"Someone ______ on Tina"

(I will be using a word referring to a particular bodily function that may offend/upset some people. This will also be discussing bullying. Use appropriate self-care.)

Several years ago, I wrote about Kevin (named changed to protect his privacy) who had been a friend of mine from church and school and who, in fourth grade, made a 180 turn and became a bully. To this day, I have no idea what happened to him. 

This morning, I woke up remembering something he'd said about me and that sort of encapsulates how bullies operate and what was done about it in the 1970's. 

I think most of us are familiar with the song "Frere Jacques" (Brother John). The lyrics in French are:

Frere Jacques
Frere Jacques
Dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous?
Sonnez les matines!
Sonnez les matines!
Din, din, don.
Din, din, don.

Kevin, for whatever his reasons, would often sing the song -- during class -- as:

Frere Jacques
Frere Jacques
Dormez-vous?
Dormez-vous?
Someone peed on Tina
Someone peed on Tina
Din, din, don.
Din, din, don.

My fourth grade class had some serious discipline problems. My original teacher, Mrs. Cook, was a older, very nice lady who, among other things, taught us about the state of Florida and had a brief lesson about The Diary of Anne Frank. All I remember about that lesson is reading the lines, "Anne had only begun to write. If she had lived, her talent would have developed and grown." (In 5th grade, I started keeping a diary and have done it off and on since.) 

In the second half of the year, Mrs. Cook left because of health problems -- I cannot remember if she came back, although I think she did -- and the substitute that took her class had no idea how to discipline. She once left the room after ordering us, when I come back, I don't want to hear any talking, any meowing, or anything like that!  When she left the room, immediately the class broke into noise, and several meows.

I don't remember Mrs. Cook or the substitute saying anything to Kevin about his vulgar song against me. It could be that they did and he just didn't listen. (I wrote this entry about another fourth grade incident where I had been accused of something I didn't do, and Mrs. Cook believed me.)

Basically, bullying was tolerated. 

"So, Tina, why didn't you tell? Why didn't you say anything to a teacher or to your parents?"

Answer:  What good would it have done?

I had already been told by my parents to "ignore them" way back in the first grade. I had learned in Sunday School and church that we were to turn the other cheek and forgive our enemies. I had also been told, either directly or indirectly, that if I fought back, I would be the one who got in trouble, and the bullies would get off scot free. 

Not much has changed since 1972-1973, when I was in fourth grade. 

I'm writing this with mixed feelings. I feel angry right now about what happened. I will process that anger in what are hopefully healthy ways. Sometimes I use this blog as a sort of therapy, writing out things that happened to me in the past so that I can learn from them, and maybe show other people that, "Look, you're not alone; this happened to me as well." 

I may talk about this with my counselor, depending on when my next appointment is. Because I could have forgotten about this incident by then. I've been in therapy off and on since my 20's, and many of my sessions have led me back to childhood bullying. 

I also feel angry for, and sad for, that little girl who thought she had to put up with being bullied and that she felt like she had no one she could turn to. 

But, after several years of therapy, and being in a healthier church situation, especially, I have learned to tell myself that 99.9% of the world doesn't know who I am, and of the less than .1% who do, many of them have a "favorable opinion" of me. 

I can walk into my church and have several people say, "Hi, Tina, how are you?" and some of them really do care about the answer to that question. 

And although I can point to places where, "yes, bullying affected me here, here, and here," I'm no longer bullied. I am doing the work to come to terms with what happened.

But this morning's memory is a bit like the monkey on my back that jumps on me from time to time and tries to tell me that I deserved to be bullying, that I deserved to have Kevin tell me that "someone peed on me." Nope, no one deserves to be treated like that.

I do wonder what happened to Kevin to cause his behavior to change. I've speculated that maybe he suffered abuse and this was the way he handled it, by acting out. If I'm right, I hope he got the help he needed. 

Bullying still goes on, and too many times, nothing concrete is done. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Killing two birds with one stone

This piece should be subtitled, “Or, if this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will!”

