It’s clobbering time April 1, 2022

Published by the Times-Georgian–April 2, 2022

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

Uh oh, watch out Chris.

I enjoy the Academy Awards ceremony about as much as I like raw bacon. However, this year’s Oscars provided a little more entertainment beyond the political spectrum when Will Smith slapped comedian Chris Rock onstage. Since then, I’ve listened to various media pundits give their opinions on the incident and I thought to myself earlier this morning—what the heck, why don’t I join them?

Before we go there, let’s go back to Carrollton, Georgia circa 1980-something.

A good fist fight over a girl was what made life interesting. I saw some good ones back in the day. However, I rarely saw them in the heat of the moment inside the class or lunch room. It always started with a little mouthing off to each other and always ended with the words—

“Meet me behind the Bonner Building after school!”

Word would always spread throughout the classroom that Bobby was going to fight Billy, or Johnny was going to knock down Ralph, or whoever was making a move on someone’s girlfriend. And the entire student body would show up.

“It didn’t take long for one or two punches to be thrown before a school administrator would show up and we’d all scatter like a bunch of ants,” said local fist fighting expert Matt Carter.

My favorite fights were the ones that usually didn’t involve a girl. That’s when one of my friends would have a disagreement over something as trivial as cheating in a game of Kick the Can.

The best one was the time my friend Bodie spit water on my friend Ben and then hit him with a stick. Bodie should have won the fight because he hit and ran. That’s when Ben picked up a basketball and threw it at Bodie. Suddenly, Bodie tried to jump, but the ball hit him in the feet and boomeranged him to the concrete. Ben declared victory.

I have mixed emotions about the Chris Rock/Will Smith incident because fist fighting is part of growing up in the South. Masculinity has been shredded as evil by today’s cancel culture, but quite frankly—I have respect for a man who stands up to a bully who disrespects his wife, girlfriend or significant other.

Oh sure—Will Smith embarrassed himself the way he handled it in front of a national audience. Chris Rock is a comedian who picks on people much like the late Don Rickles. Smith overreacted to Rock’s joke about his wife’s haircut. It’s now known her hair loss comes from a condition called alopecia.

He could have handled it differently. When I was in school, once the opponents met behind the Bonner Building—someone was going to take a good old-fashioned whipping. However, strategy was involved.

There are two kinds in fighters in the world—big guys who are enforcers and little guys like me who better hit hard and run like Bodie. In the end, usually both of the fighters look ridiculous.

Later in the evening Smith won the Academy Award for Best Actor. During his speech he told the audience, “Love will make you do crazy things.”

So, I’m going to cut him some slack. He loves his wife. I hope he will learn to love comedians too. Hopefully, he will grow from this incident and learn to control himself when the cameras are rolling. Maybe, Hollywood will forgive him too because he’s a good actor.

As for Chris Rock, kudos for keeping his cool demeanor. The Academy should have switched gears and handed Rock the Best Actor award.

There’s an old saying the great Central High School teacher Shirley Bickford once told me, “You criticize in private. You praise in public.”

And Jesus said it best when he teaches us to “turn the other cheek” when someone has wronged us.

These words of wisdom are easier said than done—especially when you love someone. However, they will guide us to a better place.

There is hope, my friends. Let’s forgive others for their shortcomings. And most importantly, don’t ever cheat in a game of Kick the Can.

Now that’s something to fight about.

Sunday love April 1, 2022

Published by the Times-Georgian–March 19, 2022

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

There’s a song my Momma used to sing.

She loved it so much she taught it to her Sunday school class at the Carrollton First United Methodist Church. We sang it at her funeral—

“I’m living on the mountain, underneath a cloudless sky,

“I’m drinking at the fountain that shall never run dry;

“Oh yes! I’m feasting on the manna from a bountiful supply,

“For I am dwelling in Beaulah Land.”

I’ve never really understood exactly what or where is Beulah Land, but in my mind it’s either paradise in the great beyond or somewhere around Farmer’s High Road near Bowdon. I have, however, always understood the importance of a fountain—especially when I’m thirsty.

This morning I returned to visit the church with my dad where I grew up. Sometimes it’s important to drink from the fountain that flows with the theology of John Wesley.

