FAITH OR FATE

FAITH OR FATE?  ALMOST A CONVERT TO CATHOLICISM

When I started college at the local junior college my best friend was David B________. Because of the Texas September 1st rule, he was a year behind me in high school, although there was only a four-month difference in our ages.  Since I graduated at age 16, it was an easy decision to delay college for a year while I “matured” and decided on a major; thus, David and I started college at the same time.  

We were both majoring in engineering, so we were in a lot of classes together, which led to a lot of togetherness. That included being at each other’s family home frequently.  David and my dad often jibed each other about Republican vs Democrat (my Dad was an old-time Democrat, not to be confused with today’s socialist progressives.)  David’s Dad gave us investment advice – basically, never invest more than you can afford to lose!  In our late teen lives that meant NO investing!

David’s family were Catholic – there were eight children – I think five boys and three girls.  David was the third youngest; there was another boy Charley two years younger and a girl three years younger than that.  Being the youngest child, the girl Esther Claire was nicknamed “Poopsie,” an anglicized version of French “poupe’e” or “doll.”  At that time David and I were eighteen, and Poopsie was thirteen; in other words, a “kid sister.”   The whole family were very friendly and accepting of me, and though being raised Baptist I from time to time would go with their family to Catholic church. (Sitting or standing beside me, David would give me signals when to stand or sit or kneel.)  David and I did almost everything together – double-dating, hanging out with the other guys, or just hanging around his home.  I was always quite comfortable with or around his family, and they were with me.

So, little sister was 13 while I was 18; five years is not an acceptable margin at those ages.  BUT!!! Jump ahead four years! I had gone off to college for a couple years and was in the army two more years.  I was discharged in early December 1955 and returned to San Angelo.  David had got ahead of me at Texas Tech, and as I was planning to reenter as a Junior for the Spring term in January 1956, David was a senior, about to graduate in June, so we were planning to get an apartment together in Lubbock for that semester.

In the meantime, while I was away with Uncle Sam, David’s family had moved from San Angelo to Corpus Christi. After Christmas, David invited me to come down to Corpus and spend the New Year’s weekend of 1955-56 with his family.  The Knights of Columbus (a Catholic social/fraternal entity) was planning a New Year’s Eve social and dance, and the entire B_______ family (plus me) attended.  Most of the older boys in the family were married.  David, younger brother Charley, Poopsie, and I were the singles in the family group.  I don’t remember who David and Charley danced with (perhaps younger sister?) but I danced a whole lot with Poopsie.  She was the smoothest dance partner I had ever danced with (in school proms etc.)!

After the party, we returned to their home, and as we were walking from the car to the house, Poopsie came up beside me and planted a hearty kiss on my cheek, saying “You deserve that!!” but then slipped away.

I don’t know whether I left my brain in Korea, or naivete or plain stupidity took away perception and good sense, but I realized in later years, that on that New Year’s weekend, I totally missed the fact that 13-year-old “kid sister” was now a 17-year-old, lovely young woman!! And five years is not so much of a difference between 17 and 22!

FAITH OR FATE?  Did I fail to put my faith in circumstances; or was it our fate that a match was not intended?  The only thing I can say in retrospect is that I had a great appreciation for that family and would have been pleased to be a part of it! And if I had, likely I would have converted to Catholicism.  I didn’t – I remained in Southern Baptist churches from thence to now; I was ordained a Baptist Deacon in 1964, and in 1989 was elected to the board of trustees of a major Baptist Seminary. While on the Board I served the Seminary as Chair of the Board.       

That apparently was my fate – the road not taken!

Quite sometime later, (late 1990s or early 2000s) my wife and I would go to Lubbock occasionally to visit her uncle, and that gave me the opportunity to visit with David.  After my wife died in 2010, I no longer was going to Lubbock. Much more recently I found that David had passed away in February 2017.  In his obituary, I discovered that Esther Claire (“Poopsie”) was married to Fred P_____ and that they lived in Florida. Mr. P______ passed away in April 2020. 

 Checking Facebook recently, I found that Esther Claire at this age looks just like I remember her mother (also named Esther) from sixty-five years ago.

© Lee Weaver

August 19, 2023

THE WHITE COFFIN

Unlike a lot of folks, I was never too much a slave to phobias, except for one (you’ll have to stay with me to find out what that one is!). Sure, there have been a few things that at first I struggled with briefly, but somehow I’ve always worked through.

My first challenge was not really a phobia but sheer dread! At age 6, just about to start public school I had to have my tonsils removed. In those days the anesthetic of choice was a gas mask. It required the efforts and strength of five nurses to get that thing over my nose and face! That incident could have affected my response to physical medical interventions for life, but no, I now handle those things pretty well.

The exception to “pretty well” was when I had cataract surgery – I had a distinct hesitancy when in my imagination I could see that knife getting closer and closer to my eyeball! But no, I was anesthetized and didn’t know a thing; a huge shout-out to the anesthesiologist!

Another early-life instance was in elementary school. Fire drills were held from time to time, and when I stepped out an upper floor onto that little metal grid fire escape platform the ground seemed awfully far below.

