Those Collective Exhale Moments

When certain Samson brothers walk away from this community, no doubt, everyone can breathe a little easier.  And you know exactly who I'm referring to.  Those emotionally volatile guys.  The ones that make great soap opera characters but not so much real friends.

And thankfully, there aren't too many of these odd-men-out within this community, but they are there.  For now...

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Level-headedness (fueled by humility) is one of those guaranteed traits Christian men need to thrive, long-term, within communities like Samson Society.  

But many men aren't anywhere close to level-headed much less humble.  Instead, their (heated) emotions (particularly when they're tired / bored) take over.  When that occurs, most everyone takes notice, especially so when it's an inappropriate / childish response.  And that's when the distancing begins in earnest.  

Of course, distancing isn't an attribute found within a thriving Christian community of men.  

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I witnessed this firsthand during a sophomore Spring Samson retreat (in-person Samson community) at / around Highlands, NC many years ago.  One brother was always looking for an opportunity to "flare up" so long as said opportunity had one particular Samson brother's name attached to it.  Think of this dynamic within the same vein as a sibling rivalry.  And eventually, it got ugly between these two.  And from there, everyone's point of view changed.

My naivete cloistered this incident as isolated.  Boy was I ever wrong.  

Please Touch Me (Now With Feeling)!

I've been volunteering this week as a "Group Leader / Guide" at our church's Summer '26 Vacation Bible School.  I've done this - at various churches - in years past, but only when VBS was a "traditional" AM event.

Firstly, let me just say that I'm so pleased to see so many young men volunteering compared to when this event was traditionally in the AM.  It's amazing to see ALL of the boys' groups being led by men (most of which are much younger than Rob).  This is absolute win-win for both the boys and young men.  

Because of my sabbatical (rebellion?) - so to speak - from volunteering over the past 3-4 years, I can't help but feel like a pariah, having returned a bit hesitantly (my youngest daughter is volunteering in kind).  As such, earlier this week in particular, I really, really, really longed to be affirmed via touch by some of these other men.  Perhaps a shoulder or neck squeeze?  Anyone?  Anyone?

Nope.  (& keep in mind all of them know me - primarily via my daughter.)

Instead, I got a few stupid fist bumps as well as simple, haphazardly placed smacks across the upper back (with backhands).

And the latter was from a man I've known (& haven't seen regularly in many, many years) for close to a decade.  A man who I've (recently) intentionally walked with through three of the most challenging pastoral years of his life.

*Sigh*

Why?

Like most men within our church, there's no greater fear than being labeled a queer.  Hence, they all drive full-size pickups, wear their ballcaps backwards & never, ever touch other men in a way that might qualify them as such.

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Therefore, I sit quietly and watch the clock whilst attempting to ignore the desire for masculine touch.  Strong, intentional, affirming touch.  I so needed it.  As such, whilst not receiving it, I only felt like that much more of a freak.  (Surely, it's not just me!?!)

The irony is the four boys I'm overseeing / leading (3rd / 5th graders) are just as overall physical as any / all elementary-age boys ever were.  They're constantly vying for space by pushing / shoving.  In fact, they became so physically unruly at one point last night that I had to usher them out of the "Science Lab" space prematurely (by about 10 minutes) and back into the vacant Sanctuary (Worship Center) to await the evening's VBS dismissal.  

Did this bother them in the least?  Nope.  For they only continued exhausting their frustrations via their furious hand grabbing / physical posturing right there in the pew.

And it shouldn't have bothered them.  For they needed that physicality to exert / exhaust their boredom / pent up emotional energy healthily (by this point in these boys' full days it was getting quite close to bedtime).

Had they been girls, the "punishment / consequences" (mini-quarantine) that I brought upon them would have manifested embarrassment / shame resulting in deathly quiet demeanors / silent tears driven by fear (WILL HE TELL OUR PARENTS?).  

Why?

Girls are taught early on to suck up their frustrations / boredom, and I would argue, most do not have nearly the wellspring of physical energy that boys do.

It's sad to think that very soon, these boys' playfulness will be culturally lassoed in kind.  Cultural norms / demands will stare their parents directly in the face.  And those demands will strike fear in their hearts by whispering:

"For goodness sakes, whatever you do, don't let him turn out queer."

And that's when everything will change.

Why Are There So Many Churches In Mississippi?

I had the privilege to attend a baptismal service this AM, and it was a delight to witness.  There were four new converts to Christianity that were baptized:  my female (professional) friend who's around 35 years of age, a preadolescent boy, a late 20s female and early 30s male.  Both of the women were relatively new moms, each married (their husbands were present, one of which was baptized).  All four were baptized out of doors in a "horse trough" adjacent to the modest churchhouse. 

And speaking of the churchhouse, it was a dump.  Picture a prefabricated metal building with an outdated (color) brick veneer front facade.  If I had to guess, it was erected / constructed sometime in the '70s or '80s perhaps as a small flooring showroom or somesuch.  The Jackson Metro area this church resides in is zoned industrial, but as is often the case in Mississippi, when a building sits vacant within these enclaves for any length of time, owners will do just about anything to sell (in order to avoid the continual burden of property taxes).  But, in order to make a sale palatable to church bodies, zoning laws must either be "updated" or exemptions granted.   

The parishioners present were 98% white, and there were around fifty overall in attendance.  And yes, you're correct to assume that the pastor was bi-vocational, and what a sweet, kindhearted white man this was!

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One of my daughters is slated to be baptized prior to the end of '25.  The church that she's a member of is part of a denomination that's well represented in Mississippi, and the church itself (member count) is likely 15-20 times larger than the church I attended this AM.

If you were to chronicle all of the churches in Mississippi today, 90% of them would fall in between these two extremes, and the remaining few would consist of a very small quantity of multi-site mega churches and the ever fluid collection of house churches.

Churches, churches, churches.  They're everywhere in Mississippi, but the vast majority, I believe, are best represented via the one I spent two hours in this AM.  Why?

Shame.

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Mississippi is a state overflowing with shame-filled folks.  Some of that shame is rooted in simply being Mississippians, but the vast majority of it finds its origins in individuals' histories.  

A local friend of mine has parents who both divorced (from their first spouses) prior to marrying each other / reproducing.  These folks are highly educated / intelligent Christians who're VERY WELL ESTABLISHED / INFLUENTIAL within their (my) community (well loved by all who come in fortunate contact with them).  Their modus operandi for dealing with the shame from those initial (obviously very short-lived) divorces was to bury it, therefore they never divulged it to their children (& somehow they strong-armed their families to do the same).  

Isn't that weird?  Perhaps.  But, in many ways, I kinda think they were wise.  For their children / grandchildren have excelled.

Nonetheless, if you were to meet these wonderful Christian people, you'd NO IDEA they had any shame surrounding that portion of their individual histories whatsoever.

But they're the exception.

Almost everyone else in the Magnolia State gets seriously mired down in the deep seated collateral damage that coincides with regrettable portions of their lives.  It's simply baked into our humanity. 

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My wife and I have worked hard to teach our kidlets about the permanency / weight of stupidity (stupid is a verb) and how it can seemingly forever undermine one's sense of self worth.  And mostly this teaching has been via our commitment to each other / them through their impressionable childhoods.  

For we wouldn't mind them getting baptized in the church I attended this AM, but only if they're choosing to do so is well justified.  

Tiny, dumpy churches mostly exist for deeply ashamed Mississippians.  These folks will forgo (for themselves & their dependents) the bountiful resources available to them within larger, more established (denominatory) churches simply due to the fact that they're convinced that they're too dirty to belong / feel comfortable there.

Let me repeat that:

Tiny, dumpy churches mostly exist for deeply ashamed Mississippians.  These folks will forgo (for themselves & their dependents) the bountiful resources available to them within larger, more established (denominatory) churches simply due to the fact that they're convinced that they're too dirty to belong / feel comfortable there.

