needs in his mind, but requires the use of the other senses to determine the final product. When I asked him what clothes he wanted to wear, his concept was generally correct but without specifics. He had to see the clothes before deciding what exactly to wear. His concept is formed after experiencing the concrete, not before. Because Joel's decision making abilities are based on what he knows, sees, and touches, it becomes necessary for us to remember this as we help him adjust to life.

The Song in the Mind

For me it happens nearly every day. For others it may just be once a week or every now and then. Nearly everyone I have known or met, inevitably gets a song on his mind that won't seem to leave. In fact there are techniques used for getting songs off the mind including singing Jingle Bells or watching a sports show or going to sleep. For many people, however, the song returns to haunt our thoughts and responses. Although usually pleasant, occasionally a song stays in our head that we may not even enjoy. Most songs in the mind are rather simplistic or "catchy" or memorable and may include folk songs, broadway, Christian, rock, country, or even classical themes. While the song on the mind may be maddening, in many ways the song is also cathartic and keeps our emotions in check. The power of music as an abstract art form is still to be completely understood.

Driving down the road with Joel in the passenger seat, I found myself singing the Lusty Month of May from Camelot. The melody is catchy and the pure joy of the song is infectious, causing an expressive response of happiness. I was humming, tapping, singing, and shaking when Joel said, "Dad, I have never had a song on my mind."

This quieted me considerably as I pondered his statement. Joel's autism causes a significant lack of creative ability. Jacob and Jordan both experienced imaginary friends as small children and Jordan especially had an imaginary world of which we found to be very entertaining at times. Yet Joel never experienced an imaginary friend thereby implying that he either does not express his imagination or he does not have one.

For music to be in the mind, imagination is required in some form or another. Without an imagination, the abstract art of music cannot lodge inside the mind. Joel's autism prevents the creative spark generated by the imagination resulting in a marked lack of conceptual thinking, leading to the missing song from his mind. This does not mean that Joel is deprived of the beauty and joy of music but it does mean that he is perhaps missing both the burden and the liberation of emotions that music can provide.

Ironically we learn something about ourselves from autism. We are dependent upon our imagination and we benefit from what is inside our brains, conceptually and creatively. Yet it is not an essential part of our lives. In the way that a blind person compensates for his blindness, autistics compensate for the missing creativity. And in the way a blind person does not necessarily miss what he has never had (maybe he doesn't miss but he certainly does wonder), and therefore leads the fulfilled life he knows, so also does an autistic lead the life he knows--a life without imagination (at least from our perspective).

While it may sound like a rationalization to a point, I contend that in some ways, Joel's never having a song in his mind is actually liberating and strangely prevents him from the extremes of emotion or at least the range of emotions we normally experience. There is no song but that does not mean there is no joy. His joy is expressed in other ways and his emotions are dealt with apart from what is inside his head. This makes for an unusual existence but one worth trying to understand.

Folk Songs

I am saddened by the lack of folk song singing in our modern culture. We are just not interested in the old songs from our country's roots, the beginnings, the trials, the joys, the sorrows, and the events. Is it due to the immense growth in technology, the advances of the last 20 years? Is it due to the actual material that is dated, old, meaningless? Is it that we just don't sing very much anymore?

I am just not sure of the cause but am rather bored with the philosophical pontificating. Rather than trying to find an answer for the dearth in folk song singing, I think I will simply talk about my love of folk songs, a love that has waxed and waned since childhood, and a love that jumps in full force at different times and in different ways, a love that never goes away, and a love that remains an integral part of my musical life. But frankly, I do not understand why. It really makes little sense considering that one of my central theses for judgment in music is harmony. Harmonic interest, creativity, and expression tends to separate the great from the good, and the good from the poor. It separates the rock band Chicago from the rock band The Who. It separates Stevie Wonder from Ray Charles, and it separates Mozart from Salieri. Harmonic interest is the spark that makes music happen and is the element that keeps people smiling and charmed. It is the indefinable yet compelling sound that makes music fascinating.

Back to folk songs. Where is the harmonic interest? It really does not exist. Many folk songs are melody only, harmonized at the most by three repeating chords. Over and over in folk music we hear the tonic chord, the four chord, and the five chord. While most American folk songs are diatonic, we find throughout the world an emphasis on various modes. Modes do lend themselves to interesting harmony, but again even in those instances, the harmony is somewhat predictable. Harmonic shifting, one of my favorite elements in music, is pretty much non existent in folk music. Once the song begins, it is the same old repetition.

Yet in spite of this "weakness" if it is such, folk songs are a major influence on culture, on music, and on life. I believe it is the honest expression of society, of challenges, of loss and of gain, of folly and glory, and of fear, courage, and concern. Folk songs are music from real people, people with families, people who love music and wish to express themselves with music. Folk songs are joyful, sad, mournful, funny, frightening, intense, warm, and filled with passion. Folk songs are music from the heart and soul of the individual and from the heartbeat of the collective whole of the world. In many ways, folk songs say it all.