Along the way I overcame most of this type of challenge, until the next real test! In the early – mid-80s I was heading up the Energy Loan Department at First National Bank in Fort Worth. When physical assets were pledged as collateral for a loan it was our policy to, when practical, visit the site of the assets to confirm the suitability as loan collateral. We had a customer who in addition to oil and gas interests, has coal mines in Kentucky. A couple of us bank officers decided we needed to confirm the working status of the mining operation, so we flew up to Kentucky (I don’t remember which city) then took a puddle-jumper plane to the mine site. I have never ever feared flying, but in this case the landing site was in a low valley between mountains. (These mountains are not like the Rockies, but still. . ....!) The pilot had to come in over the mountains, then immediately lose altitude to the valley runway. I was flying righthand seat; with the pilot handling the stick and rudder and me praying we made a perfect landing.

The real test was about to come! We were about to be introduced to our access to the mine. I learned a new term about coal mining: “low coal.” The coal veins are about three feet thick, so the miners cut into the mountain horizontally rather than a vertical shaft. The cut is only about three feet high, floor to ceiling, thus access for the mining crew is a six-foot-wide trailer in which they lie down, the trailer being pulled by a special tractor which is also just three feet high. The tractor driver is lying down, looking forward but alongside the tractor.

If you can picture riding such a conveyance, penetrating a mile underneath a mountain, with the black coal just inches from your nose, you may also picture how hard I was praying, “Lord, please get me out of here and I’ll never be under a mountain again until they fill over my grave!”

(This incident also appears in my blogs under the title “How Dark is Really Dark?”)

Eventually another big test presented a challenge.

I’ve experienced headaches for years but until the last two or three years they were less frequent and less intense. As frequency and intensity increased, I’ve consulted a number of medical providers from family care doctors to neurologists to oncologists, without success. We’ve run CAT scans, ultrasounds and MRIs; sometimes I fear exploratory surgery might be recommended; that might confirm what the last cat discovered – the cranium is empty!

But oh man - what a device they have for running those scans! When I checked in at the imaging lab, a figure in a white coat took me to the chamber (torture?) and told me to shuck anything metal – glasses, pen, belt buckle, etc. etc. Then they had me lie down (I expected shackles, but they were not immediately apparent) and put earmuffs on my head with the comment “it can get a little noisy in there.” After lying down, head on pillow, instructions (don’t move, take a deep breath and hold it until told to breathe normal, squeeze this little bulb to signal the operator just before you panic), with their foot on a switch, you are slid into the pizza oven. (Well no, it’s not brick; its hospital white.) Depending on the body site being scanned, the victim (oops: patient) will be transported into the white tunnel either feet first or headfirst. This is marginally better than the low coal mine – your nose is inches below a clean white surface rather than the darker-than-midnight coal face. Even so, it’s good to be caught up in your prayer life. Like the G I’s in a war zone, there’s apt to be some foxhole conversions here.

As you’re being transported, horizontally, into the white maw of the machine and they start the procedure, the “it can get a little noisy in there” becomes grinding noises, bumps and knocks as if the devil and his minions are intent on dragging the victim (oops! there I go again; the patient) out of what now appears to be a white coffin, contending with the med tech for your body! One is almost surprised when after thirty minutes or so, the tech reverses the bed and out you come! The archangel Michael wins again and your spirit rejoices, saying “Thank You Jesus!”

As many of you readers have surmised, my greatest challenge is claustrophobia. Sometimes but definitely not always I can subjugate the fear.

-30-

WRITING

I first described my introduction to blogging In January 2021. Jane and I had moved to Trinity Terrace, a high-rise retirement center in downtown Fort Worth in May 2020. I was not thrilled with giving up my place in the country, but Jane has subsequently (almost!) convinced me that it was/is our “destiny” – that it is in God’s plan for our lives; that without the move I may never have discovered a penchant for creative writing.

I think she is right!! One of the friends I gained early in our residence here is Ray Smilor. Ray quickly rose to a place on my Best Friends Forever list. Ray is a PhD, on the Executive MBA faculty at TCU, and is an international lecturer in business circles as well as educational. Ray employs blogs as an instrument in his professional life and is directly responsible for my taking up the practice.

Repeating some of the January ’21 introduction: several years ago, I had done some genealogical work and wrote a brief autobiography. Anticipating that the grandchildren might not find that to be interesting, I decided to feed it to them one story at a time: Voila, one story = one blog!

The life-stories of course are all non-fiction, but to make them interesting I needed to refine my vocabulary. I had spent my thirty-five-year career in technical and business pursuits and my old vocabulary reflected that. Imagine my own surprise (and Jane’s) to find that I had a whole “other” vocabulary! In one of my early compositions, I described a country meadow as “verdant with spring grasses interwoven with bright flowers.” I had never imagined that as an engineer I could do that! In another case, the wife of another engineer {also residents here}, after reading my Ode to St. Valentine, stated “I didn’t know an engineer could be a romantic.”

Over these past two years plus, both my audience and my selections of subject matter have expanded. I’ve written personal stories, book reviews and historical essays. I don’t play bridge (as many residents here do), I don’t play golf; creative writing has saved my sanity. In addition to the afore-mentioned writings, I have started a book of fiction. This has been a whole new experience. Creating the story means creating a list of characters, strangers to me at first but given a persona through my own imagination. When asked about the book, I reply very simply “it’s a story of tragedy and redemption.” I’m cautious about describing it fully – the ending may be different by the time I get there!