"I'm Officially Done With Samson Society!" (Can Mavericks Long-Term Thrive Within This, Or Any Other, Similarly Loosely Organized Community / Ministry?)

 Maverick:  A maverick is an animal, usually a form of cattle, that does not carry a brand. It is a word also used to describe a person who acts free from constraints or organizational guidelines.  A mustang is by definition a maverick horse.  [My friend, Peter, is by definition a maverick human being.]

I have one maverick friend, and it's the most unique friendship I have / have had up to this point in my life.  This friendship is marred with frustration (on both sides).  From Rob's point of view, it's frustration that's aimed at Peter's unwillingness to yield to much of any authority.  From Peter's point of view, it's my willingness to behave in an opposing manner (effectively creating a relational short circuit).

I've known Peter for +/-15 years.  There was a serious, longstanding cooling off period, relative to our friendship, that began around year three / four, but then, unexpectedly, he gradually came back into my life in an arguably even bigger way.  Since he and I had last communicated (taking the +/-7-year hiatus into consideration), I'd long since dived headlong into Samson Society by committing to both local Jackson, Mississippi groups combined with the National Retreats.  Hence, at this point of platonic reconnection with Peter, I encouraged him too to jump in (initially by personally inviting him to attend the 2018 National Retreat).  Logistically, he was unable to do this at that point in time, but when November 2019 came around, he was there undeterred.  And as you might imagine, it was a tense period in our friendship for both of us, having not engaged with each other for so very long.  Especially considering the implosive circumstances we'd left off with, seven years prior.

Immediately prior to our aforementioned "cooling off" period setting sail (resulting in a cut of all communication efforts), Peter dubbed himself a "maverick" within a long-winded explanatory / commentary email he sent me.  And that moniker he self-identified with has perfectly suited him ever since.   

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Peter's life has been a "soap opera" (his excusatory words).  As such, throughout the early / initial years of time as his friend, he & I both agreed that he'd given himself an awful lot of leeway relative to meeting others' expectations.  Combine that with him being, by nature, an uber-loner.  Hence, time spent alone is his thing; an awful lot of which (again, during our pre-hiatus years) was burned up via entertaining himself (porn, video games, college sports commentary, and on and on).  

Until...

he'd find that the clock had run out prior to it being time to execute (make a presentation, mow a lawn, write a paper, take an exam, etc.)

From there, he'd pull whatever was demanded of him directly out of his ass (little to no prep).  And overall, he was quite adept at this technique, but as you might imagine, it no doubt came across as qualitatively mediocre regarding most everything on his resume.  

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What I love about this guy is his unerring belief in himself.  I used to imagine him looking at himself naked in the full-length bathroom mirror and exclaiming, "Damn, I'm awesome!", each and every time.  No matter how many disappointing grade cards Peter's been given, he simply subjugates them / chalks them up subconsciously to his "maverickness" shining through.  As such, he's constantly on the move relationally.  Therefore, for me to (again) be as close to him as I am today, in many ways is a surreal experience.

And all of this leads me up to yesterday (I dialogue / pray with Peter once a week over the phone).

He's now decided to raise his middle finger at Samson Society.  In particular, Samson's decisionmakers for refusing to respond to his immediate wishes.  And this wasn't a surprising turn of events for me to observe once it sank into my psyche.  For it's precisely in line with how Peter has always operated / continues to operate as a maverick.  

I realize there're a handful of Steve Jobs / Elon Musks out there who fall into the category of maverick.  But these men are of extraordinary intelligence / creativity / drive.  None of these descriptors are appropriate for Peter.  He's as average a bear as I am.  

Honestly, I don't know how to feel about all of this.  For I care about Peter, but I also believe wholeheartedly in Samson Society.  I know being critical of his newfound position will only fall on deaf ears.  For it's directly in line with his modus operandi as a maverick.  

Here I am again, with this old friend, feeling truly powerless.  For now, as he's done so many times before, he's set sail from a community that benefits tremendously from his commitment therein.  Forever again, thinking exclusively of himself and his identity as a maverick.    

   

My Friend's Nasty Refrigerator / Refusing To Take Emotional Responsibility / Emotionally Engage

I'm convinced that emotions are scary to Mississippians.  At least white Mississippians.  Black Mississippians not so much.  As such, it creates quite the disconnect between the two races; for you have one that's marinating in emotional energy and the other who sees no use for / can't comprehend / would rather ignore it.

Close, interdependent relationships (family / friends) should be an inevitable encounter within this life, and there's no getting around the fact that such the degree of closeness will bring with it emotions of every ilk.  For all human beings, white or black, experience emotions, and all human beings are designed for community.  All of that is God breathed.  Emotions are signposts and litmus tests.  In summary:  immensely valuable brain energy that's best rationally respected versus ignored outright.

Let's think of these necessary interdependent relationships as staples within a refrigerator.  Items like milk, eggs, cheese that are consistently being moved in and out (as they're replenished and otherwise) of the icebox for usage.  Over time, inevitably, the inside of the fridge can get cruddy due to the movement, organization and the inevitable reorganization.  Not to mention that some of the packaging may be leaky or fail completely.  If this is the case, because the cruddy residual is also being kept cool, it doesn't necessarily begin to stink.  But it does look (& feel) really bad.  To the point that it's undeniable yet still lazily ignorable (behind closed doors / out of sight / out of mind).  

People aren't perfect.  Especially whilst trying to engage communally.  Everyone's within their own unique container, therefore preeminent weak spots abound.  Certain individuals get moved about much moreso than others, and on the flip side of that, it's inevitable that there're those who get forgotten about due to their benign location / packaging.  

The weight of supporting others can deform or even crush.  Despite what may look fresh, spoilage can be therein.  Neglect / assumptions often have consequences.  

And finally, certain items effectively contaminate by simply being introduced and "leaving well enough alone".

It's all quite the complicated affair.  

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Years ago, we had dinner with one of my oldest friends (from my college days).  I vividly recall helping myself to a beverage refill, and as such, couldn't help but notice the absolute filth within their refrigerator.  It was unlike anything I'd seen prior.  Even taking into account refrigerator filth (housemates) from my college days.  I remember telling Angie during our drive home about my friend's disgusting refrigerator.  Interestingly enough, the make model of their appliance was the exact same as ours, yet the contrast in cleanliness was striking.  Yet, all of that dried gunk was being preserved just as the staples were thanks to the space BOTH were residing within.  Hence, I suppose, this family saw no real reason to take the time to empty out the appliance and wipe down the interior in spite of its shocking state.

We've all heard of self-cleaning ovens.  They're ovens that have programmed cycles which incinerate spilled / splattered gunk.  Once the cleaning cycle is complete, all you're left with is ashes to sweep / vacuum out.  

Refrigerators aren't like that because they're never turned off.  Plus, their primary purpose is to maintain a set, slightly above freezing temperature.  

I can remember hearing of college roommates inadvertently leaving a sizable bag of frozen shrimp behind (post spring semester) within their apartment freezer (above the refrigerator).  Unbeknownst to them, the landlord cut the electricity to the apartment for a week or so over the summer sans checking the contents of the apartment-grade refrigerator / freezer.  Obviously, this spelled the appliance's demise as the shellfish rotted away inside prior to being refrozen.  Yuck.

