HO! HO! HO! HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I'm going to reveal something so if you don't want your children to know that you've been lying to them don't let them read this.

It's that time of year. The time when many Christians behave un-Christ like. Many of us display hatred for other and show a tremendous lack of the faith that we claim to have.

We lie to our children about a fat man flying around the world in a vessel powered by reindeer. We lie that he comes down our chimney to leave toys and gifts for everyone.

Believe me, I love this fantasy as much as anyone but IT AIN'T TRUE!

It's a fantasy of good clean fun except we pretend that it has something to do with the birth of Christ. I've read the story of St. Nick. It is a feel good story but it is all fantasy and today, our behavior doesn't even come close.

This very spiritual holiday has become a huge spending orgy for the sake of economics. This would be a good thing if it was about the fantasy but when we pretend that it is spiritual we lie.

The popular Christian comic and songwriter, Mark Lowry said it well, "Instead of putting Christ back in Christmas we should put Christ back in Christians."

Christians have begun to show a lack of faith and some weird desire to be a victim. This victim mentality must be insulting to God. We pretend that someone is trying to steal Christmas away from us. It simply isn't possible if we truly have faith.

We act insulted if someone says "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." A lady called a business that I used to manage and pretended to be insulted that our phone greeting was "Happy Holidays." She scolded me as she asked why we didn't say "Merry Christmas?" I told her that I did but not in those precise words.

I later instructed my staff to use our standard phone greeting "Thank you for calling ________ . This is _________ . How may I help you?

Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas. What difference does it make? Both are friendly greetings. Happy Holidays does seem to be a broader and more inclusive greeting to Christians and Jews as well as other faiths and non-believers. What could be more Christ like than wishing everyone well?

The department store industry has traditionally been Jewish controlled. When I go into one they have Christmas decorations. The sign over the door says "Stein" or "Kohl" which are Jewish names. They've displayed a courtesy of recognizing my Christian holiday and I appreciate them for it although just like all businesses they really want my money.

Oftentimes when a stranger says "Have a nice day" they don't care about your day. They were just being friendly. Thank them and move on.

I debated with a friend recently. He felt that the term "Happy Holidays" is new and an attempt to undermine Christmas. New? I suppose that would depend on how old you are. Irvin Berlin wrote the song "Happy Holidays" in 1941. Santa Claus did say "Ho, Ho, Ho Merry Christmas" before that so I suppose he does have a leg up.

If we Christians aren't insulted about the bastardization of our sacred holiday brought about by the lies of Santa Claus we reveal a huge hypocrisy when we pretend to be offended by "Happy Holidays."

DAD WILL MAKE IT ALL BETTER
(from June 2012 facebook post)
 
My father, Ernest Brewington would close his grocery store at around 4 or 5 pm on Sundays, giving us all an evening to relax and watch The Ed Sullivan Show. As we grew older he would give out allowances on Sunday and a free ride downtown where we'd see a movie, go to the soda shop and catch the bus back home.

On one Fathers Day Sunday, after the movie and soda shop my brother and I went to Fayetteville Drug Store and picked out a Father's Day card and a really cheap bottle of after shave lotion to give to our father. As we were paying we saw that our bus was at the bus stop and we ran to catch it. As we rounded the corner of Phillips Loan & Pawn whichever of us that was carrying the after shave lotion dropped it and it broke it along with our young hearts.

We cried as we gave our Father his card and the remains of the cheap after shave lotion. He probably was near tears too as he hugged us really good and let us know that it was ok and that he loved us anyway. His love let us know that what was important to him was what we felt in our hearts. That's a Dad Lesson that is still valid..

 

 

HOW LONG DOES IT LAST?

From Facebook January 1, 2012

Most parents did some stupid stuff when they were young and too ashamed to admit it as they mature. We pray that our kids won't do the same things. Our worry somehow becomes our punishment for our youthful stupitity.

During my daughter's freshman or sophmore year of college she went sking for New Years. We typically talk every morning and evening. New Years Eve was no diff...erent. New Years Day was a different story.

Accurately assuming that she was up late the night before I dismissed not hearing from her in the am. When I didn't get a call in the afternoon I called her as early evening approached. I got no answer.

I called several times and it was now well into the evening and still no answer. Concern turns to worry.

Finally, She calls me. She had an extremely weak voice and she was sobbing. I panicked before she asked "Dad, how long does a hangover last?"