Folk songs are performed at funerals, weddings, concerts, reunions, in kitchens, in living rooms, and outdoors at parties. Folk songs are natural and in their purest state need no instruments, no complexity, no amplification or frequencies or compression. There are songs about sailing, climbing, throwing, hunting, hugging, loving, worshiping, working, and dying. There are songs about personalities, psychos, preachers, children, the elderly, the confused, and the misinformed. There are songs about every country, every culture, and virtually every experience. One can find folk songs in church, in prisons, on the mountains, and on the lakes. They are neverending and express the inexpressible. They are the lifeblood of our world.

Okay, maybe all that was overstated, particularly in today's complicated technological world. Perhaps my love of folk songs simply hearkens back to a simpler time, a time of hearing my dad sing to us while strumming his guitar. Whatever the reason, I love the songs. If you want a treat, buy the 5 cd set of Pete Seeger singing American folk songs. You won't be disappointed.

Mystery of Time

The passing of time as we understand it, is an arbitrary and artificially applied concept, humanly divined and codified for selfish purposes. Our lives are ordered by time and we are dependent upon the system we have established for ourselves, a system that is both frustrating and liberating. Nevertheless, regardless of the historical development of how time moves, with its expression of the rotation of the earth, the sun, the changing seasons, the pull of gravity, and complexity of relativity of space and matter, we are obligated to operate within the established code of time, which may be naturally driven or socially constrained by culture.

Do we eat three meals a day, morning, noon, and evening because our bodies tell us to do so? Or have we fallen into this concept by virtue of the design of our lives, thus forcing our bodies into a fallacy of the need for three meals equally spaced? Do we sleep at night because it is dark or because of the physical requirement for rest or perhaps a combination of both? Our watches and clocks remind us of the time which in turn sends a message on upcoming event or obligation. Schools, businesses, institutions, travel, energy, all depend on our system of time and our understanding of its movement and passage.

Yet for Joel, autistic since birth, time has no meaning. He does not understand nor embrace in any sense, the passing of time. For him time stands still and he almost resents having to conform to the system that has been codified and efficaciously applied. He recognizes the actions of a clock and is frequently reminded of seconds, minutes, and hours, but those odd increments are but words to be used when confounded by forthcoming events. The concept of time spent on an activity has no meaning and the word hurry is not a part of his vocabulary.

This makes Joel's existence rather random yet also ironically regimented. Because the passing of time is essentially a mystery, he must apply rigor, ritual, and routine to everything that he does. The more routine, the more successful he will become. Yet surrounding that routine and enveloping the action is the overriding lack of concern about length or expectations. This makes for a tension filled universe for everyone else connected to Joel, but not for him. His contentment with time playing little to no role in his life is wildly frustrating for others but wildly comforting for him.

For the autistic child, his inner peace is found in personal expression of his interests, focusing on those activities for which he is successful regardless of their niche in the world. I knew one autistic child who constantly drew maps of the world. Sometimes the maps were detailed and other times rather general. The maps served no real purpose since better maps are attainable at any bookstore; yet he continued to draw maps as a way to fulfill his own peculiar brand of self-expression.

Joel finds satisfaction playing the piano and the organ as well as listening to classical music or watching certain television shows. While none of these activities serve a great market need in the world, and riches are most likely not going to occur from his interests, nevertheless he does express his joy through these events. An autistic child is not seeking to find his place in the world, rather he has already found it and is comfortable in that residence. For Joel, the passing of time is some kind of mysterious force that plays little to no role in his theater, a theater that consists of his own designs for expression.

Yet, truthfully, the world cannot operate singularly and one-dimensioned. Monody is charming and refreshing but cannot compete with the beauties and complexities of polyphony. Joel's rejection of time is one of those endearing qualities that makes him who he is but also prevents him from collective congruency in social interaction. We are a time mandated culture and operating outside of the time boundary is to be anathema in today's world.

This makes for a pleasant tension as we continually teach Joel the meaning of time which he artfully rejects to keep it a mystery!

Some of the problems

As I continue to chronicle the saga of Joel, our autistic 20 year old son, it occurs to me that I often find the good and tend to leave out the challenges, which in many ways have existed since day one. This is not to say that the challenges are greater than the joys nor to say that we have not learned from the challenges, nor does it abdicate our responsible but loving expectations for him, nor does this mean that Joel is not a remarkable force in our lives and those who cross his path, but it would not be fair to present our son in a vacuum, to demonstrate the hills without showing the valleys, to share the light without also knowing the dark. So forgive me as I write realistically about Joel.

Joel's learning disability, which we do not always understand, is actually easy to handle. We just accept that there are some things we will not comprehend and some situations that he will not put together. Since all of us have different levels of intelligence and we do tend to learn in different ways, and Joel definitely has trouble reading and comprehending and recalling what he has learned, it should not be surprising that he prefers the concrete over the abstract and the obvious over the hidden. As a nearly consummate joke teller and a committed educator, I often deliver subtle jokes to see if he will understand, with the hope that the effort to associate the punchline with the story will aid in conceptual thinking. While he usually laughs (which is why he is often the listener of choice for my jokes), he does not always understand and gives me a perplexed but entertaining look!