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Mississippians, overall, live here because of their families and their faith (plus the winters are relatively balmy).  Otherwise, their choosing is simply rooted in dramatically lowest cost of living combined with ignorance.  Overall, our state is shrinking; with each passing decade, individuals leave for greener pastures.  I'm convinced this is partly the case due to the aforementioned emotional extremes that cannot be ignored here.

Kaka Ray talks an awful lot about finding / pursuing healthy ways to regulate the brain.  If I'm understanding her correctly, she's referring to equalization (balance) between both the left and right hemispheres.  To me, this speaks to giving equal weight to both the pragmatic and emotional makeup of ourselves.  And the key word here is giving.  

Kaka talks about technique to encourage this giving, and so often, she justifies those techniques within the framework of maturity.  

And that's one of my most favorite words.  (Certainly not one you hear often in Mississippi.)

So the question comes down to whether or not individuals who reside outside the boundaries of Mississippi are more mature than we are.  I have to believe they are, and this draws many out of the Magnolia State in droves.

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As far as I know, Bob & Darlene (my parents) have never kissed, held hands or hugged (based on my observation as their only child).  Growing up amongst these kindhearted cardboard people was sterile to say the least.  Nonetheless, there was little to no recourse needed for spilled milk / leaky egg cartons due to the fact that there were none available to choose from.  Overall, other than one lone box of baking soda, the SHARED familial refrigerator remained empty.  As such, we did each have our own minifridges to work with (for survival).   

My upbringing was as independent from my parents as it - within reason - could be.  Interaction was polite and respectful as if at any moment circumstances might change for the worse for one of us.  

Have you ever seen the film Reservoir Dogs?  From what I remember (I screened it decades ago), it's a heist / hostage flick, carried out by a group of white men, none of which know anything substantial (real) about the other.  And this includes each other's names.  This emotional detachment is supposed to work in their favor relative to the risks they face as they carry out their gruesome, terrorizing crimes.

The Islamic terrorists who carried out 9/11 had to have used similar techniques of loyalty derived from this notion of austere independence.  

It's weird looking back on my growing up years relative to this, but I simply didn't know any better.  It wasn't like I had anything substantial to complain about, though as I matured into a man, there was no doubt that something was terribly off.

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It's ironic to admit to this, but my aforementioned friend (with the nasty refrigerator) and his wife put little to no value on regulation.  They're no doubt poster children for typical white Mississippians.  And I harbor no ill will / bias against them as such, but I do pity them.  For I believe (& have seen firsthand) there's so many poor choices / missed opportunities / misaligned priorities as a result.  Again, signposts / litmus tests are to be effectively accounted for and respected.  

Here in Mississippi, you truly are within a bit of an inbred disregulated environment where gossip reigns supreme.

Bless our hearts. 

Sad, Summer Boy

Not long after we "re-joined" Lakeside Presbyterian Church somewhere around 2016 (I can't remember the exact year), we were politely invited to an Independence Day pool party at a church member's home.  Of note:  An elder of our church was there with (most of) his family, and this included his teenage son.  Also of note:  I was the only adult who chose to swim with the children, and this made for an awkward assemblage.  But, I wanted to enjoy the pool and really didn't give a damn.  (I can remember knowing instantly that we'd likely never be invited back once I made my first pass across the hourglass-shaped concrete hole.)  And that was fine-by-me.  If you've ever spent any recreational time with Presbyterians (other than at a bar), it's about as much fun as taping together cardboard boxes or popping bubble wrap methodically with a rubber mallet.  

But one thing that did come out of this steamy July afternoon shindig was my amazement at how physically attractive the aforementioned elder's son was, taking into account him being semi-nude (swim trunks only) for everyone to see.  In summary, the boy had beautiful bronze skin and a naturally muscular yet lean build that was highlighted by fine blonde hairiness throughout.  Now, keep in mind that I had never seen this boy for more than a few moments prior to this day, therefore it may very well have been the contrast between his new-to-me self and the Presbyterian setting that made much of this lasting impression on Rob.  Nonetheless, I felt pretty confident that I wasn't the only adult spectator to adjudicate as such regarding this golden boy, though no one dared tip their hand relative to what they were observing firsthand.

It's important to note too that this boy wasn't but perhaps a ninth grader at the time.  The lesson here is as follows:  Never absolutely judge a guy's looks 'till he's shirtless.  Clothes oftentimes really don't do individuals justice.

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Today, this physically impressive young man is a college student who's taking advantage of a full ride (academic scholarship) at one of Mississippi's illustrious public universities.  He's studying to become a professional, and as far as I know, his freshman year was a resounding success.  Of note too:  over the course of this past summer, he chose to live in the Lone Star state, working Texas-style on a ranch.  

(His family is originally from Texas, having moved to humble Mississippi prior to us returning to Lakeside Pres.)  

I'm going to segue here to this boy's father, and the reason I'm interested in doing so has to do with the dynamic between he and his son, based on what I've been privileged to observe / glean.

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The defining emotional attribute of this boy's father is as follows:  Dad has a substantial chip on his shoulder.  Hence, any and all criticism is agonizingly disheveling for him to receive.  What's weird about this is his vocational position naturally warrants an immense amount of critique for it (him) to be performing at his peak.  In spite of this, he chooses to surround himself with individuals who cater to his chip.  Hence, he's left to his own devices to go about his work as he so pleases.

The root of this chip is pride trauma, and I've no idea what that entails in its traumatic entirety, but I do know much of it occurred at his previous employer (pre-move to Mississippi).

To be more specific about the chip, it's rooted in the whole notion of measuring up as a man (masculinity / vocation) within the eyes of other men.  

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Now, let's return to the golden boy (son).

There's a sadness to this young man, and I believe it's rooted in both his setting (Mississippi - in contrast to Texas) and the aforementioned (dad's) chip.

One of the most interesting contrasts between this boy and his dad is how dynamically distinct they are relative to their sexual identity (as male).  The boy has little to no interest in romantic / sexual relationships whereas the dad was the complete opposite when he was his son's age.  Even today, the dad is quick to remind his peers of his "need" for consistent sex (from his wife) and the regularity therein.  Also of note, the boy is introspective whereas his father is chatty.  

And then there's the son's quiet handsomeness as compared to his father.  A handsomeness that's not at all been leveraged relative to courting / bedding members of the opposite sex.

It's important to note too that the son is distinctly taller than his dad as a result of his frame being distinctly his own compared to his father.

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So, what then can be learned from said chip?

They drive relational wedges.  Even within such - assumed - close ties as father / son.

Chips, especially if they've originated from trauma, are hugely problematic emotional tumors.  Tumors that simply sit there, all the while out of place, robbing resources from elsewhere.

Whilst dialoguing with this elder about his son (basic polite Q & A), it's obvious that his chip short circuits his ability to see the child healthily.  Now, overall, these are subtle biases, but I would argue there's nonetheless enough there to act as an intimacy deterrent.  

And this is where, I believe, the boy's sadness surfaces.  Because, he's smart enough to know of his father's chip, but he's unqualified to broach the subject with him.  At least not at this point in his life.    

And this motivates him to run.  Texas-style or otherwise.

Now, in conclusion, I very well may be WAY off base here as it relates to this observed dynamic, by reading into dialogue / situations to the nth degree, but what I do know for sure is who I am (& have been) in relation to my own chipper father over the past 50 years.

As such, it has been a sad existence.  One's that enviable by no one.  For it reeks of powerlessness and even curse that's only dampened via massive soul searching / therapeutic work.