My instinct was to call an ambulance to rescue my baby and make her feel better right damned now but I didn what any good parent would do. I lied. I said "If you drink plenty of Gatorade and water it will only last four or five days."

FROM FACEBOOK ARCHIEVE

October 2012

 

 

REST IN PEACE ANN TOSCO:
I hate to even think of just how long ago it was that I met my friend Ann Tosco. I had a beer and wine store on Gillespie St. This was in the mid to late 1970s. Ann saw my ad and called to place a beverage order for a picnic she was organizing for seasonal migrant workers. She was a joy to do business with and besides she made a pretty good sized purchase.

A year or so la...ter I went to see a play and one the actor's voices caught my attention. I knew that I'd heard it before but didn't know where. During intermission I read the program and discovered that it was the lady from the season migrant workers picnic.

Over the years I got to know her better as she became a regular in various restaurants that I managed. She brought her family to The Boss Hawg every Sunday.

Restaurant managers love to have fans and Ann seemed to be one of mine. She called on me to cater for different organizations that she was part of. I catered a luncheon for the Blind Readers Service many times thanks to my friend Ann.

But I was a fan of hers too. You would never forget this lady's voice. On stage she was great with drama or comedy. I can still hear her say "Norman, Is that you?" from the comedy of the same name.

I remember her in the comedy Bubba & Betty-Sue's Wedding she interrupted the wedding ceremony to go to the bathroom only to return with a long strand of toilet tissue hanging from her dress.

I'm telling you this lady was funny.

She always hugged my neck and kissed my cheek and called me darling with a New York accent that was still there although she had been here for quite some time.

I'm sure the Lord is ready for her but even he must be warned; Ann-Marie Tosco is going to have him laughing.

I really liked this woman. Hell, I loved this woman. Bless her soul, Lord. She was my friend.

FROM FACEBOOK POST

Father's Day 2012

 

My father, Ernest Brewington would close his grocery store at around 4 or 5 pm on Sundays, giving us all an evening to relax and watch The Ed Sullivan Show. As we grew older he would give out allowances on Sunday and a free ride downtown where we'd see a movie, go to the soda shop and catch the bus back home.

On one Fathers Day Sunday, after the movie and soda shop my brother and I went to Fayett...eville Drug Store and picked out a Father's Day card and a really cheap bottle of after shave lotion to give to our father. As we were paying we saw that our bus was at the bus stop and we ran to catch it. As we rounded the corner of Phillips Loan & Pawn whichever of us that was carrying the after shave lotion dropped it and it broke it along with our young hearts.

We cried as we gave our Father his card and the remains of the cheap after shave lotion. He probably was near tears too as he hugged us really good and let us know that it was ok and that he loved us anyway. His love let us know that what was important to him was what we felt in our hearts. That's a Dad Lesson that is still valid..

I'M GHETTO

But It's Your Ghetto That's The Problem

There are but a few of us who don't typically think that we are right. As the saying goes "I don't make mistakes. I thought I made a mistake once but I was mistaken."

If we pay attention to ourselves and others we will find that we are very often guilty of the same behavior that we despise in others. Sometimes our hypocrisy or our stupidity derails good intentions. We love freedom but we want everyone to behave, believe, worship, talk and look just like ourselves.

I remember one summer as a young teenager a group of us went to watch the activities in district court. We weren't on trial or anything, it was summertime, we had time on our hands and the entertainment there was free. The courtroom was above the old City Hall and Police Department where Fascinate You and Gilbert Theater are today. I think I know the judge's name but I'm not certain so I won't say it. As wrong as that judge turned out to be, he taught me a hell of a lot on that Monday morning.

There were two young men on trial for something that I do not recall. For all I know they may have been guilty as hell. I am absolutely certain the judge was guilty of prejudice and it is my opinion that he was a piece of shit (see, I told you I was ghetto). 

The judge would not hear the case until the men had a haircut because their hair was hanging well past their shoulders. To make matters worse he specifically instructed the bailiff to carry the men to Maxwell Street Barber Shop.

After lunch the bailiff got chewed out because he carried the men to Market Square Barber Shop instead. Even as a young teenager I could tell that the judge obviously sent them to his barber and he went by on his lunch hour so they could laugh about him making those two long haired hippies get their hair cut.