This all makes for an existence and a training that cannot include subtleties of expression, expectations, innuendo, or natural understanding. All instructions must be clear, obvious, and intentional. Many times instructions require explanations for their existence and clarity of purpose. Just to say "please feed the cats" may also need a "...because they are hungry."

This may be why personal hygiene remains a mystery to Joel. He does not enjoy taking a shower, brushing his teeth, putting on deodorant, or shaving. None of these normal events is normal to Joel. They do not make sense to him and most require an understanding of long-term benefits. Yes we brush our teeth because they need it, but to Joel the act of brushing is just a burden. Shaving helps men look clean, fresh, and ready for the day, but for Joel it has no meaning, takes his time, and even hurts a little (so he says).

To this end, we have tried a smorgasbord of methods to get him to be independent and committed to personal hygiene. As is typical for Joel, every method is successful to a point and everything is ultimately unsuccessful. When something works, such as a sign on the door, or a list of required activities, or a stopwatch, we praise him and decide that method is the right one. Yet, eventually it quits working and we find ourselves once again searching for the answers.

As parents who will sacrifice everything for our children, we do not stop trying to help Joel, and we remain committed to the concept of teaching Joel independence in as much as possible. We do find that in general, a routine with written instructions is the best approach to most problems. Connected to this is the constant reminder to Joel to be aware of himself with the sensitivity to how others see him. This is a difficult concept for a concrete thinker, one who sees the obvious and does not understand the subtle.

Yet it is all rather dichotomous due to the irony of Joel's personal presentation. On any given day, he may forget to wear deodorant, brush his teeth, shave, or even comb his hair, yet that same day he might wear a nice suit with a tie and polished shoes. He is complimented often on his general appearance, thereby making the lesser obvious problems seem negligible in his mind. This may, in fact, contribute to the challenge.

More stuff

As I ruminate this Christmas season over what to buy and for whom, I think about my grandmother's house and the belongings within. She and her husband accumulated lots of stuff. Not that they were hoarders by any means, and not that they boasted over their collection of goods, and not that they were excessive at all, and not that they had some deep psychological fear of not having things, yet in spite of their moderation and frugality, they acquired a lot of things. This is not dissimilar to most people. We have lots of stuff these days.

While we tend to complain about the excessive commercialism of Christmas, we don't really do anything about it. We continue to go shopping and buy things for our family and friends. We add to the stuff. Of course if the stuff weren't so readily available, perhaps we wouldn't be tempted to add to our growing collection of more stuff. Not sure though. It is easy to cogitate on the truths of Christmas and to recognize that gifts are merely an expression of our love for each other and a way to say thanks to those who mean so much to us, and to be a manifestation of the wise men who traveled so far to give gifts to the King, but less easy to make a change to our system.

Not that anyone really wants to by the way, but it does seem to me that we are acquiring too many things. Materialism is a disease and one that we seem to like. I cannot claim innocence in this department myself as I look at several hundred books, a new truck, nice clothes, and many odds and ends. On the one hand, it is easy for me to criticize the acquisition of things that will get thrown away at some point, but I participate in my own brand of materialism through books, music, and electronics. It is almost cultural, inherent, natural, and decidedly required for us to seek out more. While this in and of itself adds to the progression of life, to its refinement, its creativity, and yes to some extent its joy, it can also inhibit the deeper purpose of who we are.

At some point, and that point cannot be determined, it would be worthwhile to examine our malignant materialism in terms of pragmatism, aestheticism, comfort, and entertainment. If we pare everything down to one of those four categories, we discover that many things can go away, and those items can be labeled non-essential in the human sense. Subsequently, it may be time for us to simplify our existence in a kind of deliberate moving away from property multi-tasking. Since everything we have is property in some sense, focusing on one item at a time is a move against the ADD that infects all of us.

Meanwhile, it is much easier stated than acted upon, and I suspect that my children will one day have to deal with all the stuff we leave. Maybe some of it has monetary value or sentimental value, but I suspect that much of it, ultimately, will end up at the dumpster and covered with dirt. In fact I would guess there are mountains of junk that are buried, and on top of those mountains, we will once again have green grass! I am reminded that my legacy is not determined by my things but rather by my contributions, my family, my work, my compassion, and my love for others.

Passing of a Generation

My 91 year old grandmother, who we always called Sallie, after nearly 8 years in a nursing home, passed away leaving behind two daughters and three grandsons. She was the last of my grandparents. Prior to her stroke and the onset of Alzeimers, she was a happy lady with a definite and pointed worldview. She was not swayed by the technology surrounding our current culture, but was instead shaped by the hands-on experiences of her life. Hers was the generation before the computer age, before cell phones, even before remote controls, multiple television channels, before immediate and instant communication, before automation of all kinds shapes and sizes.

I recall trying to show her how to use a computer. She of excellent typing skills and office management ability could not deal with the computer, with its odd keyboard, quietness, strange screen, and memory bank. Her inability to comprehend the new robot-like machine led to a general suspicion of its worthiness and ultimately caused its rejection as having any value for her life. She was comfortable with a pen and paper and that comfort level remained throughout most of her life until she could no longer hold a pen. She wrote letters, long letters full of the kind of detail that keeps the mind sharp.