I have had a very long, busy day today. Not a “bad” day, just a day where I’ve had to jump from one place to another to another. According to my LifeCycle app, I spent two hours and 32 minutes on the road, and two hours and 12 minutes at the doctor’s —that was for two doctor’s appointments. I sandwiched lunch in between both appointments (pun slightly intended) and was able to come home and rest for a couple of hours before getting back in the car, driving to the church building, where I spent a little over half an hour rehearsing with our praise team before, once again, getting back in the car again and coming home. At the moment, I am in my living room, on the couch, next to a space heater. 

I occasionally sing alto on my praise team. While I am not a Madonna, a Billie Holiday, or even a Taylor Swift, I can carry a tune and I’ve learned to sing a part that I did not grow up singing (I grew up singing soprano). Before the pandemic, we had eight people on stage - two sopranos, two altos, two tenors, and two basses - and we projected the words and music up on a screen. By doing that, I could follow the notes, and by singing next to an alto, I could pretty much learn my part and keep up.

The pandemic changed that.

When we went back to meeting together and singing on stage, we were reduced from eight singers to four singers . . .and because we were also doing (and we still do) an online service, we could no longer project the words and music together. Our “music screen” for our online audience is a “picture in picture” screen, and the only thing that will fit so that they are visible are the words. 

I’m not the world’s most confident alto, and I’m afraid going to four singers brought that out. 

Fortunately, our worship leader believes in a lot of praise, encouragement, and help when needed. He’s currently attempting to get practice recordings of the music we sing in separate soprano/tenor and alto/bass tracks. We have some music already in those practice tracks; if you listen to them in stereo, one ear has the soprano/tenor and the other has the alto/bass. If you’re wearing earbuds and want to listen to your part, just put in the earbud that plays your channel and start listening. 

I’ve had trouble getting the alto part at times, and on one occasion, our worship leader asked his wife, will you sing the part while Tina records it? (His wife is a wonderful singer.) I appreciated her help and I got through the next service.  (Our worship minister once texted me that I got it right more often than not. I keep remembering that when I am feeling shaky on my singing.)

This week, the two songs we’re doing have recordings, but not separate channels for soprano/tenor and alto/bass.

We use an app called Planning Center, which helps church worship leaders with their scheduling and also contains copies of the music we’re using on a particular week. The music is loaded in a PDF file and the recordings are loaded in mp4 or whatever format they happen to be in. 

I am scheduled to sing alto on Sunday.

So, since I was going to spend what turned out to be over two hours on the road today . . . I put that time to good use.

I downloaded both songs from Planning Center to my iPhone, and played them on a loop while driving to the vein doctor’s office (legs look good but left one needs a bit of a tweak), while driving to lunch, while driving down to the urologist’s office for a look at my bladder (which included a trip through the ‘needs its own circle of Dante’s Inferno intersection’, a.k.a. I-285 and GA State Road 400), and then while driving back to the church building for rehearsal. 

The result?

Well, I think it was halfway decent singing. 

Sunday will tell!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

(PS: If absolutely none of this makes sense, it’s because it’s nearly 9:20 p.m., I’ve been on the road and at the doc’s and at practice, and I wanted to write before bed because I’ve committed myself to writing every day. Consider this a practice run, or a draft that is so rough you can feel the bumps on it.)

Yep, they're human too.

I heard a story about a preacher that reminded me that preachers are also human.  Sometimes I think we forget that.

This particular preacher was driving down a busy road, leaving a voicemail for one of his church's members. (I hope he was driving hands-free. 🙂) A driver cut the preacher off.  

The preacher let out a very unChristian word.

Then, to his horror, he remembered that he had not disconnected the phone.

Which meant that the person he was leaving the voicemail for heard the word.

Oops.

So, on Sunday morning, he began the sermon by telling on himself. 

His audience's reaction?

They roared with laughter. 

And at last report, he still has his job. (Some churches might have fired him on the spot.) 

There are several reasons, I think, why the preacher's audience laughed.

One, he was willing to own up to his slip of the tongue and not try to hide it.

Two, he's been candid about some of his past struggles, which makes him relatable to his congregation.

Three, he's been a preacher at that congregation long enough for them to know that he is human and that he messes up.

Four, he brings to his role not only a wealth of knowledge of the Scripture, but a heart full of compassion for the people he serves. 