Think of it this way.  It's like white people thinking like black people when it comes to their church home.  

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In conclusion, I wonder if this same negative, shame-filled outlook is what motivates pastors (like the one who officiated this morning's baptismal service) to forgo attending seminary (or at times, any form of higher education for that matter) in light of simply "winging it" from their homely pulpits.  I mean, it's not like these men are dumbasses.  If you're going to do any form of preaching / pastoring, you certainly can't be low intelligence.  Therefore, seminary / higher ed is certainly an option for them, yet they choose to not move in that direction.

Therefore, absolutely, these pastors can absolutely be collaterally damaged.  Seriously damaged.  I've seen it (some of these men are involved in Samson Society).  

Shame is the second most powerful force on planet Earth.  Masculinity is the first.  How different Mississippi would look if we could simply get a grip on our shame.

Consuming Strife, Perpetuating Envy & Ultimately Relegating Tribalism (Your Washing Machine Jerusalem)

As humans, we're hard pressed to not become more and more biased / cliquish as we age.  Why?

Advancing forward year to year inevitably compiles situational biases as life is lived out.  And even the most high-spirited of us, whilst cornered, will divulge their private prejudices (if oh so subtlety).  

How might one resist this inevitability / slow down it's wane (infection) on our grey matter?

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I believe your greatest weapon against this is curiosity.  A true commitment to staying genuinely curious towards other human beings, their lives and viewpoints.  And this curiosity must be a driver of questions, and definitely NOT to incriminate by proving contrast (between yourself & someone else) but instead as my young friend Bobby would wield it.

Bobby is the son of one of our church elders.  He's in his late 20s, but has the intelligence / emotional maturity of a 10-12 year old.  As such, life for him is fresh and new every day because he doesn't have the intelligence (confidence / obliqueness / memory) of an adult.  And Bobby isn't one of these shy "kids".  Instead, he's vibrant and full of life, constantly on the edge of a demure adolescent outlook though never achieving that milestone.  

Bobby never meets a stranger, and if he has any inkling that someone's willing to engage with him, he's going to work hard to satiate his curiosity by interrogating.  But due to him having the outlook of a 10-12 year old, it's readily apparent that there's no underlying self-seeking motive within his approach.  Instead, he's genuinely programmed to learn (what his limited brain will allow), and though it can be disconcerting at times to always be on the receiving end of that, Bobby's approach stands to reason for me as a Christian.

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Removing oneself from social media is another step towards maintaining a point of view that's centered on wholesale love in its purest form.

Westerners wholeheartedly put their faith in corporations.  Moreso than in any other institution (think government, family).  And this faith is very difficult to shake unless longstanding corporate brands begin to habitually disappoint and therefore lose their coveted brand luster.

Technology companies, due to the almost miraculously sophisticated work they do, gain and maintain corporate credence much faster than their Blue Chip brethren.  For a software application / online "world" appears light years more mystical than a washing machine or automobile.  

Therefore, we get lazy as consumers and hooked into "worshipping at the thrones" of these massively overvalued social media companies by giving them enormous amounts of attention / time.  Attention / time with digital creations that our minds simply weren't designed to handle / engage with sans tremendously negative influence.  For social media's one purpose is to generate strife / dissonance amongst its users (primarily through envy).  And this strife isn't, of course, face-to-face.  Instead, it's one step removed since it's solely catalogued online where avatars represent and, in turn, tribes are reinforced.

Are there good intentions behind many of those who engage in social media?  I think so.  But social media's main goal is to deeply hook with the one goal of "learning" as much as they can catalog about their billions of users.  For this data is very, very valuable in terms of actively manipulating via advertising.  

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When you purchase a washing machine, you bring it home, plug it into the wall and start washing clothes.  It's a closed loop transaction.  If the machine performs / holds up to your satisfaction, you may choose to purchase another from the same corporation years into the future.  As such, there's a clear divide between you and the corporation since your decision to buy was one and done.

Imagine a washing machine that's free and seemingly the most sophisticated available, but since it costs you nothing, the corporation that provided it has full discretion to gather all manner of data about its use by your catalogued household.  And that corporation readily sells that data to other corporate entities from every conceivable corner of the free enterprise system.  At the same time, the clothes you wash in the machine (along with all the inevitable soiling therein) become entangled / enmeshed (& vice versa) in light of your chosen washing machine Jerusalem.   

Hence, if you've got a ton of dirty laundry to clean, that amounts to an awful lot of granular details being loosed into the plumbing at various pressurized degrees.  Inevitably, your clothes, because they're "communal cleaned", don't look nor wear as they did prior to washing, and that's due to the residue / bleed over that's impossible to avoid with the free washing machine / its communally plumbed system.

But over time, and due to the (seemingly overnight) billions of free washing machine user base, you quickly grow into wearing clothes that look, feel and smell like everyone else's (solely within your Jerusalem, right?).  For they're "everywhere / being worn by everybody".

And, oh my goodness, let's not forget that the washing machine is free!

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Earlier this year, I had dinner with my aforementioned, low intelligence friend, Bobby.  Unfortunately, my work day (it was a Friday) was the absolute worst it's ever been (since coming to work for my parents in 2013).  How I wish, in light of this, that I'd simply postponed our time together.

But instead, I followed through, meeting Bobby as we'd planned in spite of my foul mood.

In light of my frustrating day, my tongue became sharper and sharper throughout the meal.  I cut Bobby down easily with my cruel quips / "observations".  

As you can imagine, my friend is easily confused by any form of sarcasm.  As such, if he's a target to enough of it, he'll quickly shut down in frustration.  By the time I had him back to his parents' abode, he was sealed tight (lipped).  

From there, I drove to the Y (for an early evening swim) feeling like such the louse.  For I knew that juncture would change the course of our friendship forever.

Yet, come Sunday morning, Bobby immediately made a beeline to Rob in order to let me know how he'd forgiven me for being such the asshole two days prior.

I remember thinking it was too soon.  And it was.  But Bobby valued the friendship / relationship more than his feelings.  In other words, he put those aside - immediately - in light of lost time / opportunity if our friendship were to completely go south.  

And I realize Bobby isn't a typical late 20s adult.  Nonetheless, I can learn from him and his approach both as a curious bug and a forgiving, faithful companion.  

As such, this is what I know.  I must remember too steer clear of situational strife (to the best of my ability) prior to engaging with him or others in light of my tendency to be influenced negatively therein.  For it truly does bleed over / change me, for the worse, from the inside out.

The Very Hard Work Of Fathering Myself

The most difficult first step in learning to father yourself is to admit you must take on this position.  In other words, one must come to grips with the fact that there ain't no older male (bio or otherwise) that's going to step up on your behalf.  And that's depressing to process.  Especially if you're deeply desiring to be fathered / are cognizant of the fact of the benefits therein.  

And, of course, when it comes to being fathered, time is of essence.  Otherwise, serious missteps may very well result as you inevitably mature forward (physically, at least).  

What's even more depressing to process is when you actually have a bio father that's present in your life + you're his only child, and still, no (decidedly intentional) fathering occurs. 

To summarize, fathering or being fathered is having an older male come alongside with the intention of demonstrating firsthand disciplined techniques / methodologies for bettering oneself.  And this bettering can fall into categories of physical, emotional, spiritual.  But here's the kicker:  this man is demonstrating in line with both his recognition and intimate knowledge of the younger man.

One quick sidetone before I get into the meat of this post.  When I was in middle school (a true low point - as it is for so many boys - in my boyhood), my mom was a part-time bookkeeper at an aerobics studio (it was the '80s) in northeast Jackson.  The studio had two sizable workout rooms (cut pile peachy / pink-colored carpet!), one of which was utilized for Shotokan karate classes twice weekly.  My best friend & me were initial students of this class, and our Sensei, Mr. Terry V., was the most respectful, kindhearted father figure (outside of my dad) I'd known up to that time.  And it's important to know that Mr. V. advocated for Rob via encouragement and opportunity.  He was such the masculine asset for such a disheartening time as that. 

