Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Fixing the lefties once and for dang all

You turn around and things aren't like they used to be.Why? Because, uh, things aren't like they used to be. From the bottom of the pity pit we scream to the dark clouds, and, and, and we try to get a hold on things.
Instead, we look at how things are, and how things used to be, and we ponder. Oh, and this old crank named Paul, who calls himself an apostle right on to our faces, writes, "We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation."
And in the darkness a pinpoint of light begins to grow. A pinpoint of special sauce develops, and we sing -- right on, right there -- "What a Mighty God We serve," and we mean it.
The strength of a deep fog.
The snakiness of NBC's Brian Williams.
The wordiness of the late Yogi Berra.
The masterpiece that is southpaw creation.
Seriously. An Oklahoma mother says her son's teacher shamed the 4-year-old lefty into writing with his other hand. Zayde Sands favors the left-handed moments, but his teacher all but turns a blind eye into the sands-y buildup.
Things aren't like they used to be, are they?
I can't, for my life of me and my left hand, understand how Sands is being picked on by his teacher, but clearly he is. Doesn't take a budding genius to plant some lefties, churches. 
My biggest fear, with the clear exception of knives and snakes and snakes holding knives, is being embarrassed. This person did it on purpose to this child. Now, I'm not going to get up all high and mighty and such, but, er, drop in a cranky hold. Seriously.
I'm beginning to think that perhaps, just perhaps, we're sliding down a cranky moment backwards, and perhaps, just perhaps, we're not going to slow down before we are put in a crank studio. 
Maybe we're done for. Maybe we're in too deep. Maybe it was over earlier than we thought possible. Maybe, well, thwippppp to someone who would wave a 4-year-old genius on through to a sure out at the plate.
Maybe.
Maybe we're done. Washed up and done. Cleaned up and coming on strong. Maybe it really is over before it's over. Hey, who am I to make a quick claim about finality.
God creates, loves us through the creation, and back out the other end.
I, for one, can't wait to check out the long lines at the library's lines. With a smile and a brush of the hips against each other, we limp along. Let's get it together, all those I've come in contact with over time and space.
Dr. Who?
Dr. Whonot.

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