My Offer to Home College My Grandson

My Offer to Home College My Grandson

(Warning: Satire, not to be taken literally)

Marion D. Aldridge

My grandson, a junior in high school, recently began the formidable task of looking at colleges. He’s smart and makes good grades, and he’s also an all-area football kicker. Academics and Athletics: the Big Two in South Carolina—so he has a fine resume.

The elephant in the room is a price tag that can be as high as $60,000 per year. Sticker shock! Yikes! A quarter of a million dollars for four years.

So I made the offer to Home College my grandson. Why not? He would enjoy the ultimate small school. I’d sit him at my kitchen table every day for two percent of the fee. What a deal! I think I’ll recruit him. Bargain tuition of $1199.98 per year.

Here are excerpts of the curriculum I envision.

Physical Fitness: For starters, my grandson can sweep, mop, and vacuum inside the house, and plant a garden outside, weeding it weekly. This will also provide lessons in nutrition, especially if he prepares the meals.

Responsibility: After his morning chores, he can wake me from my morning nap for lunch.

Literature. My one promise is he will never be asked to read James Joyce’s Ulysses. He would, of course, read Chaucer, Agatha Christie, Shakespeare, and Maya Angelou. After those, I’m flexible.

Science. We’d take field trips to the Galapagos Islands, the Chattooga River, and NASA. He could hire out to intern at the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, and I could go along and chaperone. We could take in a Cubs or White Sox game and study velocity of pitches, the arc and distance of home runs.

History. The Revolutionary War happened in South Carolina. That’s simple enough. Trips to Camden, Cowpens, and Ninety Six. We could try to find and excavate one of Francis Marion’s camps among the Tupelo trees on Snow Island.

Ethics: I’d stick with the Golden Rule. (Bonus information: The Seven Deadly Sins do not specifically mention blueberry muffins.)

Math. He could tutor his grandmother since he is already way beyond her ability to tutor him. He went beyond my skills years ago, too. His aunt could teach him statistics. Baseball games at Fenway Park would be the place for geometric and statistical calculations.

Music: With a playlist of songs from the 1960s, the Beatles, Ray Charles, the Mamas and the Papas, the Rolling Stones, Elvis Presley, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Stevie Wonder, the Supremes, Buddy Holly, Etta James, and James Brown, his music education would be complete. Class dismissed.

Theology. I figure we could go to a cemetery and sit a spell. Walk around some. He could think about life and death. How many college kids take advantage of this opportunity?

Law. We could visit courtrooms for a few days. He would begin to wonder if these people were crazy or just mean. The criminals, not the lawyers.

Politics: I taught him everything I know about government before he was twelve. Government should benefit the governed, not the governors. That’s a hard lesson for politicians to learn.

Psychology: I will teach my grandson all the psychobabble I know, because I think most of it’s true. Life is a journey. One event or one decision will not make or break you. This too shall pass. One day at a time. Keep on keeping on. Hang in there. Every day is classwork, not the final exam. Mind your own business. The goal is progress, not perfection.

That’s my offer.

By the way, the kitchen table seats four. Do the math: four times $1199.98 equals $4,799.92. That’s enough to buy us all ice cream at the ball game. My treat.

Why Would a Baptist Observe Lent?

Why Would a Baptist Observe Lent?

Spiritual discipline doesn’t come easily. When was the last time you (1) fasted from food, skipping meals for an entire day? When were you last intentionally (2) silent, not talking, but spending extended time in (3) meditation, (4) contemplation and/or (5) prayer?

(The best book for a Protestant to read on the subject of spiritual discipline is Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster.)

Spiritual disciplines, other than (6) going to meetings (for example, for worship or Bible study), were not part of my childhood church. We didn’t talk about meditation or fasting, even though they are thoroughly biblical. (7) Simplicity sounded like something the Quakers would do and (8) confession something the Catholics did. Other faiths emphasize rituals, ranging from (9) chanting to (10) pilgrimage. What did any of that have to do with a Baptist?

