There was a time when Hardee’s had a marketing campaign for a Monster Burger, and it worked on Dad and me. So we drove down to Childersburg, Alabama to our nearest Hardees to have one. I can remember the booth we were sitting in was near the front which gave a commanding view of the entire restaurant. You could see the counter and the kitchen beyond, as well as the dining room all the way back to the bathroom. As we set there eating our big old cheeseburgers, and just generally enjoying our fine dining experience, the side door opened. A voice from the kitchen called out: “Is ‘at you Earl?”
It was Earl, a slovenly dark-haired young man reporting for duty. He confirmed this with a mumbled reply. Then braced himself as a volley of admonishments was hurled his way. It was a woman’s voice, clearly his manager. She was not berating as I recall, but smooth and comical. It seemed like she had been working on Earl for a while.
Where you been Earl? Tuck your shirt in Earl. Did you wash your hands Earl? Where is your Apron Earl?You didn’t comb your hair Earl? Go to the bathroom and get yourself together. Be somebody Earl.
Earl was having a rough day. Being audience to this scene brought an immense amount of joy to my Dad.
“Poor Earl just ain’t got it together does he?”
He recalled this episode for nearly the rest of his life. “Is ‘at you Earl?” became something that he would say to me from then on.
My Dad wanted us to have the experience of working with the general public. Principally, so we would know how to treat people. And to know how to behave when you have been mistreated. Maybe that manager was the first person that ever took time to try to help Earl.
I always think about Earl when I see a Hardee’s. I think about a high school teenager getting their first experience in the workforce. Maybe for the first time in their life they are having do things that were never taught at home. Like tucking their shirt. And being somebody.
I enjoy a daily routine to an extent. I don’t necessarily want to do the exact same thing every single day for the rest of my life, but I enjoy a reliable structure otherwise I’d never get anything done. That is not to say that I always know what is going to happen through the day, I think most of us don’t. It is those nuances that make life interesting. These little encounters can crash into your routine, sometimes changing the course of things, sometimes in a big way. Sometimes they cause us to refocus and get back on track. Take the past Monday for instance.
The first encounter happened by phone before I even made it to work.
“Yes, Mr. Zane. We do a birthday party on the first Thursday of the month for all of the residents and the man who has been leading the band is retiring. Would you be interested in leading?”
This is the kind of thing that I do in my marketing role. It seems a bunch of assorted staff from the hospital get together and play music at the adjacent nursing and rehab facility. I have never met any of these people. I don’t even know how many musicians there are, but I am assuming there are no singers or they wouldn’t have asked the activities lady to give me a call.
When she asked me, I couldn’t help but laugh. I imagined a group guys in scrubs, moping like a teenage musicians because their lead singer up and quit on them. A band in existential crisis. I’ll keep y’all posted on how it goes.
The second encounter happed as I walked past the council on aging. A BMW with out of state license plates passed me as I was walking on the sidewalk , then it backed up and rolled down the window. The man in the passenger seat leaned out and asked if I would be interested in painting a mural on the side of his restaurant. It smelled like they had a pet baby skunk riding in there with them.
“I noticed you were photographing that mural, you do that kind of work?”
I told him I was capable of doing that kind of work, and I have never actually painted a mural…but I always wanted to. He said he would do it himself, but he was color blind. I got caught up in the moment and we exchanged numbers. It would be a fun job. Something that you could drive your kids past and say, “See that giant alligator eating a bucket of fried chicken painted on the side of that restaurant? I painted that.”
I think I could design a nice mural. I would paint a big guitar on fire with a snake crawling out of the sound hole. And some firefighters spraying it down with Coca Cola. Or maybe some ducks wearing WWII fighter helmets and goggles, flying in formation as batteries of duck hunters sent up volleys of anti-aircraft flak. I think that would go over well in Louisiana.
I don’t really have time to do all the things I am trying to do right now, but the draw to do something creative has always had a heavy influence on me.
I’d been thinking about that all day when I had my third encounter. I held the door open for a Thai lady in a mobility scooter at the Dollar Tree. She thanked me and then immediately began to tell me about a 72 year old lady who was working on a zero-turn lawnmower when it fell on top of her.
“She laid their for three days and three nights. A thousand pounds. She died.”