Nevertheless, a neighborhood bully (his mom also worked at the studio) showed up one day, and before I knew it, both he and his best friend (who was just as intimidating) became regular students.  Every opportunity Scott had to posture / mock me, he seized, therefore it didn't take long for me to quit outright.  

What's truly unfortunate about this outcome has to do with the absence of any patriarchal involvement.  For my dad had to have been privy to the 12 months+ that I'd invested in my studies of Shotokan karate (I believe I was a green belt when I chose to quit).  Yet, he never got involved in attempting to help me deal with this thorny situation.  Neither by dialoguing with my Sensei, the bully's parents (who were our backdoor neighbors) or me.  Instead, it was as if I didn't have a dad at all.

I feel it's important to include that tale in light of how influential Mr. Terry V. truly was in my life.  Until he no longer was.  

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For Rob, even at an early age, I knew that my dad simply wasn't capable of fathering me (or any other child) holistically.  He was understandably emotionally immature when he became my dad (age 19) first & foremost.  But moreso as a result of his youth for my dad was never fathered himself.  Instead, he was reared by a violent drunk 'till that monster (thankfully) died from lung cancer immediately prior to my father reaching adolescence.  

As such, my dad had two obstacles he was up against.  

1.  The vacuum created by not being fathered himself

2.  The immense trauma that resulted directly from his own father's physical / emotional abuse

In essence, #1 drove his ignorance while #2 drove his fear (of treating his own son as he was treated).

Thankfully, my father was a teetotaler.  Therefore, booze never played into how he behaved within our household.  

Now, let me insert one truth here.  My father very much did choose to father me in regard to making church attendance a priority (for our family).  And not just worship services but Bible study.  This especially became the case as I approached my upper elementary school years and beyond.  For both of my parents had quite the appetites, at this stage in their lives, for high quality spiritual food.  As such, First Baptist Church Jackson served as their buffet. 

He also made a concerted effort to incorporate Bible study into a routine within our home, though in hindsight, all it truly amounted to was me reading scripture (to my parents) for a few minutes before bedtime.

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One of the most telling episodes that I had with my dad as an adult (within a clinical setting) resulted in him attempting to defend his position as a "thoroughbred fathering father" due to his allegiance / admiration for Dr. James Dobson (a massively influential Christian media persona in the '80s).  I vividly recall him faithfully listening to Dobson's radio show combined with purchasing most, if not all, of his many books.  

I suppose this did qualify my dad to receive an "A" for effort.  But as you know, if you're unable / unwilling to apply helpful commentary to your own way of doing things, there's likely a lot going on under the surface that's needing to be addressed. 

Therefore, I believe he knew, deep down, just how out of his league he truly was.  I just wish he'd admitted (or at least hinted) to it from the get go instead of allowing his ego to elevate himself "respectfully".  

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To expound on what I said earlier:

Fathering is essentially modeling / demonstrating what a man is capable of so long as he's disciplined and confident.  

Christian fathering is essentially modeling / demonstrating what a man is capable of doing, for Christ, so long as he's disciplined and confident in what he believes as a Christ follower.  

I was looking for the latter, for as I stated in my post titled "Being A Contrarian", the gospel lassoed me in around age 12.

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I began taking baby steps towards fathering myself by committing to a strength training regimen during my 5th (& last) year of architecture school.  At the time, I was in my early 20s, and all I had access to was beginner (youth) equipment (that had been purchased at Service Merchandise when I was in high school).  

How was this fathering myself, exactly?

Firstly, it's important to note that I was officially crossing over into emotional / spiritual manhood at this stage of my life.  Had that not been the case, there would not have been any means for me to take these initial fathering-myself steps.

Through some concentrated research and study (I found a book at Barnes & Noble), I devised a plan.  From there, I took it one day at a time.  Weeks became months, and before I knew it, I was seeing my body become more muscular (thanks too to my metabolism also slowing down around this same time).  

I remember my mom's BFF coming by my parents' abode to drop something off (where I was living during 5th year), and me answering the door shirtless.  Seeing her reaction (& her later relaying her admiration of my hard work to my mom) did wonders for my confidence.   

Fast forward to today.  When I'm at the Y strength training, and I see a father / son duo working together to lift, I always let the father know how fortunate his son is to have this kind of oversight / hands-on attention.

So, you might be asking how strength training syncs with Christian fathering.  The body is the temple of the Holy Spirit.  Taking care of that temple is in line with God's will.  And specifically for me, with all my issues with THE VOID, I especially need(ed) to invest, at the very least, in the part of myself that I could see (reflection).

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Fathering myself really kicked into high gear when I had the privilege of stepping into Samson Society back in 2014.  For the intentionality of attending meetings / after meetings and engaging one-on-one with so many in-crisis men demonstrated my commitment to my faith as well as my love for myself to my younger (internal) self each and every week.     

Decades prior to this, I had jumped at any chance presented to me to be included within Bible studies for young(er) men.  And I did this in hopes of having the opportunity to be seen (I never really was either due to my lack of confidence or the unwillingness of my peers to look hard).  

But even outside of the spiritual, when opportunity knocked for me to be challenged (leadership) via roles that would provide an opportunity to demonstrate Christ-likeness, I've almost always jumped at the chance.

And when you're a younger man, whether it's engaging within the recovery community or taking on a leadership role that's a bit over your head, the emotional weightiness can truly be taxing.  For how you choose to present yourself within these roles will impact others, and in turn, they'll have the opportunity to adjudicate what they see in you (& oftentimes let you know).

And this is really where the rubber meets the road when it comes to fathering yourself.  Do you have the chutzpah to face the masses (visible or invisible) - in whatever capacity you're called to - sans losing sight of what the true motivation is behind the course that you've charted?

If so, not only will you make a lasting impact on yourself, but you'll eventually successfully bypass the disadvantaged state of having not been fathered.

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One final tale:

Today, I relish taking showers in locker rooms (fitness centers), but this is only due to me being very intentional, through the years, regarding overcoming my shame / anxiety surrounding these spaces.  And that took some tremendous fathering of myself, for locker rooms represented me feeling like an outcast or freak (going back to 7th grade PE class).  

All that might sound easy and simplistic within those few sentences but it by no means was.

When you're a little tyke and you're made to feel as if you don't belong (or aren't safe) with other boys within a designated masculine space, it plants deep seated feelings of doubt regarding your worth / value as a male into your heart.

Think of having to play "Shirts & Skins" each and every day during 7th grade PE class, and always being the last one chosen for a team due to your pathetic basketball playing skills.  And, in kind, feeling so very ashamed doing so whilst shirtless (body embarrassment).

Deep seated feelings of doubt regarding one's worth, planted in middle school, leave a boy who's out of luck in the intentionally being-fathered camp, in a tough, tough spot and that was me in a nutshell.

In many ways, it takes a miracle to father oneself effectively, but I would argue, the deeper the wounds, the greater the motivation to do the relentless, ongoing work.

Being A Contrarian

Years ago, I lead a Samson Society National Retreat workshop that centered around same-sex attraction.  I was generously given a lot of content leeway therein.  I decided fairly quickly that the workshop should center around attributes of Rob that were somehow related to my stance / position regarding my SSA.  One of those was me being a contrarian.  Also, I made it very clear - right at the outset of my presentation - that I was representing no one but myself / my own opinion / choices.

Fast forward...

The attribute that I've come back to again and again for analysis is contrarianism.  Hence, my decision to postulate a bit here. 

But before I do, let me be clear.  Contrarianism, for me, is tied directly to an attitude / outlook, and that attitude is a combination of "Fuck you!" and flippant (the percentage of each depends on the day of the week you ask me).