Furthermore, we not only ignored, but we often disparaged other denominations or religions that practiced their faith in ways we didn’t understand. (11) Solitude. I never heard of God calling a Baptist to be a monk or a nun.

When I finally heard of Ash Wednesday (which falls on March 1 this year), I began to pay attention, not only to my Catholic friends who gave up meat on Fridays but also to an increasing number of young Protestant friends who forfeited Cokes for Lent. What was going on?

Discipline is a perfectly good Bible word. Proverbs 5: 23: “For lack of discipline, they will die, led astray by their own great folly.” My parents and teachers had been my disciplinarians when I was a kid. As an adult, I was on my own.

The Lenten season (a period of about forty days prior to Easter, when the days lengthen—that’s where the word “Lenten” comes from) seemed as good a time as any to restrict myself in some way, to see if I was tough enough to do something for Jesus’ sake. I doubt I’ll ever be called on to do anything really difficult, like being a martyr, but why not practice self-restraint in small ways to see what I’m made of? If I can’t give up something enjoyable for a few weeks, what kind of Christian am I? Can I give up television for Lent, even though it includes the beginning of baseball season? Can I give up sodas? Or alcohol? Can I give up Facebook? Eating red meat? Drinking coffee?

People ask me, “Can you drink tea?” or “What about Fridays?” You can do anything you choose to do. This is your discipline, your choice.

“There is grace in suffering. Suffering is part of the training program for wisdom.” Ram Dass

I have friends who try to lose weight during Lent. That’s fine, if it’s helpful. I have friends who try to give up something permanently, like cigarette smoking, by not smoking during Lent. Some add something, beginning to read their Bible daily, or journaling. Any way you can build or strengthen your character might be a worthy discipline.

Whenever I find myself thinking about and being tempted by whatever the restriction involves (coffee, TV or Twitter), I have the opportunity to consider spiritual realities: Why am I doing this?

Any soul-searching is better than spirituality as usual.

Five Star Dining in South Carolina

Having the opportunity to spend two weeks in South Carolina in May, 2016, after wintering in New Hampshire, I decided to do some research about food in the Palmetto State.

My first night home, Sally fixed a huge meal of roast beef, rice and gravy, green beans and salad. That was a good start—a classic.

The culinary centerpieces of my sojourn to the South were two weddings at which I officiated. One was on the coast, or as we say in South Carolina, at the beach: the Wild Dunes Resort on the Isle of Palms. The setting was magnificent, the food was elegant, the wedding successful. The second wedding was also typically Southern—barbeque (mustard based, vinegar based, catsup based, and hot), cole slaw, rice and hash, served in a cabin beside a lake in the woods near where I grew up, the Horse Creek Valley. Sweet tea. Perfection.

But, three meals a day must be eaten, so I did what I could to enjoy the weekdays as well as the weekends.

Of course, Jenna and Lake came by the house for breakfast one morning before school. I fixed bacon and banana/blueberry waffles, a simple breakfast, but a favorite. Speaking of breakfast, at the Charleston/Isle of Palms wedding, son-in-law Tom fixed) blueberry muffins. Tom has not fed a teenage boy (his nephew Lake) blueberry muffins in a while so he had to prepare a second batch so the adults would have something to eat.

Ted and Marcia Godfrey took me out to eat at Cola’s one night, one of Columbia’s restaurants for fine dining. I had the crispy flounder (scored and flash fried) with apricot shallot sauce and jasmine rice. Nice. Very nice. Very very nice. This is a Charleston specialty but I’m glad it made its way to Columbia.

Speaking of seafood, tonight, Sunday, I’m making shrimp and salmon and grits for my family. Since shrimp and grits are not particularly common in New England, it seemed the right thing to do before heading back (Monday morning) to the frozen Northland.

The best part of many of my meals has been the location—our back porch. Whether I’m eating French toast for breakfast or a pimento cheese sandwich for lunch, it’s hard to improve on the ambiance. Birds at the bird feeder. Flowers of a dozen colors. Butterflies. The cat at my feet. Squirrels chasing each other. Tea with mint from our garden while I sit and read. The weather was straight out of Southern mythology: perfect, mild, pleasant.