She preferred the dial telephone where you place your finger in the number hole and go around until it stops, but she did accept the new approach of actually touching the numbers and creating tone. She did enjoy talking on the phone with the exception that long distance calls were kept at a minimum due to the costs incurred. She never could escape the fear of the great depression and somehow felt that dollars even pennies should be guarded very carefully. At the same time her reliance on the government to solve the world's problems took her to liberal heights not often found in other family members. She continually supported the democratic party and when asked why, she would say, "You had to be there to understand." She and many others had to place their trust in FDR and that trust got extended to the government at large, a trust that remained throughout her life.

The television was a source of great joy but only for the three channels available. When more channels became the norm, she rejected them, keeping channels 4, 9, and 12 as the reigning champions of television. In addition to the local news and weather, the best channel was the one showing the Dallas Cowboys with Tom Landry and Roger Staubach at the helm, men she knew on a first name basis! Of course commercials brought with them opportunities to serve cake and cookies which had been prepared that morning in the midst of getting ready for a massive meal.

And my grandmother probably never ate the massive meal since the glasses were always filled with tea and the rolls never quit showing up on our plates. Her roving eyes to make sure all were eating and all were happy would land, sometimes with harsh judgment, on the person who was not eating. Meat, vegetables, and bread must all be eaten until there was no more room at which time the pies would arrive. Surrounding this bevy of food was conversation ranging from normal family stuff to local business. From my grandfather, whom we called Ray, a man who knew no strangers and liked everyone he met, I learned about the rich, the poor, the politicians, the lawyers, the Chinese, Mexicans, African-Americans, Indians, Whites, and occasionally some races I didn't know existed. I also learned about property, canned goods, Farah slacks, and the latest car design. Mainly I learned how to love each other in spite of our flaws and to listen carefully for there are always gems of truth to be gleaned in most conversations!

They are gone now, Sallie and Ray, and I miss the old days at times. I miss the constant tuneless whistle Sallie would offer when in the kitchen. I miss the hustle and bustle of meals, of Christmas, of camping trips, and yes even mowing their lawn. I miss the clank of the pipe as my grandfather emptied it, replacing old tobacco for a fresh batch, and I miss the burning of the match as it nearly ignited his finger before a quick flick of the wrist extinguished the flame. Mostly I miss the smiles, the energy, and the unconditional love of my grandparents.

We are now in a new dimension and one that the older generation never did embrace. It is replete with texting, computer searching, youtube videos, email, cell phones, talking cars, automatic lights, complicated kitchen items for ease of cooking, laptops, desktops, and information right at your fingertips. All these things are a part of our everyday lives and make our lives both richer and more complicated. Yet let us not forget that joy doesn't come from the things we see and touch. Joy comes from the love we receive and give to others. Sallie and Ray gave us love and that is what I will miss the most. Thank you!

Texting vs. Speaking

Joel, our 20 year old autistic son, has difficulty speaking most of the time. Some days he speaks little to none while other times he is a little more verbose. Yet, even in his talking moments, rarely does he have something substantial to say. On good days he is full of questions that seem to build on each other. The questions could be about family members or what hymns we are singing or the starting times of events or how old people are or what instruments are being used. Mainly, though, spoken language is a challenge for Joel and he mostly finds himself nodding or speaking very quietly.

Yet a new and rather stunning development has occurred. Joel enjoys texting on his phone. He writes long involved texts that demonstrate a deeper understanding of life, a way to seek beyond the obvious, and a way to express his emotions. Below are some of his texts:

"Hey daddy can you pick me up around 4:00 so I can get my haircut afterwards? See you in an hour and forty-five minutes! Do you think it is going to snow tonight? It is kind of chilly outside! Brrrr! I am taking a cold rc cola break at the library! I am dressed kind of warm! I have a scarf some gloves a hat a jacket and a sweater! Are you wearing a tie today or a turtle neck? I am going to shelve some more books here in a minute! Then I will call you at around 4:00 to pick me up in time to take me to get a haircut! Ttyl bye! P.S. It is my birthday in 5 days! I am going to be 20 years old! Yay!"

and:

"Thanks dad! Do you mind if I wait outside for you at around 3:30? I shelved lots of books today at the library and I might shelve some more books here in just a few minutes! See you at 3:45! Tell all the professors of Howard Payne University I said hi and tell all the students I said hi too! Ttyl bye!"

Of course some texts are shorter and simpler, but in general he speaks more through texting than through talking. Why is this? Is it the strange block that occurs from the brain to the mouth for some autistic children? Does texting actually allow a circumventing of the neurons needed for speaking? Perhaps communication for an autistic child is deeper, requiring a different form and transit from which we are familiar. Perhaps the conduit for expression is a channel not usually found in most people.

Whatever the reason, we are enjoying the new communication and we are enjoying discovering a personality that shines forth from the cell phone! Ah Joel...always keeps us on our toes!