Now, back to my postulating. 

This contrarian attribute may very well have grown out of me being an only child.  Obviously, there were no siblings to imitate / shadow, therefore I had the privilege of being the oldest, middle and youngest child simultaneously within my family.  In line with that was being an unplanned only child (my 'rents were 18 & 19 when they had me).  That distinction made the family unit I was reared in feel understandably less stable / surefooted (though, I believe, perhaps only to me).  And this feeling I only truly took note of when I was in the presence of other families outside of my own (extended & otherwise).  For example, families at our church. 

Regarding my extended family (Turner side of the house), my grandfather had long since died (he died of lung cancer in his early 40s) when the Turners (my dad had three brothers & they all married multiple times / had multiple children of their own) gathered in the MS Delta for holiday gatherings.  As such, his widowed wife (my grandmother) had also remarried / divorced by this point in time.  Maurine lived alone in a large, very posh home in small town (Delta) Mississippi that existed solely to intimidate / impress.

As such, that sense of firsthand family (my parents & I) instability / vulnerability definitely existed too "within the same key" whilst participating in those larger Turner settings.

Therefore, my concept of family represented a whole lot of me myself (independent from everyone around me) in light of not feeling much of any sure-footedness / longstanding emotional / relational stability with those folks.

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I believe the very first contrarian decision I gravitated towards - consistently - had to do with how I viewed females versus males (& I couldn't help but include myself as one of the latter).

Taking both of my parents into consideration, my mother's experience carrying / birthing / VERY YOUNG mothering had a profound impact on her (as it should have, but keep in mind that she was a teen mother).  As such, she chose to nurture me to the best of her ability despite her too only being a child.  My dad, due to him simply being the teenage sperm donor, experienced much less maturational (patriarchal) impact for such a time as that.  But also, to his credit, he was doing his part to provide for his dependents, and this involved obtaining higher ed whilst working part-time to win the bread (that rhymes!).

I feel certain this parental role asymmetry (MOM / dad) impacted me greatly as a small child.  As such, though I was no doubt male, I chose to reject the masculine (as it was presented to me by my father) in light of the straightforwardness in emulating this man as it pertained to his personality, character, likes / dislikes.  

And I was somewhat consciously aware of how much of a backassward modus operandi this was, yet I was content with my contrary.  

What became of me as a result of this?  Also, how did it affect my dad?

As a child, I gravitated towards having / making friends much more easily with girls than with boys.  That being said, I did have numerous friends who were male, cherishing those relations along the way.  Also, I was transfixed by female entertainers.  Especially female vocalists.  Therein, I grew up during the '80s (the MTV era).  Therefore, all these beautiful female vocalists were also just as visually elevated / celebrated so long as they had the physical goods to match.

Ultimately, as a result of all this female emulation / worship, I became deeply uncomfortable sexualizing the opposite sex (believe me, I tried).  For I felt this to be in contradiction to who I'd somewhat secretly sworn emotional allegiance to as a boy / chosen moreso to identify with.   

Regarding my dad, as a result of his rejection from me, he slowly took the same approach in kind, for there was no other child but Rob (he really got the short end of the stick) to role model manhood for.  I'll write more about this within an forthcoming post.

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Contrarianism eventually morphed into a survival technique for adolescent (ages 13-18) Rob (as you can imagine, I was the very definition of outcast) even to the point of determining who my friends would become.  

And this wasn't necessarily a liability for me.  So many of my immediate peers (particularly at school) were extremely rebellious / unruly / secular to a fault.  As such, I reflexively chose to move in the opposing direction despite this leaving me isolated.  

But here's where the lines get blurred regarding this season of my life.

Immediately prior to me entering middle school, I was unexpectedly lassoed in by the gospel, therefore I became deeply convicted to follow the teachings / example of Jesus Christ (as recorded within the New Testament gospels).  As every Christian knows, Jesus was the ultimate contrarian, and man oh man, could I ever relate!

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Choosing to pursue a degree in architecture was also fueled via my contrarianism.  Particularly growing up in the "economic butt crack" (Mississippi), architecture made little sense, but that nonsensicalness (contrarian!) combined with my above average skillset as an illustrator propelled me forward and forward and forward.

But let me insert here too that there was one additional - below the surface - motivator herein.  And that was to prove my mettle (to myself).  And architecture school very much became that personal proving ground.

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When I began dating my wife (fifth year of architecture school), a friendship was rekindled with someone of deep, steadfast faith.  What she didn't realize was she too was a contrarian (& she's still not completely convinced of this).  But her faith, and I cannot emphasize this enough, was magnanimous.  Again, I point to Jesus' example.  Need I say more?

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In closing, I have to admit that I hope to ultimately rear a brood of adult contrarians, but only in and through modeling contrarianism as a powerful means to live a life out-of-line with the mainstream / in line with the gospel.  

As you've read here, contrarianism sort of gobbled me up as a child in response to a very 

unplanned

singular

immaturishly unstable (emotional)

upbringing. 

As such, I really wouldn't change a thing, though it required me to take my need for being fathered into my own hands.

My Smoking Hot Friendboy / Brother + The Swimmer Angel

I'm an only child.  As such, I'm independent to a fault and hardly anything ruffles my feathers - outside of my home (I have no idea if that's at all related to being an only).  Essentially, I'm the opposite of flamboyant within my day-to-day life.  Ain't nothing too unexpected / out of the ordinary gonna trip up 'ole Rob, Jr.

Combine with that a genuine sensitivity to emotions.  Now, for those of you that know me, this may not appear to be the case, but it's the truth.  Essentially, when I allow myself to feel, it's a pure, unadulterated experience that makes a lasting impression.  I believe this is due too to my only child upbringing.  For dealing with same-sex attraction throughout my growing up years, I chose to sort and learn from my feelings therein.  Otherwise, I would have ended up either a chemical addict or dead.  

Recognizing these two attributes, God's not shy about throwing me curveballs.

Essentially, I now have a what amounts to a younger brother.  I've written about this Christian (non-Samson) guy before, lamenting about his penchant to prioritize certain (masculine) hobbies over religious activities / commitments in tandem with tolerating a wife whose immaturity oftentimes leaves my head scratching.

And this guys all into Rob.  And I believe that's due to him NOT being an only child (he has two close-in-age siblings).  As such, I've simply moved into position as brother as a result of both our platonic chemistry and need.  

All this being said, I cannot truly comprehend being interdependently tied to a permanent, familial community.  My relationship with my parents attests to this.  Therefore, seeing how emotionally tethered he is to me, even at this stage of our 3-year friendship, blows my mind.

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Now, let me address the physical side of our brotherhood.

If you were look up the word masculine in the dictionary, you'd see a photo of my friend.  In line with that, if you were to cram every one of my masculine archetype personifications into one man, you'd pretty much have my brother.  Hence, each time I'm around him feels surreal due to the fact that's he just so damn physically impressive. 

And just so you know, whenever I introduce him to family / other friends, there's typically some blank stares due to the impossible to ignore oddball coupling.

It's some weird shit.

And that's all I'll say about that.

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Now back to the following statement:  I cannot truly comprehend being interdependently tied to a permanent, familial community.  My relationship with my parents attests to this.  Therefore, seeing how emotionally tethered he is to me, even at this stage of our 3-year friendship, blows my mind.

Every time we rendezvous, it feels that much more permanent.  And this permanency solidifying whilst he and I both are consistently / healthily adding to our individual circle of friends - both personally & professionally.  In other words, it isn't, by any means, a codependent friendship. 

What's hardest for me is the VOID short circuiting my ability to comprehend his love / respect for Rob.  This leaves me feeling out of sync with reality.  And it can be jarring.  Especially when he's hurting and needs my care.  As such, my sympathetic gestures feel disingenuous whether it's a word or touch.