Five, he's never behaved like he's "all that", rather, he sees his role as being that of a humble servant of God.   

So many "public service" people -- doctors, nurses, first responders, grocery clerks, other service jobs -- have been under so much stress since COVID began. 

But probably none more so than preachers, because they get bombarded with so many, "Why did God allow this to happen to me?" questions. 

They're called to give "spiritual" responses to human questions when they may not even know the answers themselves. 

The people they serve are often so awed by him they think he is God.  Or, they get angry because he is not God, but rather, an imperfect human being. 

Some preachers may need to be called out or confronted on their behavior or on their handling of the Word of God, or on their treatment of the people they serve. 

But my guess is that most of them are people who have a deep desire to serve God and to serve others.

Just like the preacher in this story.

We need to remember that they're human, too.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

(P.S. - If you're reading this and you have a priest, or pastor, or whoever delivers the sermon or homily, just insert their title in place of "preacher". 😊)

I keep thinking I've heard everything, then . . .

Every time I think, "Now I've heard everything," something else comes up and reminds me that no, I haven't heard everything yet.

The latest item on the "now I've heard everything" list, also known as the, "What the . . . (fill in the blank)" list?

You know how at the Bills-Bengals game this past week, when Damar Hamlin showed up to encourage his team?

That wasn't Damar Hamiln.

It was a clone.

You see, Damar Hamlin really died. So the NFL and the FBI substituted a clone because they don't want to admit that Hamlin really died from the COVID-19 vaccine.

This is why Hamlin has not done an interview since he was released from the hospital. And also why, when he went to the Bills-Bengals game, he came dressed in a mask, sunglasses, and hoodie.

The person in the SkyBox that was filmed giving the "heart" signal to his team?

That was the clone.

And by the way, he wasn't really giving the "heart" sign. 

He was flashing Illuminati signals.

This is the theory floated on Twitter by a particular Tweeter whom I will not name. And sadly, there are those going along with it. 

Damar Hamlin decided to troll the trolls by posting a picture of himself posing next to a mural someone painted of Damar making his "heart" gesture and commenting, "Clone".

So let's see:  

Damar Hamlin collapsed from cardiac arrest on January 2nd. But his cardiac arrest wasn't caused by a rare condition called commotio cordis. Or possibly another type of heart condition.

It was caused by the "jab"; i.e. the COVID vaccine.

So the NFL went into coverup mode and brought in a body double to play Damar Hamlin.

He was trained for 72 hours to walk and behave like Hamlin, including the famous heart gesture. 

And it was the FBI that brought in the body double.

When he appears in public -- which he has done rarely -- he wears a mask, sunglasses and hoodie so that people won't know that he's not the real Damar.

This is why he won't show his face and why he hasn't done an interview since being released from the hospital. 

If you sit down and think about it: 

- Wouldn't his family sense that there was something "off" about their son?

- Why would the FBI be interested in bringing in a body double and helping the NFL cover up a death?

- Why would the NFL cover up a player death in the first place?

- Wouldn't the team know that there was something "off" about their friend and teammate? 

Has it occurred to anyone that the reason why Damar Hamlin hasn't done any interviews is because he's still being treated for his heart condition?

That the reason he wears a mask in public is because he has a heart condition and is now immunocompromised? 

That he wears glasses and a hoodie in public because he'd probably be swarmed if people knew who he was? 

I've read YouTube conspiracy comments about the JFK assassination, the RFK assassination, the 1969 moon landing, and the 9/11 attacks. A few days ago, I blocked a Tweeter who commented that they found it hard to believe that 19 "terrorists" took down a whole country with "box cutters" (the words in quotes are from the tweet.) 

Six million Jews died in concentration camps, men did walk on the moon, the birth certificate is real, jet fuel does melt steel, and Oswald acted alone. 

Add to that list: Damar Hamlin does not have a body double.

It becomes very hard to keep your faith in humanity when you read certain comments on social media. These days, I just look at them, shake my head, and move on after a well-deserved eye roll for the commenter.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

I 

Spiritual HOAs

I have never had the pleasure or displeasure of living in a HOA.