Receipts everywhere

Walking into church this evening, I noticed some paper on the ground and stopped to pick it up. Although not an obsessed naturalist by any stretch, I do get concerned with trash and debris scattered about. Not only is it unsightly (an unusual emotion for me as a non-visual learner), but it also is not healthy for the grass or trees. I suppose in my retirement, I might be one of those people who walks around with a pointed stick, relieving the environment of unwanted trash. A roving naturalist doing my part to help the environment, like not washing the towels in an extended stay at a motel, or recycling plastic bottles or avoiding running over the turtles crossing the road. Anyway, back to the event of this evening.

I picked up two old receipts, headed to the dumpster, and began to dwell on one of my irritants in life--receipts. Not all, but perhaps most mornings I pull into a drive-through and order a cup of coffee. There is a sign near the paying window that says "If we fail to hand you a receipt, you will receive $5.00 toward any purchase." I, however, wish it said, "If we burden you with a stupid, waste of time receipt, you will receive $5.00 toward any purchase."

I am sick of receipts. They clutter up my truck, get in my way, result in excess trash, waste paper, and generally bother me. I have receipts for gas, dry-cleaning, meals, water, snacks, and the list goes on and on. Recognizing the tax benefit of some items, I would actually prefer the option not to receive a receipt rather than the assumption I always want one. Maybe there will be a day when I can simply show my email address and have all receipts emailed to me. That way I can organize the ones that have a tax deduction. Meanwhile, I suppose I'll just put up with the constant flow of receipts and the absurd need to pick them up when I find them outside on the ground. I would furthermore encourage others to use a trash can, since the earth does not need to be our human trash bin.

Leveling of Culture

A journey across the United States from Central Texas to San Diego left me less intrigued than I expected, particularly as I roamed the bay area around the beautiful city of San Diego. The boats, yachts, battleships, cruise lines, shops, restaurants, furs, joggers, families, and the homeless all shape the incredibly energetic and distinctive culture of San Diego, California. I fell in love with the city and realized that given the opportunity I would sincerely enjoy living in San Diego.

Yet part of me became disappointed as I visited with the people, those indigenous to the area, those native to San Diego, those whose behavior, style, preferences should be unique to the area in some way. I discovered that their responses and their actions were eerily similar to my own. We recognized each other not by geographical region but by our humanness. We laughed at the same humor, grew concerned at the same problems, responded in the same basic ways to events, ate the same kind of food, and seemed to look for the same things in the environment.

Of course some of this could be attributed to being humans as opposed to creatures from other worlds, but is it possible that our culture is becoming as one? Are we inadvertently, slowly, assiduously blending our worlds into one world culture?

It began with communication that developed into some common languages as the printing press came into vogue and books became the norm. Eventually this moved to the Pony Express, the telegraph, telephone, radio, television, email, and now a proliferation of instant communication and media through the Internet. All of these events and more have led to a breakdown and leveling of culture. We find ourselves in a precarious but joyful position of knowing how people across the globe react to stimuli. We tend to laugh at the same things, cry at the same sentiment, and love in the same way. This is due to our assimilation of cultures via the media which governs our lives.

I am not proposing an abolishment of media, and I am not even convinced there is anything negative, but in some ways it disappoints me to discover very little that is new and actually to see myself in a region that is 1200 miles away. At the same time, it is also comforting in the same way that returning home to our favorite blanket is security. We travel to unknown lands only to find they are known. We look far and seek the new but find ourselves looking in a mirror. The mountains and valleys of human differences are but plains leveled by the media of instant communication, giving us an awareness of the collective whole.

I contend that as we become more cosmopolitan and oddly unified, we lose and gain certain qualities. One argument for the continuation of cultural connectivity is that it is the mark of a refined society. Contractarianism becomes central to behavior regardless of geographical location. Yet, in some ways, those qualities unique to regions could get lost, thereby losing the charm and uniqueness that make a culture defined.

I do have to believe, however, that regardless of how "refined" we may become, cultures find a way to retain their individual identity and their independence. It remains to be seen what qualities last and what qualities disappear.

Eradication of the cherry

Walking through the mall, casually shopping for clothes and looking in the various stores along the path, Joel mentioned he would like to get a coke at Chick-fil-A. Gladly accommodating his request, we ambled that direction, entered the fast food restaurant, walked up to the counter and stood in line to order our drinks. Jacob had mentioned he wouldn't mind having a lemonade as well. But the poster of the new Peppermint Strawberry Shake caught Joel's attention.

His eyes shone brightly as he changed his mind and he asked me about getting the shake rather than the coke. I said sure, no problem, and he then said the words, "but no cherry." Being in an agreeable mode, I said yes rather absently and stood in line to order our drinks. Standing in any line is a challenge for me, not being of patient spirit. To pass the time, I can be found reading, looking around, thinking hard, imagining a world without lines, or a plethora of mental activities. In this case, I simply visited another cognitive zone for a few minutes. Finally I ordered the drinks, forgetting unfortunately to ask for the cherry to be excluded.

Receiving the drinks, we left the mall to head for the truck with the goal of driving home. On the way, Joel, in his objective but pointed manner, mentioned that the cherry was in the shake. Not necessarily accusingly nor forgivingly, he pointed out that he did not want the cherry. Climbing into the truck, Joel tried in vain to get the cherry. Refusing to drink the shake with the cherry, he had inadvertently engorged the dastardly object further down into the shake in his efforts to rid the refreshment of its ugliness known as a cherry.