Based on two weeks of research, I’d like to recommend the victuals of South Carolina to all my friends. Five stars.

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire is not, technically, in New Hampshire. It’s in Vermont. Hanover is on one bank of the Connecticut River, and my favorite hangout is just on the other side.

(I understand the importance of rivers separating states. I was born on the shore of the Savannah River, in Savannah, Georgia, but grew up and went to high school in North Augusta, South Carolina. In-state tuition for Clemson was on the South Carolina side of the river. Rivers make a difference. But I digress.)

My faithful blogosphere friends understand that I am in New Hampshire for six months. That doesn’t keep me from slipping across the Connecticut River to walk in Norwich, Vermont. While that’s a beautiful village, with an interesting store called Dan and Whits (“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”), that’s not my favorite place either.

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire is King Arthur Flour. My favorite bakers in South Carolina, Mark and Angie Lowrey at Crust Bake House in Columbia, told me about King Arthur Flour before I came up here. Others did as well, then, I forgot its name. But if you settle in the Upper Valley of the Connecticut River, you will soon hear about King Arthur Flour.

The residents of the area seemed to be inordinately proud of King Arthur. I was told you could take tours there, but you can’t. That’s because, actually, it’s not a flour factory. That part of the business is in Kansas where the wheat grows. They cultivate Maple Trees in this part of the world. Are you following this? My favorite place in New Hampshire is on the Vermont side of the Connecticut River where they celebrate wheat harvested and processed in Kansas.

What King Arthur Flour does extremely well is bake bread and pastries. I’m eating a sticky bun right now. They teach baking to amateur chefs and professionals. This is where Mark and Angie ((of Columbia Crust fame) learned to bake. Since I began visiting Crust Bake House and spending approximately $50-$100 each week on bread, raspberry muffins, cookies, scones, biscuits, and assorted pastries too numerous to catalog, I say these King Arthur folks taught Mark and Angie well. Crust Bake House once posted a notice that they were looking for part-time help to wash dishes. I considered applying, but the notice required that the employee have a good attitude. I decided my best option was to remain a faithful customer and not complicate our lives.

After arriving in New Hampshire and exploring a variety of bakeries, coffee shops, and restaurants, I decided to search for King Arthur Flour. (My favorites on the New Hampshire side of the river are Umpleby’s, Lou’s, Market Table, and the Dirt Cowboy, all excellent options. Serious question: Why would anyone ever go to Starbucks and purchase one of their recently unfrozen cardboard concoctions when there is a local bakery nearby? Human behavior puzzles me.) I found the King Arthur Bakery and discovered why it has achieved cult-like status. It’s a bakery on steroids. They have every pastry and bread imaginable, more even than Crust. I’ve had chocolate croissants in Belgium and raspberry croissants in Paris, but at King Arthur Flour you can buy a chocolate raspberry croissant. King Arthur sells soups and sandwiches. They sell pizza and salads. They have a gift shop where you can pay way too much for King Arthur pancake mix or vanilla from Mexico.

You can eat three meals a day with King Arthur, not in the healthy way of a South Carolina restaurant where you can consume grits, sausage, eggs, and biscuits for breakfast, devour a meat and three vegetables for lunch, and enjoy a barbeque sandwich with French fries for supper.

At King Arthur Flour, you would eat a couple of sticky buns for breakfast, have a Rueben sandwich with bread made on the premises for lunch, then purchase soup, salad, a blueberry muffin, and cookies to take home for supper. I hate to admit it, but now I’m trying to get my King Arthur weekly bill down to $100.

My Favorite Place in New Hampshire: King Arthur Flour (and Bakery)

 

Take Care of Yourself

About twenty years ago, as our daughters were becoming adults, I began using a parting mantra that was new to me. Instead of a simple “Good-bye” or “I love you” or “Be good,” I began to say, “Take care of yourself.”