HOA, for the uninitiated, stands for “Homeowner’s Association”, and a neighborhood that has a HOA has certain rules you have to follow in order to keep the neighborhood looking nice. For example: the grass can only be so high, only so many people can live in a house at one time, what colors you can paint your house, what decorations you can have on the lawn, etc. etc. (The city of Coral Gables, Florida might qualify as a HOA:  they have no street signs on a pole, according to city ordinances. Their street signs are engraved on stones at the corner and you have to look down to see them. And I have heard that their building code is so strict that it governs the paint color you can use INSIDE your house.) 

While HOA rules are usually well-intentioned, I have heard some horror stories about living in a HOA or trying to be in charge of a HOA. My preacher and his wife were presidents of their HOA for a year and I think they were glad to be shed of the responsibility. 

Today in church, we were talking about religion that is only skin-deep, using Hebrews 4:12 as our jumping off point. The verse says, “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joint and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” 

Our preacher commented on traditions that were well-intentioned, but eventually became more of a “show that I am religious” rather than “this is a reflection of who I am”. Mark 7 tells the story of certain Pharisees and teachers of the law who asked Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with defiled hands?”

They were not referring to our modern Western practice of “wash your hands before dinner” or after going to the bathroom. The hand washing they were talking about was a ceremonial washing, a tradition showing that they were committed to personal purity.  

Commitment to personal purity is good. But eventually, the practice of the ritual became more important than the reason the ritual was being practiced in the first place! 

The outward sign of religion became more important than what was on the inside. 

A HOA can observe all of the rules of paint color, lawn decor, how many cars you can park in the driveway, how many pets you’re allowed to have, and whatever other rules they choose to have. When you drive through a HOA neighborhood, they look neat, tidy, and clean. 

But what goes on in the inside of a HOA home? 

Are there couples who just don’t speak to each other and who are on the verge of divorce?

People addicted to drugs or to alcohol?

Those who abuse their spouse and/or children?

If you just drove through a HOA neighborhood, you’d only see the outside. You’d see the grass nicely cut, the streets swept, and everything kept in order. 

You don’t see the insides of the homes where the families live. 

How many of us live in a spiritual HOA?

Or how many of us attend a house of worship that is a spiritual HOA?

You walk in, dressed in your Sunday best, and when people ask how are you, you’re expected to say, “Fine, and you?” 

The preacher is expected to preach with verve every single time he gets up to the pulpit. 

The more you show up at activities, the more you volunteer, the more active you are, the better a Christian you are. 

But who sees inside you and knows that you haven’t been reading your Bible, or praying? Who knows of the anger you feel towards God because He, for whatever reasons, has not answered your prayers the way you want Him to? 

Who knows of the constant ache in your heart for a loved one who has turned their back on God? 

Who can you tell about your depression, or anxiety, or your doubts about “is God there? Is He real? Does He love me?”

Or are there the unwritten rules of a spiritual HOA, that you have to dress, talk, act a certain way in order to be a “true Christian”? We might give lip service to, “Oh, it’s men that look at the outward things but God looks at the heart,”  but how true is that in most of our houses of worship? 

How deep is our religion? Does the word of God penetrate to the thoughts and attitudes of our heart? Do we let it? Or are we content to live in a spiritual HOA, where we look and act and talk the part of a Christian - take part in our figurative ceremonial hand washing and criticizing those who don’t - and don’t really stop to think about the sin that is in our own heart. 

I absolutely do NOT want to be living in a spiritual HOA, where the most important thing is how you look, talk, and act on the outside. Isn’t the most important thing the inside, and isn’t your action supposed to come from a heart that prompts the action, not the expectations of the spiritual HOA? 

I think that’s what Jesus would say. 

I hope I’m right!

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

“Unspoken”

In the world of Christianese, the word “unspoken,” or the phrase, “I have an unspoken,” is often listed. 

If you have an “unspoken”, it means that you have a prayer request that you’d rather not be made public. 

A July, 2022 article on theunion.com titled “Chaplain’s Satirical List of Troublesome Faith Words” defines “unspoken prayer request” as “when someone requests prayer for themselves but won’t fess up to the thing they did. Or a sly prayer for a sinner who doesn’t know they’re being prayed for.”

Okay, that could be true, and probably why “unspoken” is considered Christianese by many.