Knowing he would not drink the shake until the cherry was gone, I asked Jacob to help him. Jacob did so and together they dug into the shake, found the cherry, removed the obstacle which Jacob subsequently ate in great haste to encourage Joel to drink his Peppermint Strawberry shake! All was well and Joel was happy.

Joel's autism, a disability since birth, does have an odd and often debilitating result. He gets focused on something and cannot let it go regardless of the seemingly innocuousness of the situation. To us it is just a little cherry in the midst of something wonderful, but to Joel is the central block to enjoyment. Take the problem away and happiness ensues. Our job as parents is to discern and predict the potential enemy before it enters the scene!

Another day?

Okay, my cynical side often thinks that a day is simply another day. Regardless of the birthday or the celebration or anniversary or memory or event, it is simply another day. I recall the Y2K ubiquitous fear of 1999 where it was postured, even propagated, that the world as we know it would come to a screeching halt on January 1, 2000. Our blood ran cold as we feared the prophecy of the computer age destroying the essence of everything we call existence.

And we went to bed at midnight on December 31, 1999 wondering if we would have running water or electricity or an automobile or even a home on January 1. We woke up the next morning and experienced another day, a day like the day before and the day before and the year before and the decade before. Simply another day.

The question: Is Thanksgiving Day simply another day? The answer is yes. Since time and the calendar are both man-made entities (yes, I recognize the potential fallacy of this statement due to the natural revolution of the earth, the sun, the moon, etc.), it stands to reason that what we know as Thanksgiving could occur on any day in the year. In fact we can celebrate, eat turkey, cranberries, dressing, corn, and other delectable treats anytime we feel so led. To take it further, we can acknowledge historical events anytime we think about it. This can include your first tooth coming in, the birthday of your grandfather, the Declaration of Independence, your first automobile, the end of World War I, your first cell phone, or the end of communist reign in China.

We celebrate Thanksgiving Day as a historical reminder of the Pilgrims who ate with the Indians in a kind of marriage of two opposing cultures coming together to offer thanks for their sustenance. A charming and important event for sure. But overall it just seems like another day to me except for one thing--family! Regardless of the excuse, and regardless of the day that is set aside for turkey and lots of great food, the joy comes not from the day itself but from the opportunity to be with family.

In some ways I believe we should be thankful everyday for our blessings and I believe we should spend time with family whenever possible. We should not have to set aside a day for thankfulness or family time. But we do and I'm glad, for without Thanksgiving I have a feeling our times together would indeed be rare. It is at Thanksgiving we share, we eat, we enjoy each other's company and mostly spend quality time together. Yes, it is another day, but our culture has developed into a special day and a day I value. So my analytical, logical side answers the question with a yes, but my sensitive, emotional side answers with a resounding no!

Book Scouting in San Diego

Unable to make a journey to a new land without doing some book scouting, I took a taxi to the part of San Diego where book stores reside. Most cities slowly, over time, become a series of towns or communities within a city. This is caused by racism, economics, new buildings, priority shifts, and many other factors difficult to project. Old book stores, hanging on by a letter, and hoping to find a market niche of some kind, a system that either defeats the internet or embraces it, are usually within a mile or two from each other. Often nearby is some kind of college or university surrounded by various thrift shops, cafes, coffee houses, and a plethora of specialty shops.

After a speedy taxi ride where I learned my driver was quite frustrated with his "worrying and anxious" wife who did not want her 13 year old son out past 11 at night (he maintained she was being silly and not wanting her son to grow up), I arrived in the scholar district and walked into a book store. As I have done hundreds of times, I stood near the doorway to learn the store. Each book store has a character, a personality, a system, and an energy that shouts at me. Some stores seem tired, as though their heyday is long past, others seem to shine and bristle with knowledge, eager for a customer to enter the world and leave a better person with books in hand. Some stores have a nice mix of hardbacks and paperbacks, or more non-fiction than fiction, or more childrens books or adult books or political or history or collectibles or simply a little of everything.

Looking around carefully with what I perceived as my "book grin," an odd smile that overtakes me when I am around books of all kinds, a euphoric grin that naturally emanates when I see a book, I realized I was in a store that valued non-fiction over fiction and made more money selling sexual oriented books than anything else. Yet, the visit was not a waste for against one long wall was the literature section. Always curious how the owner separates the "literature" from the "non-literature," I began to scout.

My quest for books involves first hardback fiction and a look for particular authors--Roth, McMurtry, McCarthy, Greene, Vidal, Burgess, Mailer--to name a few. Then I head to the mystery area to look for Fleming, Crider, Spillane, MacDonald, and perhaps Morrell. I look for books in good condition, preferably 1st editions, that are not ruined with too many personal comments in the margins. I then head to the history section, the theology area, and finally the music and fine arts. Near the end of my sojourn, I take several minutes studying the collectible books. Using a discerning but quick eye, I determine which books I have to have and which ones will need to stay on the shelf! I remind myself not to look simply at those books which are eye level but to look up, to get on the ground, to look behind the obvious, to find the gem that just might be hiding in some way. To treat each book as a special vessel through gentle handling is an essential requirement of a book scout.