The transition was intentional. No one had explicitly taught me self-care. I wanted Jenna and Julie to know it was not only okay, but also it was important that they care for themselves.

Sunday school classes, when I was growing up, taught children to memorize short Bible verses. One of those was “Bear one another’s burdens,” found in Galatians 6: 2. The lesson is that we are to help one another in times of need. No one in my family or church showed us, much less asked us to memorize, Galatians 6: 5, which reads, “Bear your own burdens.”

The result is that a lot of good Christian folks became excellent at taking care of other people and not so good at taking care of themselves. Taking care of others was considered a virtue and looking out for yourself was somehow sinful, egotistical and wrong. So, some of us went to work when we were sick. We stifled our opinions and gave into the whims of others. We didn’t stand a chance against bullies. We served others and didn’t allow them to serve us. We were big on Duty. Sometimes we overfunctioned in our zeal to take care of others.

At some point, I realized that Jesus said we are to love others as we love ourselves (Matthew 22: 37-40), not more than, not less than. I am part of God’s creation. Why would I take care of the “you” part of creation and not the “me” part of creation?

So, I changed my thinking. That is allowed. Actually, it is required if we are to grow!

So, don’t feel the need to argue when I say, “Take care of yourself.” It’s good advice.

A Father’s Toast at His Daughter’s Wedding (by Marion Aldridge)

Julie and Tom come from parents and families that have been good examples to them for almost three decades. I am grateful that their success in marriage does not depend on one of us giving a brilliant toast on this wedding night that will give them the keys to success. They already possess those keys. Now it is time for them to live out what they already know. Pray for love, but not for perfection. Learn to live with failure, for it will come, and then pray for grace to move on and let go. Pray for plenty of time to walk through life together, and a bit of time for independence. Enjoy beauty. Value truth. Work hard. Take naps. Listen to one another. Listen. Listen. Treat one another as adults. Good marriages need two strong and competent partners. Be responsible. Be smart. Be kind. Be patient. Forgive. Hang in there. Keep on keeping on. Show up. Be patient for the right reasons and be impatient for the right reasons. Be happy. Eat well. Sleep well. Keep growing.

Third Blog on Baltic Sea Cruise: Being a Tourist

Every now and then I write high-minded thoughts about the great philosophical, theological and political questions of life. But make no mistake: I love to play. I love to see new sites, experience new sensations, hear new sounds.

While there is a season to ponder larger-than–life matters, there is also a time to gawk and just say, “Wow!” So, on our cruise to eight nations bordering the Baltic Sea, we did a lot of things that tourists do—we laughed a lot, we danced a bit. I smoked a couple of cigars and drank excellent coffee sitting at outdoor cafes with my friend Randy Wright. We ate too much. When we returned from the Russian ballet (Swan Lake), the cruise ship offered us vodka shots. I’ve never had a vodka shot in my life but ended up drinking Sally’s as well. Then somebody else’s. Don’t need to do that again, but it was my one time to be in Russia, so…

Great, memorable, stunning, interesting, humorous, awesome, impressive experiences and sites. Life is good. God is good.

Using Mantras as a Response to Addiction

Mantras are usually associated with religious rituals, especially in Hinduism and Buddhism. Mantras involve the repetition of a word or phrase to help with awareness, focus and dedication. The refrain can be spoken or silent. It can be, “Thank you, Jesus,” or “Om…”

Mantras have not been a part of my religious tradition, but, years ago, Dear Abby got my attention with a letter about the usefulness of mantras in a secular setting. If I remember correctly, the letter-writer had been overweight and lost a lot of pounds as she matured. High school friends, when they saw her, commented endlessly about her weight-loss: How did it happen? Why did it happen? Tell me about it. To avoid getting mired in a conversation about a painful subject she wanted to put behind her, she developed a mantra, “That’s a part of my life I don’t talk about any more. Let’s discuss something else.”

