Keep on the watch

I remember my first job - Locksmith's apprentice. My first assignment was dispatched from a decrepit toolbox onto our concrete driveway. "Here pick these deadbolt." A day earlier, my father had shown me his arsenal of lock picks and turning wrenches. They were all uniquely bent and crimped to fit just about any cylinder's manifold. "If you can pick those, I'll show you more."  I picked them all and by the time I was 12 years old, I could re-key just about any house lock and completely strip down and reassemble the steering columns for General Motors, American Motors or Ford vehicles. I loved that my father taught me this trade. There was something exhilarating about it. I was only about 8 years old when he handed me that bag of locks. I used to see him working with locks all the time, and like any child, I pondered what must have been going on inside of those shiny nobs. Children are good at looking past the surface. When they break things, they a

Late in my last run as a Jehovah's Witness, I heard a song by former Beatle George Harrison. The song was called "The Art of Dying." This song's lyrics had echoes of eastern philosophy and religion lying under a festive, almost party-like instrumentation. I hated it. I tuned the lyrics out as soon as I realized they advocated some kind of fluffy notion of death. The Art of Dying? Yeah right. There is no art in death. It's a horrible thing that God will eliminate. What kind of fool would think there could be art in losing everything you have?  "There'll come a time when all of us must leave here Then nothing sister Mary can do Will keep me here with you As nothing in this life that I've been trying Could equal or surpass the art of dying Do you believe me?" I did not believe him.  By the time I found this tune, I'd seen my father and Grandmother pass away. There was no grace in their exits. There was no art to their depa

There was a time when I was at a friends home when some of his extended family dropped in. I was used to this happening when I visited this particular friend. He had a large family and his aunt usually dropped off her daughter to play with us. This time, however, there was a boy, a toddler. I was about 10 or 11 at the time. I walked over to greet the youngster, and as I lifted my hand for a high five he recoiled into a full-bodied standing fetal retreat. The adults in the room all immediately chastised him "Stop that bobby! No one is going to hit you." I, having been on the receiving end of corporal punishment had never seen anything like that in my short life. When I got home I told my parents about this boy and they're responded flatly "Someone is abusing that boy." And that was that. There was no caution or alarm from my family. Though I never saw that boy again, I wonder how he's doing and if he ever escaped whatever horrors caused him to fear even the o

"We may ask, Just what does obedience mean, and what is involved in our obedience? It actually means compliance with commands, a readiness to perform that which is required or directed by authority, a dutifulness. Obedience is a divine requirement and includes a joyful, willing submission to do the will of God."  w52 9/15 p. 557-558 "A divine requirement" Such an eloquent application of horseshit. Yet, a necessary evil in the day to day activities of a doomsday cult. It is objectively true that maintaining a perpetually obsequious base is of the utmost importance to the Watchtower, however, should we ask ourselves why they want this? Is this clamor for control important beyond their spiritual claims?  In so much as the leaders of the Watchtower would love to have completely mindless individuals at their disposal; it is far more useful to have members with at least a marginal ability to make decisions for themselves. This is the idea behind "making

It's a New Year. If you're here, it means you outlasted the terrible horseback calvary that's been bearing down on you since birth. It means your flight has not been easy and your deliverance has not been destiny. It means that at times you had to stop running and fight. Yes, you've had to face that ghoulish regiment that has been haunting your trek. There have been times that you've had to run faster and times you've had to stop and catch your breath, but you always push forward. You always move. Some days it felt like you'd moved so fast that you'd gone forward in time and some days it felt like you've become frozen in the present and resigned yourself to the clutches of the phantasms that were giving chase.  Never! You'll never stop moving, going, learning and becoming better than they said you could ever be. You made it this far because you had to see tomorrow! You had to know. You wanted to live there in the misty dew of a new day. I

Dearest Selma, I remember the day you met Steve. We were at Chad's Christmas party and he was wearing that silly sweater. The one with Rudolf holding a machine gun and you were wearing that skirt you called the "sure thing." It was so inappropriate, but so you. You never let anyone or anything stop you from speaking your mind. I always wished I could be as strong or as free as you were. I knew that you two had some serious chemistry. You were both doing that thing where you talk through the person right in front you. You were talking with your hands like you never do. Steve was trying his best to play it cool, he was funnier than I'd ever heard. It was a beautiful dance and when you both finally came together, you instantly began talking over each other and flubbing every endearment. I think I remember you telling him that you "loved sweaters" and him telling you that he "once researched the history of high heels." We all just sat back and laug