It was dark and cold that night when I stopped by my neighbor's house. He suggested a warmer venue for discussion and we slipped inside to the kitchen table of his home. A Christmas tree was lit in the corner and a couple of couches filled the second half of the living room. The table was covered with a family made crocheted table cloth of white; set out for the Christmas season. I pulled out a chair and sat sideways, preventing myself from inadvertently kicking my neighbors. His wife sat across from me while he filled the only remaining seat. We talked about soccer and similarities among us. Before long, talk of the inevitable set in, and I was listening to stories of a long lost friend of a friend who was about my size. Certainly, I hadn't occasion to know this fellow, but became well acquainted with his exploits upon the night's end. That line of speech was not surprising, but I was taken aback by what eventually followed. Shortly after, his wife spoke up and fired a rhetorical question my way. This she did by asking if she could ask a question. I provided the unnecesary answer of yes, and she continued. She asked if I wore contacts or if those were real. The genuine nature of my eye color was being called in to question. It seemed that she was skeptical that I could have such a shade of blue in my eyes without the aid of optical lenses. I assured her that my eyes were real.
I recently spent the evening with a host of folks who came from generations past and a few from The Greatest Generation. In times past, the average height of a man was somewhat lower than it is now. While I admired highly decorated uniforms, they admired my height. In a formal receiving line, I was put through the monotony of questions about basketball and reminders of the fact that I was tall. The youngest person in a formal party of over 70 people, I was quite incidentally the focus of attention for many in attendance. Fortunately, I remained seated most of the evening. Even then, interrupting his own speech with the realization of my presence, a friend from church introduced me as he mentioned airmen in his talk. My blue uniform indicated as much, and I remained in my seat throughout the random round of applause. Later, a high school choir group relieved me of the the status as youngest in the room. They entered, sang a few songs, and left. What songs they sang I think I know, and some were related to Christmas. A string quartet played an arrangement of Bach's Air on the G String from his Concerto No. 3 while the choir sang Come Thou Long Expected Jesus. As the choir director began waving her hands about like an Italian speaking in slow motion, the man next to me turned and said, "She is a retired Sergeant Major." I noted the fact, and listened to the music. When the first song ended, the gentleman to my left turned around and said that the choir director was a retired Sergeant Major. I was almost certain of her rank when the director of the party stood up after the final number and announced that the choir director was indeed a retired Sergeant Major.
Through the evening, the conversation went to the dogs. Quite literally, the gentlemen at the table spoke of the animals with such obvious statements that only seem warranted in such a formal setting. One lady there took a more sympathetic approach to the topic, and spoke about rescue dogs. She meant dogs that had been rescued, not Lassie impostors. The sad reality of euthanization crept into the previously pleasant conversation from the emotional lady. A retired officer took command of the situation and said, "What's youth got to do with it anyway?" I laughed respectfully amidst a flurry of groans and confused looks.
Before long, a gift exchange ensued. They say that it is better to give than to receive. I opted against testing the theory, and didn't bring a gift. Accordingly, I watched as the ladies and gentlemen struggled with exquisite wrapping paper. The crowd was largely above thievery, and few gifts were stolen. Still, there are always a few who end up with unwanted gifts at the end of it all. An Army colonel ended up with a package of scented lotions that was the envy of a lady across the room. It was never stolen, though, and he took it home. A retired general walked the room with a box, innocently asking if anyone wanted to exchange their gift. The exchange was over, but he continued to hawk a large box stuffed only with wrapping paper.
I stood when it was time to go, and was mobbed by a group of ladies marveling at my height. Accustomed to such happenings, I fielded questions, dividing my attention among them. The youngest of the bunch, in her early 40s, said that my height was awesome. Then she repeatedly said that I wasn't old enough. The lady continued, saying that there were not many people who she looked up to. Certainly a fitting time for a pun and a prayer for humility, I resisted and listened to her talk.
I recently spent the evening with a host of folks who came from generations past and a few from The Greatest Generation. In times past, the average height of a man was somewhat lower than it is now. While I admired highly decorated uniforms, they admired my height. In a formal receiving line, I was put through the monotony of questions about basketball and reminders of the fact that I was tall. The youngest person in a formal party of over 70 people, I was quite incidentally the focus of attention for many in attendance. Fortunately, I remained seated most of the evening. Even then, interrupting his own speech with the realization of my presence, a friend from church introduced me as he mentioned airmen in his talk. My blue uniform indicated as much, and I remained in my seat throughout the random round of applause. Later, a high school choir group relieved me of the the status as youngest in the room. They entered, sang a few songs, and left. What songs they sang I think I know, and some were related to Christmas. A string quartet played an arrangement of Bach's Air on the G String from his Concerto No. 3 while the choir sang Come Thou Long Expected Jesus. As the choir director began waving her hands about like an Italian speaking in slow motion, the man next to me turned and said, "She is a retired Sergeant Major." I noted the fact, and listened to the music. When the first song ended, the gentleman to my left turned around and said that the choir director was a retired Sergeant Major. I was almost certain of her rank when the director of the party stood up after the final number and announced that the choir director was indeed a retired Sergeant Major.
Through the evening, the conversation went to the dogs. Quite literally, the gentlemen at the table spoke of the animals with such obvious statements that only seem warranted in such a formal setting. One lady there took a more sympathetic approach to the topic, and spoke about rescue dogs. She meant dogs that had been rescued, not Lassie impostors. The sad reality of euthanization crept into the previously pleasant conversation from the emotional lady. A retired officer took command of the situation and said, "What's youth got to do with it anyway?" I laughed respectfully amidst a flurry of groans and confused looks.
Before long, a gift exchange ensued. They say that it is better to give than to receive. I opted against testing the theory, and didn't bring a gift. Accordingly, I watched as the ladies and gentlemen struggled with exquisite wrapping paper. The crowd was largely above thievery, and few gifts were stolen. Still, there are always a few who end up with unwanted gifts at the end of it all. An Army colonel ended up with a package of scented lotions that was the envy of a lady across the room. It was never stolen, though, and he took it home. A retired general walked the room with a box, innocently asking if anyone wanted to exchange their gift. The exchange was over, but he continued to hawk a large box stuffed only with wrapping paper.
I stood when it was time to go, and was mobbed by a group of ladies marveling at my height. Accustomed to such happenings, I fielded questions, dividing my attention among them. The youngest of the bunch, in her early 40s, said that my height was awesome. Then she repeatedly said that I wasn't old enough. The lady continued, saying that there were not many people who she looked up to. Certainly a fitting time for a pun and a prayer for humility, I resisted and listened to her talk.
1 comments:
you're not in MD anymore...you could change that. :)
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