Unwilling to settle for that, some of these acquaintances attempted to manipulate the conversation to return to the topic of their choice, her weight: “Come on. We were great friends. How did you lose that weight? You can tell me.”

She repeated the mantra: “That’s a part of my life I don’t talk about any more. Let’s discuss something else.” No matter how tempting the question, the mantra worked.

In dealing with addictions and other bad habits, a mantra can be helpful. A mantra for yourself is even more powerful than one you speak to someone else. Here are some to consider:

• Put the fork down.
• Turn the computer/video game/iPhone off. Turn it off.
• Go home.
• Shut my mouth.
• I’m not in charge of this.
• Get out of the kitchen.
• Put your hands in your pockets.
• Just say No.
• Walk away.
• I am somebody.
• Do something different tonight.
• Don’t buy this today.
• Let it go.

My life is better because of a handful of mantras that keep me focused.

Signs of Addiction

“To be alive is to be addicted, and to be alive and addicted is to stand in need of grace.” Gerald May

For reasons that go back a few generations, I am interested in addiction. I have studied it, and I have experienced it! I have written about it in my book, Overcoming Adolescence. In my opinion, a person can be addicted to about anything, from alcohol to hobbies to food to exercise to money to a need for approval.

Here is a short list of signs, clues and hints that someone has crossed a boundary and could be addicted:

• No “Off” button
• Out of control
• Denial, dismissive or discounting the questionable conduct as normal
• Compulsive
• Lack of moderation/excessive
• Comments and feedback about a particular behavior from family and friends
• Bad decisions made to maintain the habit
• Hiding the behavior
• Financial impact that is disruptive to the family budget
• Self-justification and defensive
• Withdrawal symptoms if the behavior stops
• Continued activity even after negative consequences
• Shutting out other options and activities
• Obsessive

The purpose of this blog post is not to give unhappy people ammunition to diagnose, blame or call out someone whose behavior seems crazy to them. Maybe the person’s pastime is a problem. Maybe it isn’t. Sometimes, an intervention is needed, but be careful of playing psychiatrist or analyst in areas where you are not qualified. Most of us participate in conduct of one form or another that some people don’t like or understand. To a teetotaler, someone who has a glass of wine with a meal is an alcoholic. Overweight people are tempted to call any thin person anorexic. Maybe you wouldn’t spend money collecting that “junk” your sister collects, but if it does her and no one else any harm, leave her alone!

Addiction is real and can create problems for an individual and in relationships. Beware!

Scents, Smells, Odors, Aromas

One spring day, a few years ago, I was driving with the windows down.  I smelled something that was familiar from the distant past, but not an aroma from nature. Nor was it one of the harsh, caustic stenches from my fifth grade chemistry set.  It took a week, but finally I had an “Aha” moment.  I had smelled gunpowder, specifically the odor that immediately followed the “Bang” of our cowboy cap pistols delivered by Santa Claus.  To make the pistol pop, we inserted thin paper strips, which came in rolls.  The red ribbons contained minute amounts of gunpowder. Then, we would point the pistol toward our enemy and pull the trigger.  Pop.  Bam.  Pow.  Bang.  Nobody liked to be killed, but we could put a lot of drama into being wounded.

A game we played at organized parties involved putting various substances with distinct aromas into small medicine bottles.  Each blindfolded player then sniffed and guessed what each bottle contained.  Some of the more interesting scents were…

Almond Extract

Cinnamon

Coffee

Garlic

Lemon juice

Limburger cheese

Maple syrup

Mint toothpaste

Pine-Sol

Rubbing alcohol

Suntan lotion

Vicks Vapo-rub

Vinegar

Outdoors, every spring and summer, in our part of the world, we are blessed with the aroma of hyacinths, gardenias, roses, lavender and honeysuckle.

 My dad, who was a serious rose grower, said the first thing anyone ever did when near a rose was to smell it.  One of the tragedies (might be too strong a word, might not be) of life is that roses from florists are without aroma.  Bummer.

 The best fragrance?  None of the above.  I vote for a bakery!