Grandpa, Tell Me ‘Bout the Good Old Days

(Christmas 2011)

No matter where you live, Christmas is now in the air. From the snow-covered North Carolina mountains to the warm sandy beaches of Florida, it is the time for caroling, exchanging gifts, and enjoying all that is Christmas. Christmas has become my favorite holiday for two reasons. Yes, the primary reason is that it is at the cornerstone of my faith, but it is also important to me because it is a time to share with family and friends. There is just something so warm about the entire season; I look forward to it all year long.

I have a simple wish list for Christmas 2011. In fact, I’m now down to a single wish on my got-to-have-this-or-I’ll-die list which by the way has shrunk noticeably over the past few decades. I wish us American all would just lighten up a bit and learn to respect others’ views, whether political or religious, whether we agree with them or think they could not be further off base. As 2012 draws to a close, we should all strive to cultivate a newfound civility when it comes to others. Who knows, if it begins with us, it might just be paid forward all the way to Washington DC. Now, wouldn’t that be a nice Christmas present?

But being civil to others does not mean I must give up my belief to prevent them from being exposed to those beliefs, and vice versa. I believe that Americans have morphed into copping the feeling that all we have to say is I’m offended, and a horde of lawyers will swing into action to prevent our feelings from being hurt. I think we should all learn to stop taking ourselves so darn seriously. My feelings were hurt when I asked one or more of you young ladies out in high school and got a “thanks, but no thanks” or when my Little League coach decided to have me make sure the bench in our dugout did not run away while our team took the field. But, guess what? I survived both and a thousand more twists and turns that life and others have thrown my way, and let me check… yes… it’s true… no lasting scars to body or mind.

One of my favorite TV shows is CBS’ Sunday Morning, and one of my favorite commentators is Ben Stein. The following is a small excerpt from a commentary he gave a few years ago, and I think he can teach us a lot about tolerance and not taking our views or ourselves too darn seriously.

My confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees, Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are—Christmas trees.
It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, “Merry Christmas” to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a crèche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.
I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat. Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship celebrities, and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand him? I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where these celebrities came from and where the America we knew went to.

I raise a Christmas toast, or should I say a Hanukkah toast, to Ben. I don’t believe this wonderful season is about a Winter Festival or the ever politically correct Happy Holidays; it is about Christmas, complete with Nativity scenes, Christmas trees, colored lights, children’s smiles, and Christmas Eve church services. And I do believe that I can celebrate Christmas without doing harm to a Buddhist, Muslim, or for that matter, an atheist.

Our generation has seen so much fade away—door-to-door trick-or treating, drive-in movies, saying Merry Christmas, simple forgiveness, and some might say civility. All have gone or are going the way of Little Joe and the Cartwright boys. But we are still here; my fingers can still type; and my shaky memory still allows me to remember most of what I wanted to say when I began writing this rambling, so there is still hope. But, yes, things have changed—a lot.

I love the lyrics of the country song “Grandpa (Tell Me ‘Bout the Good Old Days)”by the Judds.

Grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days
Sometimes it feels like this world’s gone crazy
Grandpa, take me back to yesterday
When the line between right and wrong
Didn't seem so hazy

(Chorus)

Did lovers really fall in love to stay
And stand beside each other, come what may
Was a promise really something people kept
Not just something they would say
Did families really bow their heads to pray
Did daddies really never go away
Whoa oh, Grandpa, tell me 'bout the good old days

Grandpa, everything is changing fast
We call it progress, but I just don't know
And, Grandpa, let's wander back into the past
And paint me the picture of long ago

We are all old enough to remember when lawyers worked their entire career, writing wills and closing real estate transactions, and like politicians of that era, both were respected. When almost nothing we bought came with a warning label. When your main concern after tripping in a store was looking to see if someone saw what a klutz you were, instead of quickly finding a way to blame someone else in an effort to unjustly become the new owner of the place.

Yes, in a couple of generations, life has changed from the Andy of Mayberry world where we learned to ride our spider bikes into the fast-paced, text versus talk, reality TV, random violence world our grandkids now inhabit. Lest you think I am some backward-thinking old fuddy-duddy, viewing life only in the rear-view mirror, I’ll admit that much of the change we have seen has been positive—technology (don’t touch my iPhone), increased life expectancy (getting more important by the day), equal pay for women and racial equality (both too slow in coming), and … and… and…give me a minute; I’m thinking. There has to be more. Well, that can be ammo for a future rambling.

Anyway, we, the class of 1970, are tied together with the threads of a long since passed life of drive-in burger joints (can you say Bill’s Burger), school spirit (say Go Eagles), TV rabbit ears (with or without the aluminum foil wadded on the ends), and where Peyton Place was as close to pornography as you were likely to see. A time when kids played outside until dark with no one worrying about them and went home on their own at dusk for a dinner that everyone sat down for at the same time. When your next-door neighbor had standing permission from your parents to swat your butt if you misbehaved (without threat of lawsuits or Protective Child Services being called) and when you began every reply to an elder with yes, sir or no, ma’am. When the song “Dixie,” the Bible, nor Christmas offended anyone, and no one was surprised to hear a prayer over the PA system during homeroom and before the football game.

We built the foundation of our lives on those times. For better or worse, they helped make us become what we are, now some half century later. So, this Christmas, why not go out of your way to spread just a dash of civility and practice a bit of tolerance. If you want to have a positive impact on the future, maybe you should do something a bit different this year. Maybe Christmas afternoon, after the gifts are opened and as your midday nap looms, you should pick up your grandbabies and tell them:

How lovers really fall in love to stay
And stood beside each other, come what may
How a promise was really something people kept
Not just something they would say
How families really bowed their heads to pray
And daddies really never went away
Go on, Grandpa, tell ‘em ‘bout our good old Ft. Pierce days

Love is more of a decision than an emotion; decide to love.

Merry Christmas to The Class of 1970,
Richard