And the VOID has been on a roll as of late.  I feel and see so very much blank space whilst looking inward, and that's tremendously frustrating / depressing.  As such, I gravitate to gay porn when these feelings hollow me out enough.  

-------------------------

I wrapped up my work yesterday, (9/5) not long after mid-afternoon prior to doing some shopping and then finally landing at the Y for a swim.  It was around 6 PM, therefore with it being Friday, things were slowly beginning to clear out (they close at 8 PM).  The indoor pool is well used throughout the week since it's one of the only ones in the Metro Jackson area.  As such, I tend to feel fairly intimidated asking about open lanes, particularly if a swim team is practicing outright.  Nonetheless, the rule is that they're to obligate two for members (except between 4-5 PM) but often they don't.  

Fridays typically are different though.  Especially early evening on Fridays.  And that's one of the reasons I swim then.  It's sort of like when I first started strength training at age 36.  As such, there's a distinct slowness to truly warming up to a new (athletic) setting.

Prior to putting my bag down in the locker room, I always stick my head in the natatorium before changing (to get a lay of the land).  Yesterday evening was no different.  Surprisingly (disappointingly?), there was an elementary girls' swim team practicing, though it looked as if they didn't have the entire pool.  

As I walked back into the locker room, another man (a few years younger than me) followed my lead, but when he returned from peering into the natatorium, he asked me if I was there to swim.  And then he said something that struck me.  It had to do with him vouching for both of us in light of our intent to share the pool with the children.  

I was seen, and I mean really seen.

By this point, I was in my swim trunks, towel in hand.  I let him know how long I'd be in the pool (needing a lane) and then I made my way.  He then volunteered to take the handicap ramped lane (on the far end), but I told him I had no issues using it.

And then I was swimming.  Just as I always do.  Trying to zone out and think about nothing in particular. But I quickly realized that he was too, and surprisingly, in the adjacent lane.  And it was weird because every other Friday evening, there'd be no one but me & the lifeguard in this enormous, barrel-vaulted room, yet tonight there was this very kind, very comfortable man right there alongside.  

I eventually introduced myself, and he complimented me on my build (in response to me disclosing how often I typically swim during the week), using that as a segue to disclose that he'd just returned to MS and started back swimming a few weeks prior.  

After a half hour, just he said he would, he wrapped up his routine.  We talked further (about churches & how I had another friend with his identical name), and he got out.  I told him I'd gladly give him my card were my wallet not locked up in my car.  In reaction, he assured me we'd run into each other again there at the pool.

I felt so fortunate to have had that encounter with that stranger for such a time as that.

-------------------------

Why?

For it was so sweet and so needed.  It represented for the first time, having swam consistently within that space over the past three months, an experience where someone sincerely made the effort to be kind to me in such a way that felt genuine and distinct.  And of all places, it was whilst dripping wet, wearing only swim trunks, there in the Y pool.

I wonder if that man was an angel.  Could he have been heaven sent?

-------------------------

Let me say this in closing.  As you can tell, I'm needing some clarity regarding who I am, what my meld is and how that meld has impacted others (friends, clients, family) throughout my life.  And perhaps clarity isn't the right word.  Maybe a better word is truth / reformatting.

The VOID needs to collapse in on itself, laying the foundation for change.  Otherwise, I can't serve myself with any dignity / accuracy nor my brothers.  Whether they be old or new ones.

Flying Straight Into The Flame

My modus operandi throughout the majority of my adult life has been to never back down from a challenge as it pertains to facing (& ultimately staring down / managing) homosexual desires.  Particularly when the man involved is of obvious platonic / relational value to Rob.  For I've come to quickly ascertain that sexual desire is fickle and not at all permanent.  As such, especially considering homosexual attraction's dubiousness, my mantra more often than not is "Who really cares?".

Now, let me rewind the clock for a few minutes.  I do not want to give you, dear reader, the impression that this cavalier attitude towards my sexuality nor my confidence in the "value of friendships" (with men I may be sexually attracted to - to whatever degree) themselves has always been.  Oh, Hell no.  

The first real formal relational attempt (what I'd hoped would be safe / healthy) that I pursued as a young man (tied to me being a Christian husband / father who'd experienced same-sex attraction extemporaneously since his youth) ended very abruptly.  And please know that regarding the moniker, "young man", I was around the age of 35 at the time.  Thankfully, I chalked this almost instantaneous flameout up to inexperience.  Nonetheless, I was quite desperate and very ready to find an authentic friend.  Especially one who might provide me with some sincere support / guidance.  That sincerity / desperation combined with enough confidence in myself, allowed me to quickly pick myself up / brush myself off and carry forward exploring the landscape for friendlys.  

Alas, even then, I began to suspect (& please know that I've never been a default pessimists) how difficult it might be to find authentic friendship even amongst other Christians.  For I was not naive enough to believe that fessing up to having homosexual desires wouldn't complicate matters / raise eyebrows.

Thank goodness I'm a bit of an exhibitionist at heart.

-------------------------

Can I have a deeply satisfying friendship sans being authentic about my sexuality?  I'd say TODAY yes, but it's what I'd categorize as a 99% friendship. 

Back then, NO.  For no one (other than a handful of therapists, my wife / parents) had known this part of me, and eventually I reached a breaking point.

As such, today, I have subconsciously incorporated my same sex attraction into my "qualifier checklist" that I utilize to adjudicate potential friendships.  Does this mean a more sexually attractive guy might qualify?  Not necessarily within the viewpoint of the man on the street.  But, for me personally, I do find that when my masculine archetype is identified and notably combined with certain other characteristics, I (holistically) take notice.

And that's true for a lot of guys regardless of their sexuality.  Looks / posture / presentableness are impossible to ignore whilst sizing up another human being.

-------------------------

This past week, I reached out to a Samson Society newcomer (after he'd shared his contact info with me post newcomer meeting) letting him know formally of my desire to befriend him.  I only did this having sought the counsel of a longstanding Samson brother.  For my concern was making this newbie feel cornered, and that was absolutely not my intent.

Nonetheless, this move grew out of me myself feeling exceptionally needy as of late.  Neediness as an outgrowth of some kind of fierce (seasonal?) loneliness.  

So here I am.  Admitting to that and waiting to possibly hear back from newcomer Samson guy, Pete.  And no, I'm not optimistic.  

In closing, I'm thankful to be able to admit to feeling this way over the past month or so, and as strange as it may sound, I'm grateful too for how it's tested my capacity to tolerate a pain that's not been distinctly present for quite some time.  For loneliness is like a low roar, at least for me, 'till it's much, much more.  

And yes, just so you know, I have delved back into gay porn as a result of this.  But nothing other than revisiting a handful of iconic videos from years past.  Videos that bring temporary comfort.  

Please pray for me to have the patience I need to endure this season of feeling alone / unseen. 

And one more thing.

Over the past four years (even during the pandemic), fall represented coming alongside my oldest daughter as she supported her now alma mater's football team as a member of the collegiate dance squad.  All that's come to an end now that she's graduated.  Hence, there's been a sizable shift in our autumn routine.

It's important to know that her college's football team, during the past four years, mostly embarrassed the school, game after game after game (though they did have one winning season which lead to a bowl game).  In light of this wretched ball playing, we only attended game days that were played on home turf, and then, only those that gave us an opportunity to support our daughter's squad in light of some particularly favored performance. 

Nonetheless, today was the first time I truly took stock of this routine being no more.  And I believe it too is taking its toll.   

That Tinge Of Infatuation

I've been hosting a virtual Samson Society newcomers' meeting since last December.  During the most recent one I hosted, I felt the tinge of infatuation for one of the newcomers.  

This hasn't happened before.  

The meeting is very straightforward (standard format meeting slide deck overview), and typically there isn't much discussion overall.  Nonetheless, each man is asked to relay where he's checking in from, what brought him to Samson Society and what he's hoping to get out of participating within this ministry.  These shares are usually between 2-8 minutes in length, and none of the content is unlike anything I haven't heard prior.

