YOUR STORY DONE YOUR WAY; MY STORY IS RIGHT HERE

When you write your story, or tell it, or carve it into wood or stone, it’s your choice.

For many baby boomers from the middle boomer aisle, not early or late boomers, the story includes things like:

“We drank water from a garden hose, rode bikes without helmets, and ate everything on our plate.”

I think those achievements are supposed to show how to overcome and persevere.

It’s also in invitation to shame younger generations for being soft, picky, and in need of a trophy and a juice box for flushing the toilet, taking the garbage out, and mowing the grass.

It’s not much of a story, but you’ve got to work with what you’ve got. My story isn’t much different.

I flushed the toilet. A lot. I also open and drop the lid before I sit down on a new seat in case of spiders, but that’s another story.

When I was a kid with an older and younger brother living on Ohio St. in North Bend, Oregon, I went into the bathroom and opened the lid.

All good so far: A ten year old kid hits the can.

Since we were such good boys our parents didn’t need a baby sitter while they worked and we had summer vacation.

Back then it was called summer vacation, but we never went anywhere. Besides, we lived across the street from sand dunes and a forest. What more could a kid want?

We also had a pet cat named Tom

My mom hated that cat, but the cat loved her. To show its love, the big gray Manx would hunt the woods and bring back huge rats and leave them dead near the front door.

The first time it happened my Mom almost stepped in dead rat. But there was another reason she hated Tom.

One day she was out trimming plants in the yard and a humming bird hovered near her. She communed with nature and all it’s glory. Then out of nowhere the cat sprung up and snagged the bird in mid-air, then sat near my Mom chomping it.

For this Wild Kingdom moment, my Mom went hysterical, grabbed a shovel and tried to club the cat for ruining her harmonious moment.

Of course all of us boys just loved that cat even more.

2

So one day I go into the bathroom and lift the lid on the toilet and find a huge rat paddling in the bowl and looking like it might get enough traction to make it out.

I reacted like any normal little boy seeing a big rat in the toilet: I screamed, shut the lid, and found my brothers.

We all took a look, watched it claw it’s way up. Then we all screamed and shut the lid.

There was only one way to fix this problem: Tom.

One kid held the cat over the toilet while another lifted the lid.

The cat saw the rat and went berserk. The rat saw the cat and kicked in its climb out of the bowl. Us boys freaked out, slammed the lid and bathroom door, and ran away.

After a moment, we went back in with a plan: Flush the toilet.

We flushed it without lifting the lid. A moment later we took a look. All clear. While we watched the flush cycle finish, the rat swam back in. We screamed.

With the low water level in the bowl it got better traction and looked like it could make it over the top. We screamed some more. We slammed the lid and flushed again. And again. And again.

Your Story? No, Mine. Again

To make a story stick, it goes through many revisions.

For example:

Big John had a job, paid his taxes on time, and goes to church on Sunday. From one job after another Big John has found his way, but he worries. One Sunday after church Big John met Old Roy in the parking lot.

“John, I been watching you, and for your own good, you need to change,” Roy said.

“Good morning, Roy. How did you like today’s sermon,” John said.

“I would have liked it better if I wasn’t reminded that you may be headed for hell.”

Going to hell wasn’t one of Big John’s worries, at least not as much as Old Roy worried. Big John leaned on his new truck.

“What has brought you to this,” John asked?

“We’ve known each other for a long time, John, and now here you are with a new Toyota truck. John, that’s not American,” Roy said.

“And this is what’s going to drive me down the highway to hell?”

“It’s a start, John, and a damn good one. For all we know you’ll drive this truck down to a rally supporting Planned Parenthood,” Roy said.

“I could drive it over the Democratic precinct office, too,” John said.

“Now that right there is what I’m talking about. Just hearing you say Democratic Precinct raised my temperature.”

“I could also drive to the Republican office.”

“Whew, thank you for that. Now I’m cooling off,” Roy said.

“I’ve got one question for you, Roy. Do you figure the Good Lord cares where my truck goes, whether it’s Democrat or Republican?”

“Maybe we don’t know each other as well as I thought,” Roy said. “Didn’t you hear the preacher this morning? Don’t you want to be on God’s side?”

“I don’t think God takes a side, Roy, but if he did it wouldn’t be the side of a political party that seems to find joy in human suffering,” John said.

“It’s getting warm again just standing next to you. The Lord ordains Republicans in office more than Democrats. Don’t you watch the 700 Club, Billy’s boy, and Fox News? They give it to you straight.”

“I’m not taking whatever they’re giving, Roy.”

“I hear that’s what people say on the direct fight to hell.”

“I haven’t heard that, Roy, and I don’t think you have either.”

“You’d hear it if you paid attention to the right people.”

“I hear too much talk against other people from who you listen to.”

“John, this is what worries me. Other people are not like us.”

“Yes, they are. We are like them and they are like us. If they need help, we help them.”

“Then what about us? What about me? What if we need help and they get more help instead?”

“Then we’ll wait our turn.”

“You’re telling me stand in line with them and wait?”

“Every man is created equal, Roy. In the eyes of the Lord, and in America, every man is created equal. It’s written down.”

“Why write it down so other people can take advantage of it? That was a big mistake.”

“Roy, are we equals?”

“Not if you keep up your hell-bound ways, then we’re not.”

Social Media And Your Story

When you put your story on social media it gets a chance to be read.

If you write a blog and put a link on social media it’s easier to scroll past.

Good readers know the difference.

I’m a good reader, dear friends, but I understand why people will start reading, then scroll to see how long a story runs, and abandon it.

I do it all the time. That’s why I never complain about hits and readers and likes and the measure of attention paid to any particular thing.

An influencer, a social media influencer, wrote about calling on his million followers to meet up and protest.

Out of a million followers, one showed up.

The guy was a columnist for a national magazine and one person showed up.

And that’s how hard it is to bridge the gap between online and the sidewalk.

Make the effort.