I remember thinking "what gives that son of a bitch the right to humiliate people? And what gives him the right to decide how someone looks? Where is Blind Justice?" I thought "what if they are found innocent of the charges, do they get their hair back?"

Yes, that slimy bastard that called himself a judge changed me forever. I learned that I may be judged unfairly, simply because of the way I look so I'd best look neat, clean and stylish at all time. I also learned that no matter how neat, clean and stylish my peers and I thought I looked there will be many that don't like my appearance. I already knew that I would be bald someday but I learned that no way in hell would I ever have a wrap-a-round hairdo disguise like that arrogant ass of a judge.

Throughout history each generation has brought fashion and behavior that previous generations hated. I remember when the Beatles came to the U.S. People were so freaked out they thought the world was coming to an end. They had really long hair. It was so long it must have come all the to the top of their ears. They wore charcoal grey suits with black ties. What was the world coming to?

Just before the Beatles was Elvis with his tight pants. There was the duck tail hairdo. The two piece ladies swimsuit came out somewhere about that time only to be followed by the bikini. 

In colonial days men wore wigs and waxed their faces. They had poor hygiene and wooden teeth. 

There was a period when men wore knickers with hose and solid wooden shoes. At one time only saloon girls, dancers and whores would shave their armpits, legs and pubies.

In the 1970's we wore stack heel shoes with leisure suits in colors that were absolutely hideous. I remember shirts with collars as wide as airplane wings.The counter culture of the time wore denim jeans, dessert boots and a clean tee shirt as their on the town apparel.

Nowadays they are wearing baggy pants. So baggy in fact they would fall to the floor if the guy wearing them doesn't hold them up with his hand or walk funny. I've got pictures of myself wearing some of the ugliest clothes I've ever seen so I've worn some outrageous clothing but this current fashion is absolutely the stupidest that I've seen. So what? If a man chooses to handicap himself by requiring the use of his hands to keep his pants on, who am I to stop him? If I want to be stupid, let me (unless you're my financial planner, in which case, you're too late). I guarantee that due to my profession, I see far more baggy pants than most people. The baggy pants aren't vulgar. They typically come in two pieces; an undergarment that fits and an outer one that doesn't. You will see more butt crack when your plumber comes than you do with this outrageous fashion.

I don't like baggy pants so I don't wear them. I wear ties. Most people don't. We don't all have to look the same.

What about our language? It, just like our fashion, has constantly evolved. The British are appalled that we speak English the way that we do. And they'd really freak out if they heard the way we use the language in the south. The language has changed as we've integrated dialects of various cultures and adopted various slang as acceptable or proper communication. "Cool" was a temperature until the hippies started using it to describe things they like. "Hot" was a temperature as well. Now, it means sexy. A crib was a baby's bed, now it is a house.

I've said all that in response to a Fayetteville Observer story regarding a former councilman's email which was sent to the mayor, city manager and various council members. The email suggested that before the city proceeds with more parks and recreation it should fix some of the problems it currently has. To show which problems he was speaking of he had lots of derogatory racial comments and photos that were out of line. 

When questioned by the Fayetteville Observer, the former councilman, community leader and military activist defended his intentions and his offensive comments. He obviously used a lot of profanity in his discussion with the Observer since there were numerous "(expletive)" insertions in his quotes. He talked about how they are wearing baggy pants and they don't even speak English. When did "(expletive)" become proper English? Wouldn't it be appropriate that before he tells others how to speak English he should speak it properly himself.

What does he expect city council to do about current fashion or language slang? Pass a law? How could a man who fought bravely and honorably for our freedoms suggest such a thing? Perhaps he'd like to have government issued clothing to every citizen. Everyone wear the same color and a same style. Everyone would look just like our former councilman. Besides, we already have laws that forbid apparel that exposes one's genitalia.

I like a Westpoint hem in my slacks, should that be required of everyone? To require appearance standards based on what one likes or doesn't like would be dictatorship.

I share some of the same concerns that the former councilman has. We have a tremendous amount of social ills in the United States. He has earned much respect for his military and community service. He should well know that while his derogatory and bigoted approach may make good barber shop talk, it is absolutely counterproductive. It in fact shows that he is indeed part of the social ill.

If the former councilman has any good intentions, he will rethink his comments and apologize sincerely. I don't think that he will because he has likely gotten lots of attaboys at the barbershop and breakfast club. Ego will exceed sincerity.