Recommended Reading - How The Internet Ate A Young Man Alive

 Josh Duggar Sentenced to 12.5 Years in Prison for Child Pornography (insider.com)

As a society, we love to witness others suffer.  And this is especially true of us as westerners.  For we are fiercely independent, existing in a world that's customizable to the nth degree.  As such, we cannot help but find solace in patting ourselves on the back whilst observing our peers make more and more mistakes. 

And this is especially true online.  For the Internet represents the ultimate in nuanced freedom.  So long as you know how to marginally utilize a browser, anything you can dream up will be at your fingertips in a split second.

Hence, you end up with scads of blokes like this one.  

And we're supposed to slowly shake our heads and breathe a sigh of relief now that he's headed for over a decade to prison.

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Why is illegal porn available online?  Why is it possible to download illegal imagery at all?  

I can't get my hands on arsenic.  And I believe that's because it's a colorless, odorless poison that I could use to kill with.  That makes sense.

Why can someone's employer provide them with a computer that can access illegal pornographic imagery?  Why isn't the employer liable to any degree here or perhaps the PC manufacturer?  

Why doesn't anyone really give a shit about men like this Duggar boy and his now completely fucked up life?

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There is nothing we westerners desire more than maintaining our individual privileges, rights and status quo.  For we are a - by default - intrinsically self-focused people.  A people too busy planning our next vacation, landscaping our yards, adopting yet another mutt from the animal shelter, or aborting our burdensome, mistaken offspring. 

Let this be a warning to you dear reader:  You too can be demonized someday just as Mr. Duggar is.  The Internet is on the prowl, looking to eat its next victim alive.  

Those Wounds Are No More

Earlier this year, I was appointed to serve on a volunteer board for a local nonprofit.  All of our active board members (6 individuals) had to take part in some overarching (annual) training yesterday, (4/29), and that training grouped us together with a number of other "affiliate (localized - statewide) boards" that duly represent this national org throughout the Magnolia State.

The training was most of the day, starting around 8 AM at a local community college's workforce training center, and overall, there were around 50 volunteers present, representing most regions of Mississippi.

Within the first minute or two of finding my seat, I realized the former Human Resources Director from Delta State University (the institution I was terminated from in September of 2013 for breaking their IT policy) had also sat down.  Her table was at a 90-degree angle to my own, therefore I was literally within her direct line of sight.  No doubt she was there representing the Cleveland, MS affiliate as a volunteer board member herself.

I hadn't seen this woman but for just a few short minutes since my termination, and that was in 2015, therefore A LOT of water had passed under the bridge since then.

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This past Thursday, (4/28) during my weekly "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting, an old friend (I met him at Lakeside Pres in '09) also attended.  Having never had anyone else from Mississippi join this virtual group, it was so cool having him there.  Especially considering his abode is only +/-3 miles from my own here in Rankin County (where he too was Zooming in).

Mr. Justin Schwind, "Make Thursdays Great Again" facilitator, made my invited friend feel welcome, and as usual, it was a great Samson Society meeting (+/-25 attendees) with the word being "false self".

What's really special about this is me, taking into account how long I've sang the praises of Samson Society to this friend, is now seeing both his schedule (allowing him to participate) and desire coalescence.

Too, this man was the first parishioner at Lakeside Presbyterian Church that I told my story to.  And as a result, he didn't shun me.  In fact, the opposite actually occurred which was very unexpected at the time.

As such, for many years, he and I would make a point to supplement our time together at church with a lunch or two, on occasion, but after the Turners' return from Cleveland, MS (immediately following my termination in 2013), I found that his life circumstances had ratcheted up considerably.  That combined with my shame over what had gone down in the immediate past, made for an easy series of excuses to leave him be.

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I immediately rose from my seat and made my way over to my former Delta State University colleague.  Today, this woman is in her mid to late 60s, and as I was doing so, I remembered sending her an apology letter (not long after my termination and subsequent return to the Jackson Metro) where I revealed how intimidating she was to Rob.

Yesterday morning, she wasn't intimidating in the least.  In fact, she actually looked really tired.  Almost to the point of concern.  

It took her a few seconds to recognize me (my stick-on name tag helped) before she cracked her stock wry smile.  We spoke our pleasantries, and then I returned to my seat, nary a blip in increased blood pressure.  

Surprisingly, I didn't think one additional thought about her from that point forward.  

Throughout the all-day training class, with her sitting just a few feet from me, it was as if we'd almost never worked together during that very challenging year of my life.

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After the "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting concluded (around 8 PM CST), I sent my old Mississippi friend a few follow-up text messages before signing off for the evening.

And just a quick sidenote:  Earlier this week, I was really missing some of the face-to-face Samson guy interactions I've had conveniently available to me in the past.  As such, I felt God speak into my life regarding this, reminding me to trust him with it completely.

Of course, I have to wonder where all of this is leading with my newly reconnected Mississippi friend.  Will he take to Samson Society as I did - long-term?  Is the timing truly right for him to in this regard?  What about our friendship?  Will it blossom further, for such a time as this?  

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Having had the powerfully humbling experience I had Friday with my former colleague from DSU, I wouldn't be able to doubt God with my decried needs (nor my aforementioned questions) even if I tried.

It is remarkable how closely our God knows our true self, mediates for us, heals us.

My faith continues to grow as he demonstrates his hands-on care for Rob.  His love for me is more real than it's ever been, and I can only have expectant hope for more to come.

Tough As Snails

"It's like I'm married to a man!  She's almost identical to her own father who was tough as nails."

This was a comment made to me by a long-time Samson friend, describing the relational / emotional tenacity of his wife.  Her resolve to endure their decades-long marriage woes had (at least partially) resulted in her becoming callous and essentially cut off - from him - emotionally.  As a result, their sexual relationship had unfortunately dried up.  This combined with her pointed criticism towards his appointed role as a spiritual leader (within their church, in particular) had seeded substantial doubt in his mind that she would actually stay married to him once they'd successfully reared (& seen moved onward) one of their daughter's children (they had legal custody).

This couple has been married since they were +/-16 years of age, having become pregnant unexpectedly as sexually active teens, therefore I felt shocked & numbed by his update, considering their marital tenure.

Essentially, this looked on the surface to be a wife who was characteristically protecting herself from future wounding (via unfettered sharp criticism / keeping him physically at arm's length) whilst hanging with the marriage out of obligation to her beloved grandson.

I recommended to my friend that he encourage his spouse to get involved in The Sarah Society ASAP in order to find support therein.  

Upon updating me a few weeks later, he'd received no indication from her that she'd follow through with my (& eventually his) recommendation.  Before we parted ways, he rationalized her decision out loud by telling me that she's never been interested in letting her guard down around other women, and this of course, harkened back to her intrinsic (patriarchal - "It's like being married to a man!") character as an individual.

I believe today that she'll likely never divorce my friend, but not because she's destined to make peace with his offenses.  Instead, she'll stay with him to-death-do-us-part in order to effectually justify her pedigreed emotional approach to life itself.

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What is it like to be married to a wife who's disabled?  My wife, in particular.  

"It's like I'm married to a man!  She's almost identical to her own father who was as sublime and hyper-conscientious an individual as I've ever met."

Moral excellence is a rare goal today.  Especially regarding an individual's sexuality (including thought life).  My wife as well as my wife's father made this a priority.  At the same time, there's this humility versus a haughtiness therein.  And this makes for a really pious individual.  Like Mother Theresa-grade pious.

Well, as we all know, Mother Theresa didn't have a husband.  But what if she had?