At the tail end, I ask each man if they're ready to "take the plunge into Samson Society feet first", and with a positive response (95% say YES!) sees me sending a specific robo-email invitation to login to www.samsonsociety.com / Samson Society's Slack community.  

And that's it in a nutshell.

-------------------------

So, what do we as men do when we feel that circumstantial tinge (towards either females or males) within settings that are in no way romantically appropriate?

Do these feelings (themselves) provide a license to pursue the individual that's responsible for these sexual sparks?

-------------------------

Here're the pragmatics -

Firstly, it's important for me to disclose that the Samson newcomer that served as the "infatuation catalyst"  didn't, in anyway, intentionally captivate that portion of my emotional core.  Instead, it had everything to do with how he looked within the Zoom thumbnail / how he sounded mixed with what he said exactly (which wasn't anything out of the ordinary).  Not to mention my own state of mind for such a time as that.

Secondly, there's the knee-jerk reaction that must be dealt with.  And that is this:  The desire to pursue that individual on behalf of these unexpectedly electrifying feelings.  

And thirdly, there's the state of mind after the fact and how we're to handle that internally.

-------------------------

My best advice when you find yourself in a similar situation is to thank God for that part of your sexual self that's on point (no pun intended).  And in line with that, savor the feelings as well as the physiological response (erection).  From there, you do nothing.  Days will pass and these feelings will diminish naturally.  

Lastly, never, ever take it upon yourself to fixate on infatuation as if you're somehow able to read people with such expertise that you're then qualified to reciprocate accordingly (or worse, under some form of perverted obligation).  Please know that if it's impossible for you to turn away appropriately, seek out a Samson brother for support.

Samson Society, your workplace, church as well as numerous other settings - DO NOT EQUATE to a club / bar.  As such, you are expected to fall in line with the respective norms (particularly as a Christian man) towards yourself firstly and then to everyone else.

That being said, I'm a human and so are you.  Circumstantial sexual attraction is God breathed and such the gift of being an image bearer.  And as we all know, it can occur in some very unexpected settings / circumstances as we navigate through this life one day at a time.

Lagniappe

You Have No Control Over Your Friend's Priorities (Especially His Spiritual Priorities) As He Himself Leads As A Husband / Father

A few years back, I was blessed to meet Zane.  I'd felt so moved to participate in a day mission trip with our church, Lakeside Pres, in order to expose my youngest daughter to "Delta Streets" in Greenwood, MS.  This private all-boys academy was founded by a man who'd grown up in our church, and I knew enough of it to know of its impact and solidarity as a ministry.

It was a steamy summer day in '22 when our group of 15-20 Presbyterians made the early morning trek.  Zane, at the time, was only officially visiting Lakeside Pres with his wife and two elementary age daughters.  He'd heard about this Saturday missional opportunity, and despite not knowing anyone all around, showed up to participate.

And this speaks to one aspect of what initially and continually draws me to him.  

Zane is like Superman.  Selfless and willing to work really hard to help others.  And this correlates too as it pertains to his physical stature.  Though he's not a head & shoulders taller than most men, his upper body is built like an ox.  That combined with the 4" neatly manicured black beard / olive skin makes him appear like some sort of lumberjack mercenary.

What I soon discovered too, that also correlated similarly (Man of Steel analogy) is that Zane sees himself as "not at home in this world".

He grew up impoverished in rural Mississippi, and though he physically exited that setting immediately following graduating high school, his heart never did.  Every family member of his (& he's fiercely loyal to each) is still there, and they communicate regularly.  As such, when opportunity knocks, he points his GMC truck southwest 'till he arrives in remote Franklin County.  And once he's there, he'll stay as long as conceivably possible.  

Zane's father died unexpectedly 2-3 years prior to me meeting him.  In fact, according to Zane, as his father's health failed, he chose to suffer privately, and in lieu of seeking out medical care (his excuse was his lack of health insurance coverage), he passed away quickly as a result. 

-------------------------

With our family's platonic support (we quickly took these younger folks - they're about ten years younger than us - under our wing), Zane's troop joined Lakeside Pres.  In line with that, his oldest daughter became involved in the church's youth ministry!  This child is socially awkward, quiet and reserved.  As such, it was a big leap for her (she's one year younger than our youngest daughter).

Up to the past few months, Zane and I have lunched regularly.  He's a fantastic listener / very intelligent / great conversationalist, and I've found him to seemingly warm up to "life in the big city" as I've had the opportunity to expand his horizons a bit.  Lol.

-------------------------

What I've discovered though about Zane, that I cannot reconcile at this point, is how he prioritizes for himself & his side of the family (his people back home), the opportunity to fill shoes that belonged to his dad.  Is it guilt or loneliness or laziness / rut, or is this actually normal behavior that I shouldn't even question? 

His dad's deer camp is the epicenter of this role play.

For those of you who've no idea what deer camp is, let me provide a quick overview.

A large percentage of rural (& urban) Mississippi white men aggressively hunt the white tail deer (& prepare extensively year-round to do so - via bow & gun season) at their individual deer camp.  The camp itself consists of hunting land along with some semblance of a centralized waylay point.  This hub can be as basic as a series of makeshift structures large enough to shelter antiquated RVs to elaborately designed / built lodges that feature every imaginable, present day luxury.  

What Zane has access to back home, now that his dad is deceased, is far more in line with the former than the latter.

Nonetheless, when his dad died, he chose to purchase his father's membership within his particular club, and from there, he's never looked back.

The older men who were once his father's community have now become his community, and he absolutely loves the experience of "carrying the torch" forward.  These men, no doubt, love Zane as they loved his dad in their own unique ways.  Like father, like son.  As such, I've no doubt they, in turn, grieve their loss of Zane's father through his very presence.

As such, though he's loathe to admit to it, investing his time / energy therein is his main emotional / spiritual priority.  It feels natural and safe.  Plus, it's home for him.

-------------------------

What I'd hoped for in Zane when he and his brood joined our church was for that commitment to be more than checking a box.  And as you can imagine, me seeing him VOLUNTEER his time so selflessly early on only added to that hope.

But his deer camp family is where it's at, therefore his church family has always been / continues more & more to be kept at arm's length.  And it may remain that way for as long as I'm privileged to call him friend.

Why does this matter?

If Zane were a bachelor, it wouldn't.  But he has a wife and two daughters, one of which just entered high school.

-------------------------

White women who're wives / mothers, typically do the prioritizing (choosing) to either put their families in the church house on Sundays, Wednesdays, etc. or never darken the door.  Women tend to care about their family as a unit, and for those who see holistic church involvement as an asset, they're going to own that pursuit for their brood.  Therefore, their husbands need not necessarily lead in this regard.  Instead, the role of deacon / elder may serve to be their primary focus therein.  

Within Zane's family, this isn't the case, therefore due to Zane's priorities being elsewhere (as I've described above), church has slowly taken even more of a backseat for his entire clan.   

Zane's wife is, like so many women her age, captivated by every facet of social media.  To the point that she's a conspiracy theorist.  She also struggles with her physical self image, but partially due to the social media captivation, makes no committed, ongoing effort to address the issue. 

Zane's now high school daughter literally has her pocket computer glued to her face whenever she's awake (which based on my understanding is far too much considering the typical 24-hour day).  And this child is highly intelligent and very, very secretive / manipulative.  

And then there's the youngest daughter.  She's sort of the tagalong of the fam.  She's a tiny little thing, loathed by her older sister due to her ability to instantaneously draw attention / concern from seemingly anywhere.  

All that being said, if Zane doesn't "rally the troops" each and every Sunday / Wednesday, ain't nobody he's responsible for darkening the door of Lakeside Pres.  And I can't change that. 

-------------------------

In conclusion, here's another caveat for you to chew on regarding this friendship of mine.

