Jimmy Reed

Three Strikes, I’m In!

It was four o’clock in the morning on a moonless, muggy night — just the way I wanted it. With 240 pounds of bulging blubber and mushy muscles sagging on a five-foot, eleven-inch frame, I wanted no one to see me trying to jog.

Faustus’ Fate

Twenty-four years is not that long, as my British Literature students learned in their analysis of Faustus, the hubristic protagonist in Christopher Marlowe’s ever-popular play, “The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus.”

You’ll Be A Man, My Son

Go ahead, naysayers, naysay the military draft. Conscription was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It was 1965, Vietnam was ratcheting up, and the letter read: “You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States.” I graduated, hugged my parents, and boarded an Army bus.

Hoi Polloi Or Hoity-Toity?


Because I’m a college composition instructor, I’m interested in the way words and phrases connote certain meanings. I’ve noticed that connotations sometimes reflect speakers’ or writers’ stations in life, especially if they are Hoi Polloi — a Greek term referring to “the many,” i.e., the common people — or Hoity-Toity, an adjective used to describe those who would have others believe they are elite and enlightened.

Still, I Ask

I don’t think it is sinful to think about how God thinks, and I think that since He gave His children a sense of humor, He too has a sense of humor, and doubtless laughs thunderously at some of my thoughts about His thinking.

She Died Old

Fact and fiction about Mithridates VI, king of Pontus, overlap. Supposedly, during his boyhood, he developed strength, wisdom, courage, and aggressiveness — attributes he maximized upon ascending to power — by hiding in the wilderness for nearly a decade from those who assassinated his father.

Good Gossip

A fellow bibliophile and I were discussing books we plan to read this year. He mentioned a title and said, “You’ll love it. The author rattles skeletons in the closets of some well-known folks in your hometown.”

To Wake Again

Slow down! That’s my New Year’s resolution. As Wordsworth would admonish, the world is too much with me. Even while sliding down the slippery senescent sixth-decade slope of life, I still scurry sunup to sundown, afraid I won’t sleep to wake again.

Not To

If I can stop one heart from breaking, 
I shall not live in vain. 
If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin
 Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain. 

–Emily Dickinson



Naturalness

Not long ago, I ate breakfast with E. J., a friend and former student of mine. Tall, athletic, handsome, mild-mannered, and without affectation, he is a true Southern gentleman who always strives to help, not hurt others, though hurt he could, if necessary. He is a martial arts expert.

Good Will Toward Men

That cold Christmas Eve, Jaybird leaned on the porch rail, looking across land he had worked for seventy years. In moon-blanched stillness, the stubble-strewn fields were taking their winter rest.

In Giving, We Receive

“But, Dad, we ginned cotton straight through Thanksgiving,” I moaned. “Can’t we at least get off a few days for Christmas?”

Courage

Lately, this column has touched on understanding, thankfulness and faith, which like all virtues are included in the chief virtue: courage. One of the most courageous persons I have ever known was my Italian grandmother, whom we called Nona. Transitioning from her native tongue to English was difficult, and there were certain words she never pronounced properly. One was “try”; her pronunciation was “tly.” And tly she would. The noble lady was fearless in the face of adversity. Even toward the end of her long life, when she had shrunk in stature to a few inches over four feet, and had lost her beloved husband Pete, she insisted on living alone and caring for herself. Trying to talk her out of doing something she had set her mind to was futile. Always, she said the same thing: “I tly.”

A Language Confounded

Bless her heart, my departed mother would be appalled by such stupidity. In her time, America was, as noted in Genesis, “of one language.”

A Language Confounded

The Old Testament’s Tower of Babel story is intriguing. No doubt, my interpretation of it and the preacher’s differ, but since my custom is to tell things the way I see them, which sometimes is the way they really are, I prefer my version.

Faith

As an undergraduate, I often memorized material that would likely appear on final examinations. Of course, as soon as I finished the exams, I forgot what I’d memorized.

Thankfulness

One of my students, who seems to be mad at the world all the time, made a comment the other day that disturbed me: “I’m so thankful the holidays are almost here; I’m sick of school.”

I’ll Still Be An Ant

In the minds of some, the word fabulist has negative connotations, referring to people who fabricate elaborate, dishonest stories. Even so, I aspire to be a fabulist, not because I want folks to think I’m a liar (although many do), but because fabulists write concise, brief stories emphasizing incontrovertible truths.

Understanding

Age has taught me to consider motives far more assiduously than I did in my youth. While motives are most often motivated by self-interest, I now realize that they should be examined based on an understanding of others’ needs and wellbeing.

Indifference

I am obsessively routine. This past Sunday, exactly thirty minutes before services, I parked where I always do, walked into church, sat in the same spot on the same pew that has been my place for about twenty years, and jotted down the exact time in my diary. Then I copied a quote from the church bulletin that, appropriate for this time of year, was about gratefulness.