Finding two early James Bond editions, wrestling with a nice Victor Hugo, and wondering idly how many books on sex the world really needs, I headed across the street to another store. This was a smaller store with limited stock most of which seemed focused on homosexuality and lesbianism. Yet as I looked at the few collectibles, I saw a gem. A well-used but in good condition Forgotten Village by Steinbeck! The price looked like $125 but the cashier assured me it was $12. Buying it quickly, and getting directions to another store, I left feeling quite satisfied with my venture.

I walked 15 city blocks to another very small store, argued with myself about purchasing a signed book for $75, bought a biography of Teddy Roosevelt, and took a cab back to the hotel. This ride was more rewarding as we discussed Ethiopian worship practices in San Diego. The driver was quite intelligent and perceptive as he pointed out the differences between typical African-American worship styles as compared with Ethiopian preferences. It was quite enlightening and I wish it could have continued. But it was time for dinner with some friends!

Another successful book scouting journey for me!

Polite

Venturing through the shops around the bay area in San Diego, I enjoyed visiting with some of the people. In particular, buying something small often opens up conversations with cashiers and employees of the store. Using certain ice-breaking techniques such as "this is a very nice store" or "how is business these days" or "you can't get this where I live" usually results in a conversation of some kind or another. One of my favorite questions I like to ask is "Where do you think I am from?" One person said Boston and another person said Seattle, but most of them said Texas.

I am a Texan through and through having lived here most of my life. Yes, it's true I was born in California but both parents were from Texas and we moved to Texas soon after my 5th birthday. But it did surprise me that people in San Diego labeled me a Texan so quickly. After all, I do not wear boots or a Cowboy hat and I work hard to avoid a Texas drawl (although I suspect it is still present at times). So after one young lady said "Texas," I asked her how she knew. She said I was polite and friendly!

Okay, guilty and proud of it! I don't mind being labeled a Texan if it is due to these qualities. But the truth is that I am not always polite and friendly. In fact, I wonder if I am more polite outside the state than in my own hometown! That would be rather sad if it were true. But because the young lady in San Diego said I was polite and friendly, I have decided to become what she in fact said, a polite and friendly Texan! Certainly there are worse things to be.

Tomorrow I practice what someone told me I am. I will hold the door for people, allow others to go ahead of me, use correct table manners, avoid interrupting, smile often, and reach out to people around me. It all sounds like a tall order but necessary if I am going to reach my potential as a true Texan!

A word or two on health

Hard to believe that after such a long hiatus without blogging, I would choose this topic for the next entry. Yet sometimes I feel compelled to write on a subject that interests me. I am currently in San Diego, California on a business trip and enjoying the scenery, the food, the climate, and the people. I spent a couple of hours in book stores yesterday and walked the streets watching people and experiencing the city life.

It occurred to me though that as I walked through the city and later along the bay, I did not see any overweight people. Of course it is certainly possible that those who are overweight chose not to be out in this area or chose to eat at different restaurants. But perhaps there is another reason for this. Before I go on, I must say that I am not critical of overweight people, having struggled with this problem myself. While I do not believe overweight is a disease or an epidemic, neither do I believe it is generally healthy. Obviously, dieting and surgery for weight problems is a major industry in our culture and one that seems to be growing not diminishing. One of our requirements as people is to remain as healthy as possible, not just for ourselves but for those who love us as well. When we are healthy, we are more productive and more giving. We serve society at a higher level, when our health allows us freedom to reach out.

I could go on and on with this thinking, but let's return to the current issue of people in San Diego seem generally smaller and yes healthier than people in Texas. Conjecture without basis in fact can be and usually is pointless and serves no purpose other than to give some weak creedence to the person offering the guesswork. Knowing this, however, I think I will proceed.

I believe after watching the people in San Diego, that there are three reasons for the general health in this area. 1) a diet consisting of fish, 2) smaller portions and 3) lots of walking. In the town where I work, these 3 events are rare. Portions are very extensive, fish (other than catfish) is rare, and walking is a lost art. So with this in mind, I am going to commit myself to more fish, smaller portions, and more walking. Of course this is nothing earth-shattering, and in fact this entire entry is rather dull, but I felt like writing it anyway! Time to go for a walk.

Changed for sure

Well, I guess I have changed. Thank goodness for that, but it still confuses me a touch. Last week I attended a reunion of sorts. A group of band guys from college gathered to pay honor to our director, a fine man of great integrity and man who tolerated much immaturity from guys who took quite awhile to grow up. Approximately 30 years ago, a young, very thin, long-haired french horn player arrived on the scene full of the kind of naive confused arrogance and energy that often accompanies fairly bright, creative but slightly rebellious teenagers.

But be not dismayed (or disappointed), this entry is not a confession of sins or acknowledgment of past mistakes. Instead this is actually the story of change. It became obvious to me when I walked in and received several odd stares from the friends of long ago. I am different. I know it to be true but have an imagined sense that maybe the thin good-looking guy of yesteryear is still the same. I mean I feel the same I think. I think the same I guess. I respond the same, sort of. But I suppose I don't look the same.