Hence, on the opposing side to that, there's a massive interpersonal intimidation factor.  So much so, that had I not respectfully befriended Angie during my teen years, I would NEVER have considered pursuing her as my wife in my early 20s.  Bizarrely, she and I hit it off (platonically) almost immediately when we were in high school.  Looking back, I'm convinced this had to do with both of us being hardcore freaks / geeks, both attending separate private academies here in the Jackson Metro.

But this only addresses one side of the coin.

The flip side is her bizarre (to me) hyper-conscientiousness.  And this was also the case for her now deceased father.  

Angie is so self-conscience that circumstantially, she's almost always aware of her pulse / blood pressure.  She's also laser tuned to her emotional state.  So much so that it can at times overwhelm her rationale mind.  

As a middle-schooler, she experienced a massive amount of emotional trauma brought on by her parents.  And this went on for a number of years prior to settling down (somewhat) during her high school years.  Hence, she grew into a very anxious individual by default, although thanks to therapy (and a few meds - on occasion) she's far more well equipped today to manage these unwanted feelings than she was when we first married.

Therein though is her physiological vulnerability.  Studies have shown that anxious individuals are far more likely to have strokes.  And a stroke is what she had back in May of 2020.

And that sums up what it's like to be married to Angie.

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I had lunch this week with one of my heroes, though he didn't know it (of his heroism) 'till we executed this initial juncture.  In the past, he was an elder at our church, and vocationally, his reputation was (he's retired) spotless.  Plus, he's a Bible scholar with so much compassion towards the lost (& downtrodden).  I guess you could say I've always been a secret fan.

He & I talked about conflict during lunch; in particular, conflict between friends / family.  For I wanted to know specifically how he'd fared therein, but especially as it related to some "high profile / public" individuals he'd befriended (who were either deceased or had moved away) over the years.  For I'd been wondering - for quite some time - from afar, how he'd managed these very difficult situations with his smile (& sanity) still intact.

But that overarching "lesson" wasn't what he shared with me.  Instead, he felt compelled to narrate a good portion (gory details) of the relational trauma itself directly to me.  Me.  A nobody who just happened to attend church with him.  

It was such an honor.

In a nutshell, I was given an awful lot, via his story, to chew on relative to relational dynamics.  And I'm going to be chewing for some time.

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Circling back to Angie...  My wife's (just as any wife is) extremely vulnerable to both Rob's (her husband's) sin and Rob's (her husband's) opportunity to / penchant for sin.  Take, for example, the vast online opportunities for me (all husbands) to find individuals to have illicit sexual relationships with.  Whether they're hetero / homo or something in between.  Not to mention Samson Society itself and perhaps using it as my illustrious web-like playground.  Catch & release?

Overall, as time marches on, our culture degrades further and further morally.  Therefore, in theory, Angie obtains a bigger and bigger target on her back.

But, that's only taking one side of the equation into consideration.

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Speaking personally, I find myself quite intrigued at how influential relationships are.  The specifics relative to how those dynamics work is fascinating to me.

And here's a statement that you might not have expected from me, but it's the truth.

The more vulnerable Angie becomes as my wife, the less likely I am to cheat.

Living with her, serving her, is exhausting at times.  But, it drives home the reality of her needing me to stay in our present reality.  

How Lockdowns Combined With The Internet Made You So Sex(uality) Crazed, & Perhaps For The Better. Be Wary of Secondhand Internet.

Recommended reading:

Why sexual identities shifted during the pandemic - BBC Worklife

Are smartphones serving as adult pacifiers? (msn.com)

The Internet certainly does wonders to keep us focused on sex.  We can watch people have sex (ad nauseum), we can admire sexy people and their well-documented salacious lives, we can read about sex & chat about sex.  As such, the Internet has the market cornered on sex.

This begs the question:  Does the contents of the Internet accurately / proportionately reflect humanity?  Our overall interests / wiring?  Our modus operandi as human beings?  Or, did it become what it is in response to our consumer-fueled, hyper-individualistically customized culture?  And lastly, if an individual never utilizes the (that "portion of") Internet to consume sexualized (explicit) content, might they still be impacted indirectly?  In other words, is there such thing as "secondhand Internet"?

  

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The first item to explore here, in an attempt to answer these questions, is the western world's primary focus:  That being amassing bookoodles of material wealth.  And the Internet celebrates / rewards this feckless pursuit in line with its primary motives / reasons for being. 

It cannot be understated that never has there been such a force of material wealth reckoning (redistribution) than has been seen since the dawn of the Internet.  As such, the Internet is most certainly not an accurate holistic reflection of humanity.  Instead, it harnesses / exploits / distorts / trivializes / purports any and all aspects of our western, free enterprise CULTURE in light of its greater purpose (to make people $$$$$$).

As such, nothing online can be wholeheartedly trusted in spite of the Internet's ubiquity / convenience / pervasiveness.  Yet, we as consumers do not care about this.  For it's the consumer-fueled, hyper-individualistic customization that keeps us hooked / deceived.  Deceived into believing that each serendipitous click seemingly controls the degree to which we're exposed, thereby, by default, defining our time online via our own, perpetually darkening, browsing standards. 

All in all, the Internet typically speaks with authority, yet does so only to keep its users glued to their screens.  And the reputation therein continues to gain credence as URLs fine tune their interface to consumer preferences.

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Overall, consumers who're obsessed with sex, sexiness consume more readily (are more confident consumers).  Sexually stimulating the brain proportionally reduces feelings / concerns over fear.

Cheapskates typically aren't obsessed with sex, sexiness (though they may still think an awful lot about it).  Therein, most cheapskates are thrifty because they're not at all confident that they're necessarily going to be employed, have good health, be married, etc. tomorrow.  Confident consumers are convinced otherwise.

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It wasn't long after I'd arrived at last weekend's Samson Society Gulf Coast retreat that I met my favorite co-retreater.  He was about my age and came to the retreat without knowing anyone else.  This was one brave dude, and it was my privilege to bunk with him.  

As we chatted Friday evening, standing there beside our beds, he cited recently listening to a podcast featuring a pastor who was now owning up to his previous marriage to / exploitation of the Internet (I featured that pastor within a previous post).

Here's that pastor:

What I'm trying to wrap my head around today is this (& it points back to the notion of "guilt" by association):  Is there no purity left in this human (online) experience that we now embrace?  No place - that the Internet hasn't touched - that's free of this jaded decline in our outlook?

By asking those questions, I'm not condoning this pastor's attempt to evangelize via his own story, but to hear my new very intelligent, very articulate Samson friend talk of this dude, and now realizing how truly bizarre this very photogenic pastor's story is...it just makes my brain hurt to think about where we've come (pun intended).

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A previous Silas got off repeatedly throughout most weeks via salacious online imagery (accessed via his smartphone), yet never, under any circumstances, utilizing hardcore, explicit porn.  He and I walked together for years, and I watched as he justified this behavior, within his own mind, by downplaying his association with explicit content.  This young man had served as a deacon, Sunday School teacher (within the country church he grew up in) as a teen in small town Mississippi which spoke clearly towards his whitewashed image.  And this guy was obsessed with the Internet.  His smartphone / Apple Watch were of paramount importance to him, commanding his attention over everything else on planet Earth via each buzz and sound.  

As I've thought back through that relationship, I'm now convinced that his circumstance may be far harder to pivot away from than I originally assumed.  And this, I would argue, is presumably the case due to the association piece / "secondhand Internet" influence I've attempted to speak to here.