I’m not a fan of Christianese — in fact, some Christianese makes me clench my teeth — but there’s a flip side to the word “unspoken” when it comes to prayer requests.

It’s also a way of saying, “Someone I know needs prayers, but the subject needs to remain private.” 

I do believe in prayer. I believe in praying for people. But sometimes people may be too embarrassed to share a prayer request. Or it is about a subject that the person wants to keep private or that needs to be kept private.

So I’m one of those who will say, “A friend of mine has an unspoken prayer request.” 

Usually, I’ll say it like that because the person has said, “You can ask for prayers but I’d rather keep the subject private.” 

So I’ll honor the person’s request. 

God knows what the person needs, and often, a “spoken” is not necessary. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Make the left turn at . . . Loll?

Bugs Bunny, in many of his cartoons, winds up in weird places and then complains, "I KNEW I should have taken that left turn at Alberquerque!" (In the cartoon, Bugs Bunny In King Arthur's Court, he adds, "I will never, never take directions from Ray Bradbury ever again!)

When one man had to make a left turn, he discovered something about his wife he never knew.

In Coal Troll's Blog, written by John M. Williams, a native of Harlan County, Kentucky, Williams describes growing up in Harlan County and comments that "Harlan County is not on the way to anywhere." He's right. If you wind up in Harlan County, there is a 99% chance that you meant to get there. (I was born in Harlan County; my family moved away when I was four but we've made many trips back since. My last visit was in 2019, to scatter a portion of my mother's ashes on her father's grave.) 

After Williams wrote the entry "The Harlan County Way" in February, 2013, he got a total of over 200 comments talking about life in Eastern Kentucky. The majority of the comments were positive memories. 

One man, not born in Harlan County, told the following story, retold in my words:

He'd married a woman born and raised in Harlan who'd moved to Indiana when she was a teenager. On vacation, they decided to go see the woman's sister.  They'd been driving south, so I wouldn't know if they'd turned right or left -- although I suspect it was left, if they were coming from the direction I think they were. 

In any event, when they reached Pineville, Kentucky, there's only one way from Pineville to Harlan, and that is US Route 119. It's been repaved, widened, repaved, and rerouted over the years. (I remember riding over the road one time and seeing two construction machines parked on the side, one with "CAT" and the other with "Caterpillar" on the side.) When I drove it in 2019, it took about a half hour to get from Pineville to Harlan. My cousin later reminded me that it used to take about an hour and I said, "Yeah, I thought it was a long drive from Pineville!"

The driver in the comment was driving on US 119, looking for the turnoff to Loll. 

He was quite surprised when his wife informed him (his words were "chastised soundly") for missing the road. So, he made a U-turn and drove back down US 119, then made yet another U-turn and drove back towards Harlan, this time much more slowly. 

His wife told him to take the turn at Loyall. 

Why? he asked. 

This is where my sister lives, she responded.

In Harlan County, Loyall is not pronounced like the word "loyal." It is pronounced, "L-O-L-L."

He commented, that was the day that he learned that when you turned onto US 119 at Pineville, his wife "changed languages and needed a translator."

I believe it. She stopped speaking English and started speaking Appalachian. 

I spent almost five years of my life in Harlan County. I still count myself as a Harlan Countian, even though I have not lived there since 1968. These days, I proofread depositions from a court reporting firm in Louisville. (Someone once asked me, "Do you pronounce the capital of Kentucky LEW-e-ville, Louis-ville, or Loo-ville?" My answer:  "You actually pronounce it Frankfort.")  Specifically, I proofread depositions for civil cases, and many of those depositions have come from Eastern Kentucky. Whenever I see the words, "Mamaw" and "Papaw" in a deposition, I just mentally nod my head and say, "Yep, they're from Kentucky." (I know there's other areas of the country that use "Mamaw" and "Papaw." 

Here's one other reason I knew Loyall was pronounced "Loll". 

My father graduated from high school there, from the now-closed Loyall High School.

So, Bugs Bunny, next time you turn right at Alburquerque, if you wind up in Harlan County, don't be shocked if you think they speak a foreign language there. 

Because they do. And for many people, that language is the language of home.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.