I approached one gentleman whom I remembered as a good friend, having played in his wedding and peripherally through other acquaintances, kept up with his life. I shook his hand, named his name, smiled my charming smile and he said, "Now remind me again who you are!" Although somewhat taken aback, and wanting to leave immediately, I kept my smile and named my name. He said "Oh yes, of course, you were in my wedding." He was a little embarrassed and laughed.

Okay, the truth hurts. I am bald, overweight, wrinkled, and not near as spirited. The impish quest for a contrarian activity, the simmering mischief, the sly rebellion, rather than being overt, has gone underground and replaced with respectability, at least to an extent. From edgy independence to refined conformity is not an easy travel, and I sometimes wonder about the journey. I think in some mystical way, I may miss that odd creative and yes, arrogant kid who didn't always understand the world but sure enjoyed putting his toe in it!

Am I changed physically? Yes, and most of us flirting with our 50s can say the same. But have I changed internally as well? Yes, no question about it. Are the inside changes being reflected on the outside? I think the answer is certainly yes and in most ways I am glad. For now I am a University Dean in a private school where refinement, excellence, thoughtfulness, responsibility, and expectations are high. A place I am fortunate to be and a place that has helped shape me into a mature man with a higher sense of purpose in the world.

Back to the reunion. I believe the immature, confused student from the past is mostly gone, and I am mostly glad. Yet perhaps in the vestiges of the dusty regions, hidden by walls, around corners, and rarely found lies the impish curiosity that makes for great zeal of life. It all forms me and makes me wonder which Rob will emerge victorious in the end! Probably both.

Perhaps the best product of this reunion was not the personal acknowledgment of my or anyone's changes in life, but rather the opportunity to give honor to Lawson Hager, my mentor, my director, my teacher, and my friend. A special man indeed and we (anyone who had him as a director) are better people today due to his integrity, patience, and compassion for a much undeserved group of people. He is much appreciated.

Which traditions?

The anguish of Papa is felt by everyone as he denies his daughter and subsequently rejects her existence in the world. "She is dead to us," he says as he goes about the business of moving to another location. We are incensed, however, and cannot share his attitude, a callous approach to his own daughter and one that obviously favors tradition over development, a misguided sense of historical falseness that seems to shout that religion causes more harm than good. How can he do that? The "tradition" line in the sand was crossed, and for Tevye and his daughter there was no turning back.

Let us take a closer look at this situation from "Fiddler on the Roof" and examine it in terms of today's church music. What traditions do we keep and what do we let go? Are there traditions that maintain the essence of quality or spirituality? Are there traditions which are Biblically based and should not change? Are there some which are simply born out of some antiquated practicality that no longer exists? These questions are difficult and no one answer will solve them, yet they are necessary as we participate in a thorough examination of what makes church the institution of worship.

Let's discuss art for a few minutes before delving carefully into church music. It is easy for people to acknowledge the beauty of art that represents an object of which they are familiar. A painting of a tree that looks like an actual tree visibly seen by the human eye can be respected not only for the skill but also for the realism, for the natural look, for the beauty that it represents. The tree, the picture of a tree is comfortable, familiar, accessible, and obvious in a way that visible objects are understood not necessarily for their innate properties but more for their outward appearance. We accept what we see if it is something close to what we have already seen.

Yet when we see something unfamiliar that cannot be easily categorized, perhaps not explained, or understood, our initial reaction is rejection. This is the case of abstract art. We might even have an emotional response to the light, or the colors, or design, or the energy, but if the object cannot be readily identified, we dismiss it as not having merit. Abstract art breaks the tradition by presenting something new. Abstract art takes away the security blanket, leaving us seeking for something to protect our senses.

Church music has a rich heritage of hymnody that can be traced back to the beginnings of the church. At times leading the way, at other times reacting to cultural expectations, the church has worked to maintain its lofty, austere, and generally polished approach to musical presentations. Perhaps the view of God as the omniscient and distant but benevolent King of Kings has contributed to the kind of music desired in church. Whatever the cause, the reality is that the tradition of music in church has been classically driven and somewhat utopian.

But along came the pragmatists, a new brand of leaders who recognized that the old ways were no longer effective in reaching people. While they preferred the traditions, the rich and classically oriented history that determined the excellence, they became suspicious that the church was serving the tradition rather than the people. One of the turning points in "Fiddler on the Roof" occurs when Tevye reminds Tzeitel that he made an agreement that she would marry the butcher. Tzeitel says in a broken voice, "Is your agreement more important than I am?"

So I ask, "Is the tradition more important than the people?" Obviously not. Yet, we must be reminded that at some early point, the traditions were started by people. So as not to throw out the baby with the bath water (excuse the cliche please), I recommend an examination of why the tradition exists, how could it be improved, and which ones need to be discarded. I do not recommend the abolishing of all traditions currently in practice. Not only would it be unwise and most likely result in polarization, contention, and uncontrolled disputations, it is just not necessary. But it is certainly worth deciding which traditions are based on preference and which traditions are based on truth. More on this later.