I did not know why she felt compelled to tell me this story. It is a tragic story. I was reminded of my friend Cecil who died in a zero-turn mower accident. Life is so unpredictable and sometimes we get unpleasant surprises. I couldn’t have predicted any of these three encounters if you had paid me $50,000, but really I enjoyed my day.
I get to travel a lot for my job. So I take my camera along for drive-by photography. It seems to me that the economy in Louisiana moves East and West along I-20 and I-10. And I live in Central Louisiana. One of the recurring themes in these photographs is decaying buildings. I don’t go out of the way to find them, I have to go out of my why to find new construction. One of the things I like to imagine is what these buildings were like in their prime, with people bustling in an out of them. What kind of clothes did they wear? How did they talk? What did they eat for lunch?
I imagine this was once a thriving little grocery store. The painting makes the pain worse for me: It is fake.I thought this man was interesting. He was shuffling material from one medical building to another across the street. The crack in my windshield somehow makes this picture better. The kind of obscure photograph that you imagine a special agent gets on those old detective radio shows.Cows have a special place in my heart.“These cars always reminded me of fighter planes.” That’s what the man driving one told me once at a gas station 20 years ago. His was green though.I wonder what kind of art is produced here. I like that old chair.Something about the colors on this building speaks to me.It was exhilarating being this close to a train.This is probably my favorite picture from this week. I love this time of the morning. I imagine this is a scene from a book that you can’t put down.I love these little lizards. Anything that eats bugs can hang around my house.Name the title of the book that this could be the dust jacket for. That’s the kind of thing I think about when I am composing a shot. Another good cover for a book about a haunted house.
I have noticed over the last few years that my hair is thinning. That is a less painful way of saying that I am going bald.
“We need to get haircuts this week Wes.”
“Yeah. Those couple of strands of hair in the front look weird on you.”
“Oh yeah? What do you think I should do?”
“Well it may take some getting used to, but maybe The Bro. Sutton.”
Let me tell you about Bro. Sutton’s hair: He’s bald. Not just any bald, but shiny bald on top, with hair still around the sides. You know the haircut. This is how my own flesh and blood sees my hairline. He’s not the only one though.
That’s me. Before I make excuses about the lighting, let’s be honest that my hairline is almost level with my ear.
Leviticus 13: 40 And the man whose hair is fallen off his head, he is bald; yet is he clean. 41 And he that hath his hair fallen off from the part of his head toward his face, he is forehead bald: yet is he clean.
I’m glad that God decided to include this scripture in the Bible.
There is a brotherhood of bald men with secret handshakes, passwords, and I don’t know what all. You have probably noticed the familiarity bald men share with each other. Even total strangers give a nod to each other as if to say we’re in this together. The problem is they have begun to mistake me as a member.
I have noticed over the last few years that my hair is thinning. That is a less painful way of saying that I am going bald. I didn’t notice that y’all noticed though. But you did and probably a long time before I did. But people are kind and they didn’t say anything. Or maybe they thought that I noticed too. Let me tell you, it sneaks up on you. I haven’t been to the barber shop in almost a decade, so maybe my barber would’ve mentioned it.
It has progressed to the point that I have been approached about joining The Secret Society of Bald Men. Last week I met with two sitting members of the Society. They were men that have taken a higher order within the dark organization. I could tell because they were not only bald, but their heads were completely shaved. I can remember the younger one before he joined. That means the last time I saw him he still had hair. Kind of. His hair used to look like a rooster tail glued to a volleyball. Now he looks like Stone Cold Steve Austin.
“You should do it.” They older one said, trying to pressure me into shaving my head.
“You’ve got a nice shaped head. It will look good.” The younger one chimed in.
“I’ll do it for you. Lets do it tonight!” The older one followed up with a wild grin.
“Y’all almost convinced me. Let me wait for a more convenient season.” I told them.
Hair is the only thing a bald man sees when he walks into a room.
-Zach Wells
Integrity: that’s really why I am thinking about joining the Secret Society of Bald Men. The men that I met had an epiphany at some point-probably after they saw a picture of themselves-said “I’m tired of living a lie! I’m just going to be bald.”
I keep trying to convince my wife that buzzing my hair will look good. I’m not talking about shaving it down to skinhead level, but just so close that I don’t have to comb it. Or try to comb it over. She hasn’t been persuaded yet.
All the men that I have known that shaved their heads did it without their wives permission or consent. Which is something else that appeals to me. I enjoy giving Sarah a good surprise every once in a while.
