Eric's Sunday Sermon; The Elder Teacher
Who Comes Up With These Signs
Sorry But I Am Barefoot
The Boy Teacher and the Father Student is a fun series that I write. Well the boy teacher really does create it. I am just the Father who tries hard to record it. We are at a beautiful transition as “The Boy Teacher” is starting to read that series.
I do not filter the boy’s internet use. Up to him if he wants nightmares and uugy thoughts of “sexy”. He really does not, so on Google and YouTube he just goes after it. Now that will change soon I figure. Sooner than I would like I am quite sure, so very careful monitoring is in the day to day. Both his mom and I do it.
The little brat Googles me about twice a week. He is actually reading some of my stuff. I think maybe and probably just the titles and a bit more. But sometimes when I say something he says “I already read that”. Call that spooky if you will. I mean the kid is spooky smart. Some online game he plays. Mom pays attention to it and who is there and how much…. They ran to tell me that Gabe just got into the top 1% of the world on it.
I really do not get how intelligence of the IQ type stuff works. Seems to me that most of it is a result of nurture verses nature. The idea of the sky is the limit regarding thought. A promotion to explore mentally. That lack of a social or “treating them like a child” perspective maybe allows for a use of 15% percent of the brain instead of 10%. (that notion is probably wrong but as a concept it is probably right if you get what I mean – It is not about using it, it is about application and accessing it) Watching TV does not practice and workout the brain. Reading and writing does. Sports and interaction stimulate and art and meditation, prayer and good sleep promote use of all aspects.
Singing and music are critical. Here is a ditty every child of mine must learn and in the 30’s we still sing together.
The once was a girl I knew by the name of Slough foot Sue
She was chief engineer at the shirttail factory
He name was all she had her face was like a soft shelled crab
Down by Riverside view
She wore a cotton leather bustle
Boy was she fat
“Now second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse”. Of course that also meant just how fast you could do it and I am still the winner.
Everybody Gots They Own Whiskey
I Don't Understand. I Hope You Do
She works Hard for Her Money
Sweet Violets sweeter than all the roses
I taught all my children this song early on.
Sure go ahead and think that strange to teach youngsters. Nope, it is our earliest move toward preventing addiction. You see making it not exist is a dumbing down and I do not go that way.
“’Oh Freedom’ Over Me” my mom taught me. Harry Bellefonte. She went ahead just sang it to me in the rocking chair when I went through Chicken Pox. I was happy to be sick. How great hanging out with mom. It goes a little something like this: Oh freedom
Oh freedom over me!
And before I’d be a slave
I’ll be buried in my grave
And go home to my Lord and be free.
No more moaning
No more moaning
No more moaning over me!
There’ll be singing…
There’ll be shouting…
There’ll be praying…
A fine song to learn. Maybe it is finer to jump up and down and sing it and move all around. Nowadays us American, we seem to have slavery to poverty and ignorance. One sister told me that mom was introduced to the son of a black man my grandpa knew well. Turns out the friendship went back to WWI. So the story goes mom fell in love with the son. Full on taboo at the time. But the son was shipped off as an army man of sorts. He got killed in WWII.
I was “working” at a Vietnamese Missionary Church. Doing that good old Bible teaching to the kids that spoke English. I had a break tween some preaching and some teaching. Hot dog! I found one of those Southern Baptist churches without a white man within even hearing distance. They did the whole service in Song. Those folks would take one look and push me to the front and were amazed I knew some “Negro Spirituals”.
I figure I could have been a dumb guy but it seems folks around me want me smart. I do not get that either. I can tap dance, Michael row the boat ashore, hallelujah. Amazing Grace should be done in a Country Western Swing modification on a kitchen floor.
I Have Issues
I Do Not Know Why
Today! Hold a Baby's and a Grandma's Hand I Will.
Sorry had to take a break after that dance. I think I strained a couple of brain cells and at least a hamstring. The bad ankle is just left over from kicking some butt. Gene Kelly, Danny Kay and Hines and Davis would laugh at wearing tapping boots. I am still working on doing it with shoes.
Hey I just tapped out “ballad of the Green Beret” and Gabe got the song. I am talking with my boots tapping only J. What; he has heard the song maybe 3 times?
How crazy is all that talk? But if you sing and you dance and you make music with your shoes and you play to an audience with some love the chance of you going senile is about one in one million. The chance of you teaching it to your children and forcing them to do it all the way into their thirties makes the chance of senility about 0.1%. Teach them to keep a journal that sometimes rhymes and you are down to about a 0.01%. Let them know you are going crazy and need some help and it goes down to about 0.001% Funniest thing but care givers of Alzheimer’s folks, for the most part they do not go senile. Interesting to think about.
Here is a fun one. If you happen to be real smart and you apply that into matters ethereal like theology, philosophy, metaphysics, linguistics, loveology, and toss in some religion and people just assume you are nuts. I hug just about all my friends in greeting and even usually in leaving. Manly men think I am fully crazed. (Yes, loveology is an area of study – fine, that is my word)
All that talk about senility, prevention and dealing. Brings us to love. I interview elders as a hobby. I like to go back to their 5-30 years. They like that too. They are like me, I just can’t remember what I had for breakfast but I know what I had for breakfast on my friends 25th birthday fifty years ago. (an exaggeration through literary license, thank you) Listening to Ray Charles do ‘America’, Yes! I love my country.
Dementia prevention and senility prevention take steps starting early. The good news is that those steps are awesome. And if you love someone fifty plus, help them take them in love. I have never met a person who would not turn off the TV to engage with me and with an activity of sorts. Especially now when you just put it on pause. Maybe you do them some good. I think so.
But this is a selfish “sermon”. I do it for me. I ain’t no Spring Chicken. And engaging others who are not either keeps me as sane as I can be. All the stuff about singing and dancing and art and writing and working on your mind does not hold a small candle to engaging in the love of an elder.
Look at me, I may be crazy but I am happy.