We’ve
got to get tougher
Published in Marietta (GA) Daily Journal, Feb. 3,2019
An aging man sat on an
upside down nail keg in the far corner of his combination corn crib / tool
shed. Neatly stacked dried ears of corn
lined one side of the building. Well sharpened
hoes, fertilizer buckets, mule harnesses, and ropes adorned the opposite wall.
The
entire one-room building bespoke the man’s interests, his livelihood, his bent
for neatness, and his total past. He was
leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupping his
forehead as though he were praying. His
body was heaving. He wept quietly, as though to muffle his grief. Because I had never seen him even come close
to crying, fear enshrouded me.
“Daddy,
what’s wrong?” I asked.
Startled
and obviously embarrassed, he quickly stood up but looked the other way.
“Oh,
nothing. Just go on about your business.” But I had no business at the crib. I was waiting for the school bus. I had approached the corn crib because the
door was open. I assumed my father was
already in the fields.
I
was 15. All day long at school I worried
about my father. A good man, he was
usually totally quiet. I knew not to
press him about his weeping. He was 65,
slowing down a bit from arthritis, but still an incurable lover of the soil and
hard work.
That
afternoon I would learn from my mother that he had been laid off at the
sawmill. He was now only a part time
farmer, cultivating small “patches” instead of the vast, sweeping fields. A night watchman job at the sawmill provided
needed income.
At
supper, instead of his predictable meal time “blessing,” my father prayed
slowly and more personally. Etched indelibly
on my brain are the halting last few words of his prayer: “…and give us
thankful hearts and strength for the storms of life.”
Moments
like this helped me forgive my father for being so incommunicative and
seemingly disinterested in his children.
If a father can teach his children by word and example to face the
storms of life with strength and hope, what does it matter if he’s not
touchy-feely? Besides, at age 65, he
still had a 17, a 15, and a 12-year-old to feed.
Coupled
with my sweet mother’s oft-repeated, “Well, just go on,” my father’s response
to his job loss strengthened me beyond measure.
From weeping over loss in the morning to praying with gratitude that
evening, he infused in me an abiding hope.
Today
in both rural and urban America the working poor, those like my parents, are
still with us. Two things give me
concern. One is that the waning of faith
and moral influence has left us without “strength for today and bright hope for
tomorrow,” as one old hymn puts it. We’re
simply not as tough or resilient as our parents and grandparents were. There are reasons for this.
The
other concern is that those who have plenty are not always teaching their
offspring to be strong. They are instead
fostering softness and weakness. Schools
do it. So do young parents: coddling,
withholding discipline, smiley faces for everything, participation awards for
nothing, worship of youth, fear of our own teenagers, the absence of
expectation, the allowing of casualness and mediocrity.
In
1924 Irving Babbitt, one of the rare traditionalists at Harvard College, wrote
that “economic problems will be found to run into political problems, political
problems will run into philosophical problems and philosophical problems will
be indissolubly bound up with religious problems.” In other words, there are things that take
precedence over economics, politics, and philosophy, things like dealing with
the storms of life, no matter what our politics are.
Jefferson
sought the ideal of an agrarian society where the little man can be
self-sustaining. Lincoln broadened
Jefferson’s vision, seeking equality for all, but “equality before the law,”
not the meaningless, trivializing equality regulated on us today. FDR would learn of Southern poverty and seek
“a measure of comfort for all hardworking Americans.”
Yet,
with more “stuff” than ever before, we now have delirium in the land: loss of
contentment, refusal to accept the results of elections, pervasive anger, and
political unrest. This is new for
America. Why aren’t we happy? States aren’t seceding – yet – but individuals
and groups are.
In
1867 poet Matthew Arnold, England’s Inspector of Schools, wrote, “The Sea of
Faith was once at the full / But now I hear its long, withdrawing roar.” I’m glad Arnold warned England and grateful
that my father taught his children to let the Sea of Faith roar. America needs to now.
Roger Hines
2/27/19
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