George Carlin, when telling things you can't do on television, said. "You can prick your finger but you can't finger your prick."  Well, I'd like to give that prick the finger.

CARRYING HATRED WOULD ONLY IMPRISON MYSELF

Today, forty-three years ago I was planning to get my driver license. It was Tuesday night and I couldn't wait until Thursday. It's an excitement that most of us experience. The privilege to drive makes us feel grown-up.

On Wednesday those plans were put on hold indefinitely and to this day, I have absolutely no memory of my drivers test or getting my license.

We always caught one school bus to go to school and another to return because we went to work at my parents grocery store after school.

April 9, 1970. We got off the bus and walked a block to the store. We typically walked but on this day it was far from usual. Vehicles lined both sides of the busy highway that my parents store was on. We could see that the parking lot was full of vehicles as well. As we approached, people that I don't know began to shield my twin brother and me from the horror that existed there.

I'm not even sure who told me nor how I was told that both of my parents had been shot and that my father was definitely dead and that my mother may be dead also. I do remember weeping and pounding a metal Wonder Bread sign with my fists.

A man whose name I don't remember (if I ever knew it) came to me and my brother and asked if he could take us home. On the way up Wilkes Rd we stopped a school bus which our younger brother and sister were on. They were frightened and confused. No matter how grown up our coming birthday made us feel, we were kids so I'm sure that the way we told our younger siblings (Cathy and Ricky) wasn't delivered appropriately.

The man who took us home wore glasses. As he drove to the front of our house he removed them as he took a handkerchief from his pocket. He cried as he told us that he was my father's friend and that he loved him and my mother. In my grief and confusion, I don't know if I ever saw that man again and certainly never thanked him for his sincere kindness.

This was an incredibly horrifying day for us. To add to the horror, we learned that it was our grandfather who had shot my father in the back and killed him. Then attempted to kill my mother by shooting her. He shot at my cousin, Betty Brewington as she appealed to him to stop. He then walked home, leaving his car in front of my parents store. He was arrested a short while later.

The following hours are a bit of a blur with some memories of my brother and I going to Jodi and Lisa Hiltner's house then talking to my mother as she asked us to be strong. I remember sitting in my parents big Buick listening to Loretta Lynn singing "Why Did God Take My Daddy". Mostly, I remember being confused. Really, really confused.

I think that I saw my grandfather only twice after that. Once from a distance in court and once prior to that at Dorthia Dix Hospital where he was placed for mental evaluation prior to his trial. My siblings and I went there to visit him although I am not sure why we did. I remember very well him peering through the security glass in the door before he entered the room. He was clearly troubled. He quickly learned that the visit wasn't an expression of love when my sisters rattled him with the question "Why?" He kept repeating to himself "Oh me. Oh my." He then turned to me in perhaps a solicitation of friendship or understanding. "Boy, do you want to shake your grand-daddy's hand?" I remained silent as I looked away, refusing to shake his hand.

As years went by I remember trying to hate my grandfather, Paul Brewington. Hate should have came easy since he murdered my father and attempted to murder my mother and since we were really never close to begin with.

As I've matured I've realized that while I didn't love Paul Brewington, I didn't hate him either. I just kind of divorced myself from him. I've never actually forgiven him for what he did but my ability to not harbor hatred gave me a freedom that has probably served me well over time.

I was at work when I learned that Paul Brewington had died in prison. I didn't feel any sorrow. I am pleased that I didn't feel any glee. It was sort of like reading the obituary of someone I didn't know. These probably weren't the emotions that would please God but it's the best that I could offer.

Why would a man murder his own son? How could a man murder his own son? One day, he seemed like anyone else. He owned property. He was a landlord to a lot of the people living in the community. Sometimes a bit onery but certainly not one we'd typically expect to go on a shooting spree.

I hope that sometime before I stand before God that I will be able to forgive Paul Brewington, not just for what he did to my parents but for what he did to my siblings and me, for what he did to my Grandmother, my aunts, uncles, cousins and to the man who gave my brother and me a ride home that April 9th. I hope to be able to forgive him for what he did to himself as well. I'm certain that his soul yearns for my forgiveness as he paces in pergatory chanting "Oh me. Oh my." I pray that I will be strong enough to set it free.