Weekly church attendance has been my wound the last few years (especially during the pandemic) unlike my dad who hasn’t missed more than two dozen days in the last 85 years. When the roll is called up yonder, I’m confident he’ll be there. Hopefully, there will be a good lawyer standing at the Pearly Gates when I arrive who can win my case with St. Peter. If I’m lucky, the attorney will secure me a provisional certificate of entry provided I makeup my absentees.

Who knows what it will be like? All I know is to trust my friend who supposedly died two minutes and came back to life to share his near-death experience upon reaching Heaven.

“Well, when I arrived, St. Peter looked at me and asked, ‘Religion?’” my friend said. “I answered ‘Methodist.’”

“That’s great,” St. Peter replied. “Now, please enter and go to Room 28 and join all of the other Methodists who will be eating a covered dish meal. Just make sure when you pass Room 8 to be very quiet and don’t say a word.”

“I stood around for a second,” continued my friend. “And I got to hear the guy behind me in line answer St. Peter’s question. He replied, ‘Episcopalian.’”

“Just follow the Methodist in front of you,” St. Peter directed. “Once you find Room 30, please enter and join the other members of your tribe where you’ll find them arguing about the type of wine being served. And whatever you do, please don’t say a single word as you pass Room 8.”

“That’s when I looked back at St. Peter and asked him why do we need to be so quiet when we pass Room 8,” my friend said.

“Oh, that’s easy,” replied St. Peter. “That’s where the Baptists are and they think they’re the only ones here.”

As my dad and I entered the Agape Sunday School class, I felt as though the year wasn’t 2022. It could have easily been 1972, 1987, 1996 or any in between. It’s the same people who were here from my youth. Well, it’s mostly the same folks as I looked around the room. Unfortunately, there were many empty chairs with too many widows and widowers who continue to press on as the bells continue to toll.

“You know your mother was one of the founders of this class,” my dad said. “Our preacher at the time Bill Tyson asked her and some others to start it. And it’s been going strong since somewhere around 1962.”

The people of the Agape Sunday School class know how to make someone feel welcome. I hugged about half of the room and even scored a free breakfast when long-time member Susan Berry walked in with a basket of hot homemade muffins. The class president Gherry Gustafson thanked everyone for collectively giving $2,100 to secure hotel rooms, food and other necessities for homeless families in our town.

Furthermore, the class prayed for the chaos in Ukraine. And my mother’s high school classmate Dick Tisinger taught the class as he dealt with how Christians can work through the difficult topic of polarization that permeates our society.

I wish I had the answer but all I could think about as Dick spoke was the model that Francis of Assisi offers us as he did not attack the monuments or machines of his day directly but went out to the edge and did it better in the nonviolent style of Jesus.

Father Richard Rohr explains it clearly when he writes, “St. Francis wasn’t telling the others they were doing it wrong. He just gently and lovingly tried to do it better. I think that’s true reconstruction. Remember, the best criticism of the bad is the practice of the better. That might be a perfect motto for all reconstructive work. It does not destroy machines or monuments but reinvigorates them with new energy and form.”

It was clear as I left the church last weekend the Agape Sunday School class is more than a group of long-time friends who fellowship with each other for an hour or two every weekend. They’re still unselfishly giving to those in need. They’re still learning.

Most of all, their actions are teaching the next generation and beyond what agape is all about anyway—unconditional love.

Thank you, Agape Sunday School Class. Once again, I’m drinking from the fountain. My cup is overflowing.

And Momma, if you can hear me, I’m dwelling in Beulah Land.

Pork and caskets April 1, 2022

Published by the Times-Georgian–February 26, 2022

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

I’m eating breakfast with the undertakers.

We’re all eating pork and eggs. Thankfully, they left their tape measures in the car. It’s Saturday morning, and I decided to leave my wife with a little peace and quiet.

“Where are you going?” she said earlier.

“I’m going to grab some breakfast,” I replied. “I’ll bring back some biscuits.”

There’s something special about a Saturday morning. Most days are filled with rush, rush, rush—hurry, hurry, hurry—and “Come on boys, y’all are going to be late for school.” Today, however, I’m moving wherever the spirit guides me—or, more like—wherever my stomach leads me.

I decided to head towards Jerry’s Country Kitchen and grab a seat at the counter before the crowd showed up. There are only a few guarantees in life besides death, taxes, change and lack of certainty. And one of those is Jerry Eady will have hot biscuits ready when I arrive.

“Pull up a seat,” my friend Buddy Lambert said when I walked in the door.