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One thing that can be said for Pastor Joshua Broome is that he's no doubt descended to his very bottom of (what's legally permissible) the Internet's deep well of reliable revenue streams.  And by doing so, there's no semblance of sin by association whatsoever.  Hence, there's no direction (for him) but up from here.  Plus, Pastor Broome didn't just dabble in his former career.  He actually made history.

That being the case, I worry far less about him returning to his vomit than I do my former Silas.  

God redeems but only those who can clearly see why they are in need for redemption.  I'm convinced that there's so much more contrast in black & white versus grey.  

Reclaiming Childhood Trauma With The Help Of Unexpected New Friends (From MN Of All Places)

The +/-300-400 ranch housed 'hood I was reared in (Madison during the '80s) had a neighborhood pool that had been constructed as an optional amenity for the homeowners.  There was no homeowners' association to govern this mid-70s' subdivision, yet this pool was fortunately maintained - seasonally - by a group of volunteers - paying utility bills, overseeing upkeep, and distributing pool "membership" keys each summer.

The inground pool was a large rectangle with a slide, diving board serving the 12'-0" deep end.  As such, it was more than sufficient to accommodate the Traceland North throngs during the summertime.  

There weren't many occasions during my childhood where swimming at night within this pool was encouraged / allowed, but I do vividly recall spending countless mornings / afternoons there.  Bob & Darlene always ate dinner fairly early, therefore usually by 5 PM, we'd have vacated the swimming pool for the short drive back home.

Yet, there was one distinct occasion during my childhood where I did find myself at this pool at night, and it was then that I discovered how quickly a comfortable, very familiar setting can be so easily robbed of all its noteworthiness.

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The photo below is from the glossy cover of a 1988 wall calendar I kept "in my secret stash" as a teen.  The model shown here (gotta love that mullet!) was featured a handful of times within the publication, but it was this cover photo that mesmerized / captivated young Rob.  I nervously purchased this wall calendar at Northpark Mall's Spencer Gifts under the tutelage that I was "needing a gag gift" for one of my imaginary sisters.  I can still remember the excitement of removing the plastic wrap once I had it home.  And from there, sexual fantasy after sexual fantasy ensued, most of which centered on this guy pursuing me tenderly.  The fantasy made me feel safe, loved and important.  It was as reliable as daybreak, yet situating itself with great reliability as indwelling sin.

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When I was around the age (11 - 12) of my youngest daughter, Darlene entrusted me to some older neighborhood boys one evening while she and my dad went out.  This was during the summer, and the plan was for these teens to keep up with Rob whilst night swimming at the aforementioned neighborhood swimming pool.  I was understandably a little anxious about this setup, having never been put into this situation before.  These older boys were around the ages of 16 and 19 at the time.  They were brothers and both lived with their 'rents on the opposite side (from us) of our 'hood.  Though I didn't know them well, I'd agreed to this setup in order to accommodate my parents.  Plus, I sort of liked the notion of spending time alone with these older boys at the pool outside the bounds of routine.  I remember them as tough, carefree teens whose overconfidence far exceeded my own.  

Unfortunately, what happened that evening truly served to turn my love of that venue as well as any semblance of love for myself on its head, and the outcome here had all the more voracity due to Satan's impeccable timing (early adolescence).

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Last week (the week between Christmas and New Year's), we vacationed in Sandestin, FL, renting a condo overlooking the beautiful Gulf.  We'd never been there during the winter, yet we were pleasantly surprised at the (unseasonably?) balmy weather and overall smaller crowds.  The swimming pools are heated this time of year which helps with the comfort level - particularly if you choose to swim at night.  My daughters love swimming, but they especially love ending their vacation days with a swim.  For me though, swimming at night has never been an especially enjoyable experience, and up until last week, I wasn't exactly sure why.

Because of the breezy, chilled night air, even fewer resort vacationers joined us in the water after the sun went down (early).  Yet, during our first evening there, two boys did surprisingly appear.  I'd taken note of the older of the two (an unusually athletically built 16-year-old) as he slipped into the hot tub a few minutes prior with his younger brother.

After a few minutes of continuing to toss a glow football between my girls, I waded over to these (obviously) brothers and inquired if they'd be interested in joining in the fun.  And this set the stage for a very unique, temporary friendship.  A friendship that resulted in all of us rendezvousing most nights, within that same hourglass-shaped pool, throughout the time we were there.

You need to know that the boys were from rural Minnesota.  As such, having never been to this sprawling seaside resort (much less FL), they truly were fish out of water.  We had the best time getting to know and having the privilege of being hospitable to them.  Later in the week, I also had the good fortune of meeting their father (poolside), and from there, both of our families agreed to share dinner at a local pizzeria at the conclusion of our time together.  It was a blast.

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Through all of this, God tenderly reminded me of the physical assault I experienced as an 11 - 12-year-old boy at my long since compartmentalized Traceland North swimming pool.  It was as if he literally walked me back to the horror hand-in-hand as night after night we'd reconvene with our routine there at Sandestin.  Observing these MN brothers' masculine character, in such sharp contrast to what I'd experienced as a boy, served as the perfect reformative sauve.  For it so clearly demonstrated how much I'd longed to be / understood how I could have been affirmed within that swimming pool setting all those years ago.  

The physical assault was a childhood horror that I'd never spoken of to anyone.  For in and through that, I'd had impregnated within me the notion of young Rob being defective relative to his masculinity.  Hence, from that point forward, I simply refused to face my defective self.  Immediately following, I began hiding and turning inward to placate / medicate my trauma.  And that's where homosexual fantasy, in many ways, became my "adolescence preserver".  

Please know that I cannot underestimate the intense shame I experienced as a result of being treated, by these adolescent guardians, with so little respect.  What little masculine dignity I had - at that time - as a very young man, was literally stripped clean that night.

In closing, I'm grateful to have clear direction relative to my work ahead.  For 2022 will definitely be a year of focusing on unpacking / wrestling with this notion of childhood me being internally labeled as defect(ive).  Combined with all the ramifications therein, I hope to best position the boy inside, going forward, in opposition to that label.

 

The Degree By Which Demographics Impact Relationships (Within Samson Society Or Otherwise)

Just how differently (if at all) do you think about / view the world / people around you if you have / do not have (either/or) a college degree?  What if your Silas has zero higher education / a college degree but you do have a college degree (or multiple college degrees) / don't have any higher education?  How might those opposing demographic descriptors impact your friendship?  Knowing what we do of Christian men who find themselves in crisis, Samson Society may very well fit the bill, yet every man is unique.  As such, there is no categorical recipe for men to both find themselves within crisis and in turn, step into our community.  It is welcome to all.  But over time, their demographic will no doubt become a part of their Samson Society narrative.  And this is a good thing because that's in line with the spirit of transparency that our community is built upon, but over time, that (specifically demographic) narrative will predictably pigeonhole this man into his specific group.

On a related note, the differentiator between an in-person and virtual Samson Society meeting experience is how much more efficiently those present will find their specific narratives being fleshed out within the in-person format.  And this is simply a result of the au natural human-to-human connection, and how prone men are to effectively relate when they're physically present with each other.

My experience with the questions I've posed above harken all the way back to 2014.  This is when I first stepped foot into a Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society meeting as a college educated, professionally licensed freak (my story attests to this).  At that time, I was more defeated and ashamed than I'd ever been.  And just as isolated as I'd found myself one year prior when everything around me began falling apart (job loss due to breaking IT policy at Delta State University).

