Over
the past few years, I have been increasingly reminded of the momentariness and
frailty of life.
We
only have to consider those old celluloid films from the late 19th
and early 20th centuries.
We’ve
all seen the black & white footage of the Titanic as it sets sail on its
maiden (and ultimately, only) voyage to America. The crowds, (and resulting
hoopla) which congregated en masse a day after the end of WWI. Four soldiers
running up the beach at Normandy. Two go down. Their ultimate fate uncertain.
Elvis. His hot hips and sweet lips. “I Love Lucy” and “The Dick Van Dyke Show.”
Moments in time which once created cannot be undone or done over.
And
there are the memories. Memories etched into the gray matter of flesh and blood
entities. Memories that will die with the ‘rememberer,’ (short of being
memorialized in print).
But
on a more personal level, in recent days, and more than once, my mind has
transported me back to a day and moment which transpired well over half a
century ago.
I
believe it was a Saturday, and my father and I had driven up to a local gas
station with the intention of having some engine repair completed on his
vehicle. Having parked the car, we may have walked across the street to a strip
mall, or simply sat down on an outside bench. At any rate, after perhaps an
hour the mechanic made my dad aware that his automobile was ready.
As
I previously implied, I have no idea exactly what repair was made, nor exactly
why the following scenario occurred, but when my dad examined the mechanic’s
handiwork, he was anything but a ‘happy camper.’
Pt.
2
As
long as I draw breath, and I retain a clear mind, I will never forget my
father’s reaction to what he believed was a faulty repair job. I can tell you
that daddy ‘raised Cain’ with the mechanic. Never before, and never after had
my father ‘blessed’ anyone with such bombastic decibels. Even at the
comparatively young age of 10 or 11, I found myself embarrassed at the kind of
behavior which was, for him, a bit out of character; (though he could exhibit a
moderate amount of anger, if one of his children didn’t immediately do what he
expected).
I
can tell you, I was relieved when my dad paid the repair bill, and we got back
in our car, and made our way home.
The
victims of the Titanic have long since been laid to rest, or have been missing
for more than a century. The celebratory voices following both Wars to End All
Wars are stilled now. Elvis and Lucy and Barney Fife have been consigned to YouTube
and reruns.
My
father is gone now, (as is my mother), and I am approaching my seventh decade
of life. There is little doubt that the mechanic who became the target of my
dad’s anger has also shuffled off this mortal coil.
Snapshots
from the past. Moments in time which come and go, and are only preserved on
film or resident in the synapses of someone’s brain. And speaking of ‘moments,’
it occurs to me that life is too momentary, like a proverbial fog in the
morning, to take ourselves too seriously, or to spend too much time brooding
over anything.
Oh,
the grace to relive a few selected moments from our past, and to be granted
permission for a ‘do over.’ A change of heart and mind. A bit more wisdom. A
bit more patience. New and better choices
…given
the brevity of life.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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