Nobody looks at a man with a combover and thinks I’d like to try that. But when I see a man that has taken the plunge and shaved his head I see a man that has come to terms with his baldness and won. And that is inspiring.
Bumper stickers are a mystery to me. You would think that you could tell a lot about about a person by what kind of bumper stickers they have, but really you can only tell that they are bumper sticker people. And that is the mystery for me: is this bumper sticker accurate? I’ve always thought it would be funny to put bumper stickers on the vehicles of unsuspecting Wal-Mart shoppers at random. But I cannot bring myself to act upon these low juvenile thoughts. Although it does prove the point that a sticker does not necessarily define an individual. It is simply a label that has been applied by the driver. Or perhaps by hooligans in the Wal-Mart parking lot. You can label a jar of peanut butter chicken noodle soup or hominy but it will just be mislabeled peanut butter.
The label that I am most suspicious of is Salt Life. Especially if I see it on a car a long way from the beach. I have a hard time reconciling Salt Life bumper stickers and Tennessee license plates. How much of the Salt Life can this person really be living? People that are indeed living the Salt Life are probably on boats-or golf carts- and certainly not sitting in rush hour traffic seven hours from the coast. But we as people feel like that the bigger the sticker the more true it is. You’ll see a whole back window of a truck letting everyone know that the driver of this Silverado in Fort Payne, AL is living the Salt Life.
When I see a vehicle with a Salt Life sticker I usually make up a story for that driver. And then I imagine that story as a bumper sticker in place of Salt Life.
I went to the beach on vacation in 2016 and we chartered a fishing boat and I caught the biggest fish in my life and I really enjoyed my trip.
I go to Gulf Shores every year for this conference at work and I think it would be cool to live there.
I go fishing every year in Pensacola with my cousinsand that is the only real fun thing that I dosince my divorce.
I went to Panama City for my Senior Trip last year.
I am thinking about launching my own bumper sticker enterprise: Realist Bumper Stickers. Among other things we will offer a more accurate alternative to Salt Life. It is going to say: I Wish I Lived On The Coast. Alas, they probably wouldn’t sell. Bumper stickers are not the media of facts, but of ideals. We put them on our cars to in an effort to convince ourselves that things are not as they are but as they could be.
Rich people sometimes have the dog on the Christmas Card. That’s another one of the things that they have in common with rednecks.
What would you do if you were rich? I mean so rich that you could eat slow food anytime you wanted. If I were rich and famous I’d only drink ice cold Topo-Chico in glass bottles. I’d wear a brand new pair of socks to church every service. Rich people can do things like that. I’d probably get a gold tooth too. Not right in the front, but off to the side where you could still see it but only when I smiled. That’s so I could stay modest. I would smile a lot though. And have a pair of crocodile skin cowboy boots. I’d drive a big old Cadillac with a pair of longhorns on the front.
I sometimes struggle to know if people are rich or not. Not that it is really any of my business, but I wonder just the same. I often get rich people and rednecks confused. For instance rich people and rednecks both have lots of cars. But rich people will have a garage, and the rednecks just park their cars all over the yard. And the rich people cars all run.
I met some rich people that had a swimming pool in the ground with a fence and everything. That’s how I knew in my eight year old mind that they were rich. But rednecks sometimes have swimming pools too, but its usually in the front yard. Or in the backyard surrounded by all the cars with busted windows and engines that don’t start.
Some folks have got it all.
Rich people sometimes have the dog on the Christmas Card. That’s another one of the many things that they have in common with rednecks. The dog might have a different name though, like Beaumont, or Charlemagne. That’s a rich people dog name. Sassy is a redneck dog name. Also, rich people sometimes take their dog to the vet for no reason.
“The clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”
Mark Twain
Rich people and rednecks both like to go to the beach. When they don’t have a lot of clothes on its hard to tell them apart. I am neither rich nor a redneck so I don’t go to the beach that often. Which means I don’t have any tips for telling them apart at the beach. Wesley said that Rich people “Have a big ole tent, or something, and nice chairs. And a condo. At the beach.” He’s been to the beach a lot more than I have. I didn’t ask him about rednecks at the beach.