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Relational tribalism, amongst men of the same demographic / educational background, can (I'm using the word "can" in lieu of "will" because I'm only privy to my own experience) sometimes develop and thrive within the Samson Society.  Especially, I would argue, within the Samson Society.  And I believe this is due to how prone Samson guys are to being loners.  Hence, as such, individual men who gravitate towards isolation may not garner nor divvy out a trustworthy approach - no questions asked.  Instead, there tends to be much less of an agnostic relational outlook in spite of the free enterprise verbiage spelled out within the Samson Society charter.  Now, relational tribalism, in my opinion, is an extreme form of simply relegating oneself to a specific clique.  Considering that truth, be forewarned of how quickly it can set in, efficiently working in favor of a distinctly inbred approach to community.

So we have two factors that I find tend to consistently subdivide the Samson Society community.

1.  demographics

2.  Samson guy's comfortableness with a specific outlook / state of being (individual isolation) which is prone to subjugate him into cliques (sub-grouped isolation).

I'm going to focus going forward on item number 1 because I'm fascinated by it.

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Five or six years ago, our now present-day church, Lakeside Presbyterian Church, formally voted out (removed) their then Senior Pastor.  At the time, we were not members of the church.  Instead, we were back at First Baptist Church Jackson (which is where Angie and I grew up and were married).  I'd sensed this Presbyterian ouster would eventually come to pass, therefore instead of riding out the emotional / relational rapids at our local community church (Lakeside Pres), we made a discreet exit (back to FBCJ with the hope of an eventual return).

Immediately prior to Lakeside Pres' then pastor's formal ouster, a group of twenty or so families began discreetly rallying around this man, for they saw the writing on the wall.  They did so to the point of working with him to seed an entirely new church for their collective.  And that did occur, thereby that new church(split) was eventually dubbed "Reigning Grace Church".  

Within a few years though, "Reigning Grace Church" imploded.  Then the disgraced pastor (& his wife) returned to his roots on the east coast (which is where they came to Mississippi from).  

I remember writing this man a short "thinking of you" note (upon his termination from Lakeside Pres), acknowledging the tremendous humiliation involved in a forced termination.  Though he and I weren't at all close, I couldn't help but sympathize.  For as I referenced earlier, just a few years prior to this schism, I'd been terminated from Delta State University in the most heartless, unprofessional manner conceivable (to me).  

I would have never taken the time to write this note though, had I known what was about to transpire in the form of "Reigning Grace Church".

The "church split" that occurred came very close to shuttering Lakeside Presbyterian Church completely.  For the church body was already tremendously sad over the procedural hurdles they'd had to go through to decouple their stubbornly complacent pastor.  This combined with the recent loss (by suicide) of one of their most accomplished / beloved elders earlier that same year made Lakeside especially vulnerable for such a time as that.

But God sustained this small Reservoir community church through this supernaturally, and today, it is better for it relative to its steadfastness in furthering its local church mission - only.

What's of interest though regarding this "Reigning Grace Church" startup's unforeseen demise has to do with the mundaneness of the item number one listed above - demographics, and the critical role it played therein.

The subset of Lakeside Presbyterian Church families that "rebelled" by decoupling themselves from Lakeside Pres - in protest to the Senior Pastor's termination - were no different demographically than those they left behind.  As such, I would argue, their new church faced a great deal of difficulty developing it's own identity / purpose apart from the mothership.  Too, the "Reigning Grace Church" chose to locate within an adjacent county / city (Madison) which was demographically decidedly different than Rankin / Reservoir area (where Lakeside Pres resides).  

The tale of "Reigning Grace Church" isn't unique.  Most (small scale) church splits don't thrive.  Instead, they peter out fairly quickly just as this one did.  And this is due to the churchsplit's inability to successfully separate itself from its historical identity anchored in demographics.  Demographics that are comfortably the same to where they split away from.  Petty theological differences usually aren't nearly enough to anesthetize the massive emotional scars left to be healed by a church split.  As such, their identity as the "rebels" alone often falls way short of what's needed to kickstart the process of penning their own narrative.

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Now, let's look at another example.  One that's just as personally poignant but whose ultimate outcome (well beyond the snippet I'm disclosing here) is the reverse of what I've described above.

Two younger men were invited to the Lakeside Presbyterian Church Samson Society (which I used to facilitate) many years ago by a younger, close friend (who was a regular attendee), and it's important to note that this younger friend just happened / happens to not be within my demographic (which was / is really cool).  I'd enjoyed (& still enjoy) his friendship for many years, even serving as his Silas for much of that early-on time period.    

The two younger men he invited just happened to be within my demographic, at least relative to higher education.  I took note of this immediately, and frankly was pleased to have them there - that much more - due to our demographic similarities.  

Now let me stop here and interject something of note.

Part of my modus operandi as a Samson Society group facilitator was to offer to dine / have coffee with newbies immediately following their attendance to their first meeting(s).  This was one of the primary reasons I instituted a "Sign-In" page for each meeting, requiring attendees to provide their contact info.  Therefore, I did just that with these young men.  And both eventually agreed to join me.  As such, I vividly recall both meals being well worth the time (& monies) spent.  The conversation flowed easily between us as I executed my dental work.

Three to five days after I'd had the opportunity to "roll out the red carpet" via my hospitableness towards these young college-educated Samson Society newbies, something very weird happened.  In fact, it was about the most unexpected thing I've had happen to me whilst being part of this community.

My old friend (who'd invited these men to the Lakeside Pres group) and a similarly demographic to him friend of both of ours, approached me in order to question my motives relative to lunching with these newbies.  This too occurred over a lunch, and I distinctly recall - after this juncture - beginning to question myself.   For the frictional situation I now found myself in was both off putting and extremely confusing. 

Ultimately, and I just did not want to formally recognize this all those years ago, what I had found myself caught in the middle of was a territorial, disguised as solely platonic, pissing match.  A pissing match that I'd ignorantly provoked simply by following a protocol that I'd established as a Samson Society group facilitator.

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The neighborhood that we call home is somewhat demographically diverse (though getting less & less so with each passing year).  I believe I've written about that prior.  The homes are small (by 2021 standards) and packed in like sardines within a tightly compacted, nondescript setting.  Therefore, it's next to impossible to not know - to some degree - who lives where and what they're up to most of the time.

The youngest single family homeowners on our 11-home cul-de-sac have a daughter about the age of our youngest.  As they eventually settled into our enclave over the past three to four years (they very much kept to themselves), I began neighborly engaging with the hopes that they'd eventually dine with us.  I like to meet people in an effort to extract their narratives (dental work!), but especially from the standpoint of hopefully furthering the gospel via hospitality.  Plus, I just felt so moved to minister to this young family.  

Unfortunately, this juncture did not occur.  And yet again, it was due to my stupidity relative to naively provoking a pissing match over demographics.  

In the end, what I reflexively relayed in jest - to our new neighbors (via text message) - was in no way perceived as such (& I cannot emphasize that enough).  And from there, it was all downhill (Black diamond).  To the point that soon thereafter, I had to call a family meeting in an effort to warn the girls to steer clear of our neighbors in order to avoid any collateral damage.

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I want all three of my daughters to attend college.  Even if they don't necessarily pursue a life that's career-centric.  Higher education matures individuals.  Particularly if you can endure the pain required to complete it.  