Zane strength trains regularly far more than I do.  In fact, we'll unexpectedly rendezvous at the Y during the week in the early evenings.  In fact, that's become a more regular occurrence (when we first met, he was going during the wee hours of the morning).  

And he's just as disciplined as I am regarding his specific routine.  In other words, he's not there for any other reason than to put in the work.  

If I didn't / hadn't come to know him through Lakeside Pres three years ago, I would NEVER approach him therein within that setting.  In fact, it's quite humorous (internally) to me as I imagine what it must look like for he and I to chitchat whilst leaning over the bed of his GMC truck out in the Y parking lot (as the sun sits low over the western horizon) post workout.  We're an odd coupling, for sure. 

And we could talk for hours.  For whatever reason, he considers me safe and I too see him as such in turn.  

I think in many ways, I'm like one of those older men from his Franklin County deer camp, but I just happen to be here in the "big city".  And I'm fine with that.  I just worry about his brood as I see time / opportunity slipping away.  But is this worry misplaced / overblown?

And that's how I prove to myself that I love this man like a brother.  It's my desire to want the very best for him and his family.

Nonetheless, I can only pray and provide support in light of the influence I've been afforded for such a time as this.  This brother is NOT a Samson brother.  Hence, restraint is expected.  Ultimately, I need faith to let him lead his life / family as he sees fit.  It's the respect I owe him just as he's afforded that same respect towards me.

Hosting A Samson Society Newcomers' Meeting Has Bolstered Rob's Recovery / The Beauty Of Giving Back

Prior to me "gaining access" / being formally invited into the First Baptist Church Jackson in-person Samson Society group back in August of '14, the host, Mr. Don Waller, vetted me via a one-on-one counseling session.  I know for a fact that I was somewhat unique in that regard because I watched, over time, as uncounseled bros would simply step into our meeting with no one having any prior knowledge of them or their story.  As such, there were some individuals who arguably weren't well suited to be involved in this ministry.  

If you know me at all, you've realized that I'm a very straightforward guy.  As such, if I'm going to invest my time / energy in something, unless I'm unable (for whatever reason) to decouple myself at will, I'm going to need to believe that it's not a waste of my time in order to continue forward.  

This is why I partake so little in culturally significant entertainment here at age 53.  It's just so hard for me to look past the notion that I'm staring blankly at a plastic / projection screen whilst pushing plastic buttons.

Too, entertainment isn't real.  Everything is scripted.  Everything is staged.  Everything is driven by profit.  And frankly, it's just the same as it's always been ('80, '90s to today).  

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There's never been a moment when involvement within Samson Society has seemed / felt like a time waster (& that's even when I was hosting an in-person Samson group at our church & there were just one or two brothers faithfully attending).  

Another attribute of Rob's is I feel obligated to give back whenever I've received generously in kind.  I believe this is via the Holy Spirit.  Of course, this isn't always intrinsically possible, but when it is, I'm onboard.

And that leads me to why I jumped at the chance to host a "Newcomer's Meeting" when a slot came available.  

Imagine counseling nine men simultaneously.  I had the opportunity to delve into that during the latest weekly "Newcomers' Meeting" that I had the privilege to host.  

Now, do I do anything other than listen to their stories?  No.  Do I do anything other than listen to how they found this ministry?  No.  Do I do anything besides listening to what their expectations are regarding participating within Samson Society?  No.

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It's like I'm Don Waller now.  Gently assuaging.  Deliberately analyzing.  Deftly summarizing (Samson Society as a whole).

What a privilege to give back.  What a privilege too to be on the cusp of where the Lord will take these brave men as they delve into The Path

 

Choosing To Not Be Bitter / Jaded In Spite Of Being Read (& Tremendously Scarred By) The Riot Act

I had the privilege to delve into volunteer work in my early 30s (20+ years ago).  This volunteer leadership position that I was appointed to was far more demanding / intimidating than I ever could have imagined it would be, and much of that challenge centered around the individuals I was tasked to serve alongside (we were all appointed simultaneously / I knew none of these older men).

About three years into my volunteered position tenure, tension between myself and another volunteer had reached a fever pitch.  As such, that tension reached its inevitable conclusion whilst having to confront him regarding some questionable funds' (organizational) usage.  And that's when I was read the riot act (thankfully I wasn't alone with this colleague when this lambasting occurred).  And when I say I was read the riot act, I'm talking expertly / with zero restraint.  I remember feeling afterwards as if I'd been fire hosed down with gasoline prior to my colleague lighting a match.  

There's a current phrase for this:  scorched earth.  As such, any semblance of remaining relationship was completely burned up after this 10–15-minute deluge of spite.

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A few years back, I surprisingly encountered my former volunteer colleague.  We eventually spoke politely (as subsequent encounters occurred), and I was hopeful for some sort of potential reconciliation.  Choosing to not be jaded / bitter was the best position to take. 

Unfortunately, today, I'm again having to face down this same man due to me, once again, stepping up to volunteer (identical organization).  He's already made it very clear that the calendared rendezvous itself is a huge waste of his time / energy.  

Thankfully, once again, I won't be alone during this juncture.

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What's clear to me as I head into this is the following:  This man is allergic to Rob and likely always will be.  And there's nothing I can do about that.

Therefore, I must minimize as much as possible during this meeting.  How?

I'm so grateful to be serving today alongside some excellent co-volunteers who're supportive and not at all naive / easily swayed (they've each been around the block).  Ultimately, my plan is less of Rob and more of them.

But my secret weapon is to remain hopeful about this situation.  And it is a situation.  I truly know nothing about the inner workings of this man and do not pretend to.  That being said, I'm older / wiser.  And though scars remain, my dignity is intact.  And that's what's most important to me.  

Some relationships barrel towards ending badly.  Very, very badly.  Nonetheless, as a Christian, in particular, be mindful of the approach you choose to take therein.  You have a witness to first & foremost protect.    

The Piano 

 

Disclaimer: All thoughts / ideas / words that appear below are the sole thoughts / writings of the author and were in no way AI generated. Images appearing in this post were created by the author using an AI image generator for the sole purpose of providing illustrations.

Fermata, Legato, Staccato, Slur, Forte, Fortissimo, Pianissimo, Diminished, Whole Note, Quarter Note, ¾ Time…

These were terms I had not heard in over thirty years; in fact, some of them were terms that I had never encountered before. They were all new, yet so familiar. It was a part of me I had never known existed, yet had been there all along. It was a friend waiting in the shadows; it was a connection waiting to be restored. It was a missing puzzle piece; it was a lost part of me. It was like a prodigal returning home. It was my piano.  

I have always thought that my childhood could basically be defined in three stages. Beginning, middle, and end. Because of the nature of my dad’s career(s) while growing up, there was not a lot of continuity or consistency in my childhood at all. 

In some ways, there was consistency, as I had both of my parents as stable figures in my life while growing up. In other ways, the constant moves, changing of schools, leaving friends behind, and learning not to ever get close to people created a huge disconnect in my life. It might not sound like a huge deal to some people, but one of the accomplishments in my adult life that I am the most proud of is that I have been able to obtain stability, to live in one town (nearly 18 years now) for my entire married life. My son has been able to grow up in this town, go to the same church in the same school that he has been in since he was little, and have the same friends all his life.

When I was about seven or eight, my parents wanted me to start playing the piano, so I had a really sweet older lady named Mrs. Barbara who began to teach me piano. I can still faintly remember going out to Mrs. Barbara's house in the country and enduring those weekly lessons. I don't remember much about my practice in those early years, but I do remember that I did not practice that much because my parents were very lackadaisical in making sure that I was consistent in my practice. Those lessons lasted for about a year and a half until we had to move again and I had to leave Mrs. Barbara and my piano behind.