“Yes, come join us,” echoed his grave-digging sidekick Keith Hancock.

I knew I was in good company by joining the morticians of Almon Funeral Home.

“We got our first call around 5 o’clock this morning,” said Keith. “I called Buddy to come help me pick up the body.”

“Great way to start the day,” I replied.

For a moment, I felt guilty because I started the day mad at my dog Teddy for waking me up. For some reason, I have to wake him up during the week. When it comes to weekends and holidays, however, it’s like he’s got a built-in radar that says, “Wake up your Master. It’s his day to sleep in late.”

Then it hit me. These men wake up to death almost every day—especially Keith. He’s our Carroll County coroner. And, if they outlive me, it’s quite possible one of them will be embalming me and placing my body in a pine box.

We sipped coffee for a while before ordering our food. In case you’re wondering what we discussed, I’ll give you one guess.

OK. Give up?

We talked about a mutual friend’s funeral visitation from the previous day.

“She made it to 90,” said Buddy.

“Pretty good crowd showed up,” said Keith.

“That’s good,” I said. “My friend the late Bill Holt once told me the worst part of living into your 90s is you run the risk no will show up at your funeral because all of your friends are already six feet under.”

A few minutes later Sammy Eady walked in and joined us. For many years, Sammy served as Carroll County coroner while working full time for Almon Funeral Home. Now, I was clearly outnumbered by the undertakers. Thank goodness I have a will and my estate affairs in order.

“Y’all work some long hours, don’t you,” I said.

“That’s part of our job,” said Keith.

“Well, I guess when you’re tired, you can go take a nap in one of the caskets,” I suggested.

“No way,” said Buddy. “I’m afraid they would close it while I’m asleep and forget I was there.”

Eventually, our meal had to come to a close. The morticians had to return to work. As the old saying goes, “their day starts when another one ends.”

Some say it’s a dying business.

Flip out April 1, 2022

Published by the Times-Georgian–February 12, 2022

http://www.times-georgian.com

by Joe Garrett

Batter up—the man was hungry.

For several days, he craved a giant flapjack swimming in butter and hot maple syrup, and he couldn’t wait any longer. That’s when he decided to make a brief stop at his favorite local breakfast joint on the way to work.

After placing his order, the man had no idea how long he would have to wait. He looked at his watch every five minutes, and after almost a half-hour later, the man grew impatient. Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer and that’s when he asked his server, “Excuse me Ma’am, I ordered a giant pancake almost 30 minutes ago, and still haven’t received my order. Will it be long?”

“Oh, no it won’t be,” she replied. “Your pancake won’t be long at all. It’ll be flat.”

The old jokes are the best, aren’t they? So, how about another one—

A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Oliver, age 5 and Ross, age 3. The boys began to argue who would get the first pancake. That’s when their mother recognized the opportunity to teach her sons a lesson.

“Boys, do you realize if Jesus was sitting at the table with you, what he would say to you?” the mother said.

“No,” they both replied at the same time.

“He would demonstrate how it’s important to put others before ourselves,” she said. “He would say, ‘Let my brother have the first pancake. I can wait.’”

That’s when Oliver looked at his little brother and said, “Ross, you be Jesus!”

OK. How about one more. Two pancakes are chatting about a third pancake.

“Wasn’t that pancake so annoying?” says the first one.

The second pancake answers, “Yeah, he was really boring. He just kept waffling!”

Once again, it’s time for the Golden K Pancake Breakfast. Since 1994, the local civic club has been cooking flap jacks to raise money to benefit our community. How much money? According the club, around $750,000 has been donated to local charities. That’s a lot of pancakes devoured, and it’s been a labor of love.

This year’s pancake breakfast will continue for the remaining Saturdays in February. The breakfast hours this year are 7:30 a.m.-11:30 a.m. and will be held at the Ag Center. Tickets can be purchased for $8 each at the door.

It’s still, as the late Carol Martin once called it—“The social event of the year.”

“In addition to pancakes, we will also be serving eggs, biscuits, gravy, grits, sausage and of course, pancakes,” said Golden K club member Bob Uglum. “We are so fortunate so many of our sponsors and advertisers have been with us since the original breakfast 28 years ago. This year we have joined hands with our ‘Mother Club,’ the Friday noon Kiwanis Club to help make this the best breakfast event ever.”

Please come support this great even and eat as much as you like. By the way—how do you make a pancake smile?

You butter him up!