But, I'm biased.  And so is Angie.  In the end, there are plenty of folks out there who have a completely different point of view than we do about higher education.  And most of those have zero higher education experience.  And that's perfectly okay.

The point of this post isn't to argue for or against higher education.  The point here is to attempt to begin to unpack the long-term relational complexities involved in bringing all manner of men-in-crisis together within the Samson Society.  Men from various demographic backgrounds who are committed to this very special ministry.

It's so interesting to me how despite Samson guys' various religious backgrounds / beliefs, those never seem to subtly complicate things as much as demographics have the potential to.  I have to wonder if this is the case in other parts of world where various meetings are hosted.

In the end, I find that it's really, really difficult to maintain one foot equally on each side of the railroad tracks without running the risk of getting run down by the train.  And this makes my heart sad.  Demographics do play a significant role in synchronizing narratives (bringing likeminded men together) which is the ultimate goal of relational accountability, and it sucks to have to admit to this.  

Relational accountability though is the heart of Samson Society NOT the synchronization of every man's narrative.

I would argue that finding relational accountability within a diverse friendship is / will be a far more precious experience, and as such, should be revered / cherished / protected to the nth degree.

He Said - She Said / Entertainment (& Success!) From "Lies"

We've lived within our 1,550 sf abode for over twenty years.  Never have we replaced any of the floor finishes (carpet, wood flooring, ceramic tile) within the house despite the fact that we've lived with a chronic - under the wood floor - leak at / near the front door.  My theory is that this leak is the result of a large picture window that was either incorrectly installed or manufactured faultily.  The leak has badly stained the floor at the juncture of the floor plane and wall, and it's grown progressively worse (leak has expanded) over the past twenty years.  It's important to know that I can distinctly recall placing my head within my hands, all those years ago, upon first realizing that we had this leak.  For I knew it was going to represent a massive thorn within our home's building envelope. 

During the first year of living within this "garden home", the man who had the house constructed (who was always very uncooperative / resistant to take responsibility) did pay a flooring subcontractor to return and replace the then stained portion of the wood floor.  He did this after claiming that the leak had been successfully repaired.  But we soon discovered that the leak persisted.  Even after I paid thousands of dollars, years later, to have the exterior wall finish (EIFS) refinished / sealed / repainted (around this now identified leaky window), the leak persisted.

Throughout the decades that this has been going on, I've essentially been lying to myself about its severity.  And this is how I've chosen to deal with the problem.  Particularly as a homeowner who's also an architect.  It's really been the only way I've known to manage this chronic, very in-your-face water infiltration issue.  

At the present, besides the aforementioned wood floor staining, there's also no doubt that our primary floor finish (throughout the house), carpet, is now badly needing replacement.  And this is simply due to wear and tear.  Yet, I'm choosing to not lie to myself about that one because I've a successful plan with which to do something about it.  

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Lies are always more comfortable to exist within than reality, particularly when our problems are way more involved / complicated than we're equipped to handle.  Somewhat related to that is entertainment.  The majority of entertainment is fiction.  Rigorously developed / written / acted / directed / produced fiction.  Fiction that's so clever / inspiring that we consume each episodic occurrence with abandon as we put reality on hold within the background.  

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Growing up within the city of Madison during the '80s, there were no retail stores whatsoever other than gas stations, therefore my mother had to drive either to where Angie and I live now (on the Rankin County side of the Reservoir) or into Ridgeland (via Highway 51) to grocery shop.  The most convenient Ridgeland grocery store was dubbed the "Big Star", and I distinctly recall it always having a carousel of paperbacks for sale inside.   

As a child, reading was a passion of mine, therefore if I stumbled upon something that piqued my interest amongst the tomes on this oscillating wire rack, I'd usually place it in our shopping cart (hoping Darlene would not object).

It was during this time that I encountered the "unauthorized biography", and I would be remiss to not divulge that Moonlighting was one of my favorites TV shows as a teen.  As such, Mr. Bruce Willis' career was being established right before my eyes as the infamous David Addison.

I remember curiously leafing through the Bruce Willis unauthorized biography paperback, paying heed primarily to only the candid black & white photos of Bruce there in the middle of the scoop.  From there, I skimmed a lot before tossing that trash into the trash.

What this experience proved to me was that David Addison was far more important / impressive to me than Bruce Willis, yet it did plant a seed within me regarding the fact that a lot of something else was going on here, far removed from our glowing television set at 197 St. Augustine Dr.

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One of the most credentialed Samson guys I've come to know had quite the successful shoplifting career as an adolescent.  His methodology involved wearing a trench coat into big box retailers from which he'd stash his stolen wares.  Decades later, as an adult, despite his role as "Chairman of the Deacons" at the church he and his family frequented, he was a behind-the-scenes serial adulterer, using hook up smartphone apps to establish / maintain his ruse.  And this went on for years 'till the Ashley Madison hack occurred and he, like so many men, had their lies exposed.

This friend has confessed openly that so much about his public persona is a lie.  Particularly within the vocational realm.  Yet, he's trusted more in those character lies, to propel him forward, than his true self.  As such, so have his colleagues, who've done the promoting.  

It's as if he's recognized / accepted his decision to be more comfortable / capable pretending in order to get what he truly desires out of his life, yet within the background, there's this ever present conflict between what he's created and who he truly is.

That, my friends, is an example of truly living in tension.  And I believe many white collar men accept this as their own reality each and every day.

But there's got to be a relief valve, doesn't there?

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My mother's mother is almost 90-years old, and she lives with my mother's brother (her only sibling) in rural Humphreys County.  Like many Mississippians who're her age, she is not in the best physical, emotional or fiscal health.  My mom (with my grandmother concurring) believes it's best for her to live in her +/-900 sf rancher with my uncle (versus living alone or within a nursing home) out in the middle of nowhere.  And this has been her status quo ever since my grandfather died back in 2014.   

Last week, she fell inside the house and suffered some lacerations on her face / head.  It scared everyone in the family but particularly my mother who wasn't there to witness what actually occurred.  This obviously resulted in rushing her away for emergency medical care.  Care which is only available +/- an hour from her remote home.  This was the first time she'd fallen in all the years she'd lived within this home.

This week, she fell again, but this time it was outside on the concrete patio.  Immediately thereafter, she accused my uncle of pushing her down.  She came away with a broken clavicle as a result, per the doctor's analysis here in Jackson.  She stayed with my parents for a few days before being returned to her routine in the Mississippi Delta.

My uncle had telephoned my mother immediately before her fall, claiming she'd "gone crazy".  Darlene could tell that her brother and mother were having a heated exchange (which is not an uncommon occurrence) over some tomfoolery.  He denies accosting her.  Instead, he claims he reached out to steady her walker prior to her hard felt fall.

My uncle is known for his penchant for lying, therefore in spite of my grandmother's age / emotional / physical health, I'm of the opinion that she's the one to believe here.  Neither of my parents would ever willingly side with me though regarding this.  Instead, they'd rather conveniently move forward as if it had been her fault entirely, or simply not discuss it.  Therefore, all I can do at this point is feel powerless.

You must know that my uncle is an extremely intimidating man.  In fact, he's the most intimidating man I've ever known.  As such, I believe, lying comes easy for him since it's presented within such a threatening persona.  Both his build, but particularly his voice, fall in line with these attributes.  He is the epitome of redneck, white trash machismo that consistently telegraphs the notion of "don't even think of crossing me".  Yet, underneath all of that, he's a brilliant, extremely articulate guy with a heart that, at times, can show true care and concern in spite of his long track record of self absorbedness.