Some other ways to spot rich people is to go to the local airport. Not the big commercial airport at the closest big city, but the little rinky-dink municipal airport. The people who own airplanes are rich. Rednecks don’t typically have airplanes. I think I’d have me an airplane if I was rich. I’d paint teeth and eyeballs on the nose like they did back in WWII. I’d get a leather jacket and a big long white scarf for flying.
All the happiness in the world can’t buy you money.”
I would like to be rich, but I don’t really want to quit shopping at thrift stores. So I don’t really want to be filthy rich, just regular rich. If I came into money real sudden like, I think I would keep shopping at thrift stores so I could keep my cover since it is sometimes hard to tell rich people from rednecks anyway. Even if I was rich, people would see me at the thrift store and think, “He ain’t rich. He’s just another redneck.” It would also help me practice modesty. I wouldn’t smile when I went in there.
When I recall my biggest life decisions, money has not been the principle influence. For instance, having children is not necessarily a wise financial decision. But you don’t really worry about money when you decide to have a child. There is a stronger force than money at play. Moving without a job is not a wise financial decision. But money doesn’t get to make all of the decisions for me. This is probably why I am not a rich man. Money is not the only currency in life. I just read the book Creative Confidence by Tom and David Kelley and I really liked an illustration that the authors often use when making decisions. A see-saw, or balance, with a heart on one side and a dollar sign on the other. To paraphrase the author, the money is almost always easier to measure, the heart-the unquantifiable values, relationships, sense of calling, principles, and intuition- takes a little more time. The message is clear, money is not the only thing that should be considered when making decisions.
This blog for example; the motivation to write does not come from money. Or extrinsic motivation as I learned in college. There is another, stronger source of intrinsic motivation that compels me to write. It is the desire to connect on an unseen level with a reader. The urge to communicate an idea that will provoke deep personal insight in hopes that they can see themselves more clearly. There is the need of going out of one’s self that motivates me to write. This is not to say that I couldn’t be motivated by money to write. I have written on commission and gratefully cashed the check. But if I am honest with myself, I have never felt that any of my best efforts have come from being given an assignment. I have felt this way since a child in art class. I suppose that all creative people wrestle with the tension between creating what they want and getting paid to create what someone else wants. There is also the question of does anyone else want what I want to create? That can only be answered after the thing is created.
On my wedding day my father-in-law gave me some of the best advice I ever received about money. “Don’t ever fight about money.” At the time it was almost like saying, “Don’t fight about nothing.” This is a principle that my wife and I still share in our personal finances.
Money has always been a chore to me. I am getting better at doing chores the older I get. I have some friends that look at money differently than I do. And I am trying to learn from them. They can’t help but make money. Its fun to them. It is not a chore at all, but something that just comes natural. At the same time, they seemed to not be controlled by it. I have observed other people, extremely wealthy people-filthy rich people-be destitute when it comes to personal relationships. Billionaires who are vicious about money yet who are in poverty when it come to love. Cold blooded killers to quote a friend who has met more of them than me. When I take a closer look at their lives, it is pretty clear that these people do not have the same values as me.
Faith, and not money, is the currency of God’s economy.
II Timothy 6:6 But godliness with contentment is great gain. 7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. 8 And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. 9 But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition.
But they that will be rich. I am reminded of Rudyard Kipling’s The Man Who Would Be King. I won’t spoil it for you, but if you have read it then you know what I’m talking about. I’m also reminded of someone else that said I will be like the most High. What you commit your will to has profound consequences.
I am less concerned with being rich and more focused on doing something in life that matters. Furthermore, I think it is more important to God that what I do with my life matters. Fortunately God delights in blessing his children and this includes, but is not limited to, financial blessings. With this in mind, If I were regular rich I doubt I would drink more Topo-Chico than I do now. I would take care of quite a few church projects though.
“He went downhill fast.” That’s the kind of thing we say when someone gets terminally ill and doesn’t recover. It is a difficult thing to watch people go downhill. This is one of the reasons that I dread visiting nursing homes.
I was thinking about this phrase this morning as I was going down a steep hill on my bicycle. It really doesn’t take much effort at all to go downhill. Everyone can go fast downhill. You just keep it in the road, if that is the course that is set before you. But it takes real work to go uphill. And to go uphill fast demands an extraordinary amount of energy.