As some of you know, I was diagnosed with a rather severe hearing loss early in my childhood. It stabilized, and the doctors thought that it would remain consistent with the rest of my life. They thought that what I had at that point would be what I continued to have into my adult years. Undetected by my parents, it slowly started to diminish even more after I turned 10 years of age.

When I was nine years old, we moved, and for the next four or five years, life was filled with moves, job inconsistencies on my dad's part, and uncertainty about where we would even live. I always missed the piano, and secretly longed to play it but felt really discouraged and so I never picked it up after leaving Mrs. Barbara behind.

When I was 13, in the summer of 1994, we moved for what would be the last time during my grade and secondary school years. This was a time filled with much angst; in addition to the normal teenage angst, there was the added factor of moving to an entirely new city, nearly 1 ½ hours from where I’d lived for the past 5 years. It was a place where I knew no one, and had no desire to be. I won’t go into much detail about those years in this blog, because that’s not really the point of this post, and it’s still really difficult for me to think about and talk about even 30 years after the fact.

The pianist at our church was an incredibly talented lady named Mrs. Jackie. To this day, I still have not heard anyone that could play with the distinct style and talent that she processed. Sure, I have heard a number of incredibly talented pianists through the years, but Mrs. Jackie’s sound was unique. Just like I can close my eyes and tell you exactly when Floyd Cramer starts playing, I could tell you exactly when “Mama Jackie” (as we called her) would start playing. Her sound was that unique and beautiful. She was incredibly gifted in that she played by ear, but also knew how to sight read music very proficiently. In addition to being a church pianist, she was a banker by day, and a piano teacher by night. When  I was 15, my parents got Mama Jackie to start teaching me on the piano once more. I picked it up very quickly again even though I hadn’t touched the piano in more than 6 years. 

Because I was battling so much inner turmoil as a teenager that I kept hidden until my thirties, I never really took my piano playing seriously (which unfortunately, carried over into lack of desire to practice). When I turned 15, my hearing started rapidly diminishing even though the doctors had, years before, told my parents that it would remain stable. When I was 17, I was facing the inability to hear the notes clearly, so much repressed anger (which led to untreated depression), and yet even more instability in my family. In addition, Mama Jackie was facing some personal challenges in her own family which meant that she had to give up teaching for a spell. All of these things created a perfect storm which meant that I had to give up piano once more. For years after that, every time I saw a piano, I was filled with equal parts remorse, anger, longing, regret, and hopelessness. For me, it wasn’t just a piano. It was a symbol of what I’d lost as a teenager, a symbol of the lost, lonely young man that I felt no one saw or understood. It was a symbol of something I felt I could never achieve. 

During my freshman year of college, my parents moved yet again. This time their move led them out of state. It’s laughably funny, but when you think of kids going off to college, you think of the kids flying the nest and branching out on their own. In my situation, it was quite the opposite. I was already in school and didn’t have it in me to move yet again. I certainly did not want to go to college in Louisiana closer to my folks. So I stayed behind and my family left me. I actually lived with Mama Jackie and her husband for about 6 months until I got my own place and caught my stride. I will forever be grateful to them for that blessing. 

During my senior year of high school, my hearing had nearly completely vanished. That was a scary and frustrating time that I’d rather not remember. When I was a sophomore in college, I had surgery to bring back some of my hearing and the next few years were filled with the challenges of not only completing college, but also simultaneously learning to hear and speak correctly again. During this time, I met my lovely wife, who has been with me ever since (22 years now). In between starting my career after college, moving to Arizona for a stint, then back to Mississippi, getting married, and settling down to raise my son, and going through graduate school not once, but two times, playing the piano was the farthest thing from my mind. Yet, subconsciously, it was the closest thing to my mind the the nearest thing to my heart. Deep down, I always had a longing to play again, but the constant fear of failure kept that from ever becoming a reality. 

A few years ago, I found an older 61 key Yamaha synthesizer from the late 1990’s, and purchased it from an older gentleman simply because it reminded me of the one I played on in my youth. Last year, the music department at the college where I work was liquidating two of their older Roland digital pianos, to replace them with newer models. I bought one for pennies on the dollar and dragged it home in the back of my buddy’s truck, much to the dismay of my wife. I bought it simply because it reminded me of the one Mama Jackie had in her piano studio.

 

I saw Mama Jackie a few times after moving away from Petal and graduating college. I kept up with her regularly on social media and via text. She was an incredible lady that touched so many lives including mine. Sadly, she experienced a good number of health issues over the last few years, even though she was my dad’s age, 71. This past February, she took a turn for the worse and unexpectedly passed away. I went to her memorial service, which required me to return to a place I said I would never go back to for the rest of my life. Hearing story after story of how Mama Jackie had touched so many lives, and hearing so much piano playing (and singing) in her honor touched something and sparked something inside of me; something that had been long dormant. 

For several years now, I have said I was going to pick up where I left off with piano all those years ago. Every year, I’ve made excuses for why I couldn’t. I’m too old. I’m too busy. I will never be good. I don’t have the time. It’s pointless…and so forth. After bringing the Roland home, I sat down and dabbled a little while playing it. The video I included at the top of this post is just an improvisation piece I recorded one Sunday morning this past February, while thinking about Mama Jackie and what she had meant to me in my life. 

Our church pianist is a retired music professor who is very proficient on the piano and the organ. She is a sweet lady who is very kind and she teaches piano in her studio, the Clinton Music Conservatory. A while back, she added me as a friend on social media, and earlier this summer, she announced that she would be starting summer lessons at her home beginning in June. On a whim, I approached her one Sunday in church and expressed my desire to resume my studies, despite the fact that I had not played the piano or opened up a piano book since Bill Clinton was in office! She agreed to teach me, and thus began the continuation of my journey in June of this year.

Today, I’m nearly 45 years old. I’m not a young man any more, and my memory is not as sharp as it used to be. I don’t have any desire to be a concert pianist, a church pianist, or the next Beethoven. In fact, I know I will never be any of those things. But I am playing again. Not for anyone, but myself. And it makes me happy. It’s my therapy. It’s like coming home. Committing 45 minutes to an hour each day of practice is a daunting task, but this time it’s different…I can’t get enough of it.  Learning piano again is like drinking water from a literal fire hydrant. It’s overwhelming. It’s like continuing to learn a foreign language you gave up speaking when you were still in high school. But it’s exhilarating, it’s invigorating, and it’s challenging me to no end. And this time it’s different. I’m an adult, and I want this like I've wanted few other things in life. I'm doing this for no one but myself. The fire hydrant continues to gush, but I’m thirsty and I’m soaking in as much as I can as fast as I can. Dr. Wilder is a good teacher, and very patient. 

For me, it’s not just a piano, and nor are these just musical notes that I'm playing. It’s the 45 year old me traveling back in time, to a place in life where I can reconnect with the teenage version of me; I needed to find him and tell him it will be OK. It’s not just a piano, it’s re-discovering what was lost. With each chord I learn and play, I'm one step closer to him. It’s reconnecting with a part of me that I have been unable to reach for so long. You’re never too old to learn or to travel back and find the younger version of yourself and learn to love him. As long as you have breath, you’re never too old. 

Today, I challenge you, much as I have challenged myself, to go back and find whatever it is that you lost in your life. To reconnect and rediscover the younger you that was lost, and for the older you to be able to tell him “It’s OK, we will continue this journey together.” I know Mama Jackie is smiling at me. Even if I never play for anyone else, that’s OK. I have all I need right in front me; just me and my piano. 

Just remember that I, oh I am always near,
You just have to reach deep into your heart
But for now, you just dry your tears, don't you ever fear
Just sit awhile and play your song in the night

Come, just sit with me awhile, for I will make you smile
As we play our songs together in the night
You just call out to me and there will be no more tears
We'll just sit here together awhile
Come, let's just sit together awhile…

(excerpt from “Songs in the Night” © Stephen Coleman)