Throughout my life, I've watched my parents often cater to my uncle and his needs, but this truly went into overdrive when I was close to concluding my college career.  And my grandmother has modeled this for them, yet her approach has always been enabling.  She's wrongfully bailed him out of countless, very serious scenarios that he's found himself within (a few of which would have resulted in an accrued criminal record).  As such, Bob and Darlene have - at times - been just as relentlessly merciful.  I can relate to none of this since I've no siblings of my own.  Instead, throughout most of my life, I've simply been a silent observer of these emotionally charged familial dynamics between people whom I care for immensely. 

As such, I FIND THAT I HAVE NO NEED FOR MUCH OF ANY FICTION AT THIS POINT IN MY LIFE.  There's plenty of real-life drama these days, within my own family, to keep me in emotional knots / awake at night.  And these dynamics do a great job of doing just that.

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I wrote within an earlier post about utilizing gay porn to emotionally bank / connect.  

Despite the fact that it's been close to one year since I've consumed gay porn, I chose to do so yesterday.  And I can confirm that a whole lotta emotional banking / connecting did actually occur between me and those images.  Particularly taking into consideration what I now know of what went down earlier this week between my loser uncle and my sweet grandmother.  

The emotional connection I experience whilst consuming gay porn is hyper efficient, having been established all the way back to my childhood.  So much moreso than I truly care to admit to.  And I'm not sure how to not justify using it when I'm faced with emotional predicaments (that are out of my control) similar to the one I've described above.  

After the fact (later on into the evening / earlier today), I thought a good bit about attempting to rendezvous with my Silas over the weekend in order to simply experience some quality, platonic physical touch (I'm not in the mood to talk).  But I haven't done that.  Instead, I've chosen to simply write out where I'm at in tandem with talking to my sweet wife (who sensed immediately that something unfortunate had gone down relative to my sobriety when I walked through the door last night).   

In closing, I am so ready for the National Samson Society retreat to get here.  I long to hear some helpful truth(s) whilst experiencing those real world, hyper efficient emotional connections, allowing every ounce of it to wash over me in droves.   

"I Can't Stand That Woman!" / Rob's Mississippi

A day or so after (9/11/01), my parents and I had dinner at a local Mexican restaurant here in Jackson with a dear retired couple (now deceased) that had served to mentor my folks during the early years of their marriage.  To be more specific, my parents had served under them (when I was in middle school) within our church (First Baptist Church Jackson) as Sunday School directors within the class they taught.  This particular Sunday School class was relegated to singles, and as such, it was duly popular.  So much so, in fact, that many of the attendees who'd "marry out" of this class would find ways to stick around (in spite of their betrothal).

This older couple were retired educators, both having served within the Jackson Public Schools district as teachers and administrators / coaches.  Hence, they were astute, articulate people, who were incredibly down to Earth and loved by many.  I have a queue full of great memories of them and my parents as they came alongside each other to serve at our church during those 3-4 years of my childhood.

During our dinner, there was a nationwide minute of silence, in honor of those who'd perished within the terrorist's attack.  Therefore we, like so many others, sat awkwardly in silence at our restaurant booth after the din suddenly halted.  From there, our conversation couldn't help but turn to the attack / politics, the latter of which wasn't a topic that I'd ever remembered broaching with this older couple during all of the fun-filled dinners before.

At this time, I was in my late 20s, and politics simply weren't of interest to me.  Growing up with my two parents, neither of which had any interest / real understanding whatsoever in / of politics, relegated me too to turning a blind eye towards it.

But I soon discovered that this wasn't the case regarding this dear older couple.  Instead, they were both obviously quite vested / interested in the politics of the day.

At this point in time, despite my overall disinterest, I couldn't help but take note of Hillary Clinton's political ambitions.  To the point of admiring her poise and obvious intelligence.  As such, back in 2001, Ms. Clinton was continuing to vie for elected "opportunities" where she might flex her specific leadership skillset (independent from her husband, Bill), and frankly, I admired that.  

For whatever reason, I interjected her name into the conversation (post minute of silence) as we munched on tortilla chips and salsa, and this is when the unexpected happened.

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A month or so ago, my sweet wife and I shared "our final meal" with our oldest dependent.  This was at a Cracker Barrel restaurant prior to moving her into a freshman dorm room in south Mississippi.  It was a sobering experience for us, knowing she was now officially out of the nest.

About ten minutes in, a multi-generational clan were seated adjacent to us.  What struck me about this family was what was displayed prominently across the tee shirt of the +/-30-year-old daughter (or perhaps daughter-in-law).  It said the following: "PROUD TO BE A DEPLORABLE".  

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I was born and reared within the great state of Mississippi.  My parents are from a small Mississippi Delta town dubbed Belzoni.  My mom was reared in rural Humphreys County (outside of Belzoni), and her upbringing was impoverished.  Her family didn't have indoor plumbing 'till she was 9 or 10 years old.  They did eventually obtain this (within the "new" house), but they (family of four) were still confined to +/-900 square feet of (non-centrally climate-controlled) space.   

Their existence was typical for Mississippi in the '50s and '60s, and many, many Mississippians live within these similar conditions today.

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During my teenage years, there were two things that made the most endeavoring impact.  One was my being heavily involved at First Baptist Church Jackson, and the other was the privilege I had of befriending two older teenagers (older peers at my high school), both of which were similarly atypical as I was (ambition / temperament).  The latter happened during the summer before my tenth grade year.  Since both of these new friends were a year older than I, that gave me two solid years to enjoy that companionship, and let me tell you:  it was awesome.  

From there, my two friends exited Mississippi and neither looked back (except to be in my wedding in '96).  One of those two does still have family here (perhaps), but the other's family moved away decades ago.

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Mississippi represents the clear and present underdog within this US of A.  So long as you're taking stock of economic indicators, educational milestones, healthcare availability, and so forth.  In tandem with that is our geographic mundaneness and muddy, waveless coastline.  

But growing up as I did, around the folks I did, these uncompetitive attributes weren't at all on my radar.  Instead, it was the aforementioned influencers that had my full attention.

Therefore, that was my Mississippi.

Samson Society guys make up the core group of men that I allow to influence me today.  Most of those are Mississippians at the present, but many of them are from Florida, Tennessee.  And it's important to know that this has not always been the case.

Taking all of this into account, most of us wish not to be reduced to a label.  And certainly not then ushered into an assumption by default.  This is discriminatory behavior that is in no way in line with the gospel of Jesus Christ.  

There are a LOT of people in Mississippi who live lives that are vastly different than people within other states, and as such, there are many Samson guys from those troupes who are ushered in therein - no questions asked.  It's what makes our groups unique as representatives of this state.  

Politicians, through their words, are meta-influencers.  And those words are birthed within their thought life prior to being unleashed as sound bytes.  Yet, so many of everyone's words (whether politicized or not) are often said with little to no consideration as to their impact.   

I don't wish to see people through the eyes of other's observations / labels, but it is sure hard to NOT do this at times.

This is why I try to steer clear of politics, though unfortunately, it's seemingly everywhere these days.  

Be wary of generalizing or applying labels.  Instead, turn your criticality inward and keep it there 'till your arrogance is effectively reset.  Or better yet, study your roots.  To the point that you never forget exactly where you came from.