Do you ever get caught in this situation? You are riding shotgun and the driver answers the phone and the phone call plays through the vehicles sound system. You become an involuntary, nonspeaking party to the phone call. It is not that you are intruding by listening, but you would be intruding by talking. You go through something similar in real life watching people make decisions. I guess that is some how wrapped up in minding your own business. Anyway, It is hard for me to not pay attention to a conversation. By the way, do you ever quit listening to someone that is talking to you because you overhear a more interesting conversation off to the side?That is something that I struggle with. I won’t go into the finer details of what the conversation was about but this line stood out to me.
Things are going well but its all uphill.
I guess that means that they are putting in the effort. It sure sounded like it. And that is the point I am trying to make: making progress is really just a gentler way of saying that you are doing a lot of hard work and it is paying off. And you know, work is fun to watch. Especially if someone else is doing it.
I remember when we added an education wing to the church in Winchester. Cecil and I met every morning just down the hill from the church before we started our mowing rounds. I was not the early riser that I am today and Cecil always beat me to work. I’d pull in and start getting the truck and mowers in order before I almost had to drag him away from the construction site. He would be up there talking to the workers, pointing at things, telling them God knows what. Checking on that construction site really made him grin. Old men and little boys can watch bulldozers all day. I think we all like to watch work because it is inspiring.
I catch myself doing it now. Man they didn’t waste any time getting that house built! (Is this how you talk to yourself?) Progress is exciting. My community is patiently waiting for our Chick Fil A to be rebuilt. We are all emotionally invested in the progress of that building. We celebrate at each milestone. They got the sign on the wall!
When you are actually working on the construction site, or really any kind of project it can be difficult to appreciate your progress because you are constantly seeing it. Watching children grow up is a similar phenomenon. You hardly notice it when you see them every day, but the folks that just see them at Thanksgiving are shocked by their growth. If you are working on something that matters, it is good to remind yourself every once that your labor is not in vain.
Galatian 6:9 And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
Rising to the occasion is doing what needs to be done no matter how hard, uncomfortable, unpopular, or frightening the task at hand may be.
I’m sitting here awake. I just got up from a dream where a few of our kids ( I don’t know who was there, but it felt like church family) were swimming in a river. Somehow, they got on top of a submerged wooden playground that was traveling downstream way too fast. I grabbed a fishing rod and snagged it. It was the most powerful pull that I’ve ever experienced.
I lost the lure when the line snapped. Sarah and some other mothers come to me alarmed about the children. I look down the river and they’re going away fast, almost out of sight.
The unseen playground has picked up speed. I hear the concerned voices raised around me.
Out nowhere, my friend and some other men have grabbed boats to go fetch the kids.
Now my friend jumps into the swift water and rescues Wesley and the other children from the runaway playground.
I catch up with them on the shore about a mile down river past the bridge where my line broke. The hero of the situation walks out of the water straight faced, not expecting any reward. He just did what needed to be done.
Thank God for people like this.
I’m writing this in the middle of the night because I need to remember it. Sometimes you have a dream and you know that you shouldn’t have finished off all of the weekend’s leftovers before you went to sleep, but sometimes you know that there was something more in a dream. I think this was a case of the latter.
I remember being worried about labor when Sarah and I were expecting our first child. It’s like war, no amount of training can prepare you for the real thing. A friend at church laughed at me when I told him I was concerned about not passing out. He said, “Don’t worry about it. You’ll rise to the occasion.”
I suppose that’s what happens a lot in life. We are constantly faced with difficult situations and we either rise to the occasion and win, or we don’t do anything and lose. Even if we don’t lose, inaction rarely brings a desired outcome. Some of us wait for a hero to come and fix everything, and while it is a nice thought, it hardly ever happens.
Rising to the occasion is doing what needs to be done no matter how hard, uncomfortable, unpopular, or frightening the task at hand may be. It doesn’t take much talent to rise to the occasion, just a lot of courage.
I wonder if David felt like this when he showed up at the battlefield with bread and cheese for his brothers only to find a stalemate with men cowering under the taunts of the champion of the Philistines. In spite of the ridicule and belittlement from his own brothers David rose to the occasion and slew Goliath. Not because of any reward-he didn’t receive one-but because he understood that there was a cause.
Most of the things that I am most proud of where the hardest things I’ve ever done. I will not promise you that rising to the occasion will be fun, easy, or even enjoyable, but I firmly believe that you will not regret it.
Mostly From Memory 