Archive » May 2016 » Columns

It’s Tuesday May 17, and it’s me again Margret (heh-heh-heh) with the weekly report of the Old Men of the Mountain.

On May 17, the Old Men of the Mountain were as high as they get at any restaurant they visit because the restaurant was the Hilltown Café in Rensselaerville. As usual, the OMOTM have their morning greetings and weather reports, and this morning it was mentioned that not many of the OFs had ventured out the past week because of the wind, and the fact that they were cold.

The OFs bet that the hummingbirds that have returned wish they stayed down south a tad longer.

This is a continuation of one of the discussions of the Tuesday prior (really many Tuesdays) only this further dialogue delved into other things besides just cars, tractors, and trucks.

This chatting was the lack of being able to work on, and repair, many appliances that the OFs used to repair with common household tools. Parts for the appliances could be bought at the hardware store or where the appliance was purchased.

It used to be (what a worn-out phrase but true) the OF could put brushes in an electric motor or power tool, or change a trigger, or replace a lead. Now the OFs can’t even find the screws to take the things apart.

One OF said the reason they can’t find the screws is because there aren’t any — a lot of these appliances and tools (once the innards are done) are encased in plastic; there is no way to take them apart.  So then you can just chuck it in the trash can.

Raise the hood of a car, and the OFs say they need $10,000 worth of special tools just to get at what needs repair. The backyard mechanic is long gone.

To work on just about any small appliance today, the OFs say it is necessary to apprentice somewhere, go to a factory training school, or attend BOCES to learn how to do appliance maintenance or repair.

One OF had a new energy-efficient furnace installed with a small stack that was just warm to the touch when the furnace was running. The original oil man looked at it and said, “Don’t call me to fix this thing.  It looks like a TV set inside that cover.”

The OF said it used to be (note the phrase) that he could put a new nozzle on the burner and adjust the air by himself; now half the repairmen who come have to call in an expert even when they are supposed to be heating and air-conditioning technicians themselves.

One OF said that many small appliances, and economically priced tools are not meant to be repaired — they are throw-aways.

Another OF said that goes for cars, too. Some of the upholstered roller skates they call automobiles these day are throw-aways. It costs more to fix them than the car cost.

NEAT dinner is really neat

Some of the OFs live alone, like many seniors, and they travel around to find meals that are cheap or free.

One they find particularly good is the NEAT (Not Eating Alone Tonight) dinner at the Reformed Church in Berne. According to the OFs, the NEAT dinner is really neat and they look forward to that one on the third Monday of the month.

This scribe did a little follow-up on this and found that the meal is served at 5 p.m., and requires a phone call to say you are coming.  That phone call is really appreciated. They have room for 95 people, and it is just one setting.

This meal is by donation. If you can afford it, drop something in the bucket; if not don’t worry about it, that is really what the meal is for.

Brother’s keeper

Walking to school: Here is a topic one can only appreciate if you are of a certain age. The OFs go back a ways (1930s to ’40s) to when the Hilltowns were dotted with one-room school houses and the OFs had to walk to school.

One OF said that, on his way to school in the springtime, the swamp on the side of the road would fill up with the spring rains and snow runoff, then the swamp would cover the road. This OF said his older brother would carry him and his other siblings through the swamp. The older brother went to school wet while all his brothers were nice and dry.

Some OFs were picked up by horse and wagon and sleighs in the wintertime, and some trudged their way two miles or so to go to school.

Back then, most of the one-room schools also had only one outhouse, so LGBT was not a problem — just lock the door.  Also back then, not many bothered locking the doors; they were farm kids and nature was natural to them.

The outhouses did not have heat either so there was no lingering when you got permission to go to the privy in the wintertime. There was no running water either; there were hand pumps with a bucket and a dipper. Some teachers gave the job of getting water from a creek to various students.

In the wintertime, some students were also given the job to go to school early to start the fire, and make sure the ice was broken if the water were frozen. No wonder many OFs look at the kids of today and say, “What a pampered bunch.”

One OF mentioned one winter was so bad that the school was held at his house for about two weeks. The house was on flat ground and the teacher and the kids could get that far. No snow days back then.

But now, when the OFs go to the hospital, they want the best of the “pampered bunch” to go and grab his laser to operate on the OFs back even if the doctor performing the operation isn’t old enough to shave. Go figure.

Those OFs who made it through their one-room schoolhouse days and who found their way to the Hilltown Café in Rensselaerville in their late-model chariots were: Miner Stevens, Roger Chapman, Robie Osterman, Bill Lichliter, Harold Guest, Ted Willsey, Karl Remmers, Bob Snyder, Lou Schenck, Gerry Irwin, Mace Porter, Otis Lawyer, Chuck Aelesio, Glenn Patterson, Jim Rissacher, Art Frament, Bill Rice, Henry Whipple, Elwood Vanderbilt, Richard Vanderbilt, Gerry Chartier, Mike Willsey, Harold Grippen, and me.

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It is May 10, and it is a Tuesday, and any old man worth his salt is at the Old Men of the Mountain breakfast at the Home Front Café in Altamont.

Except for the cold, the OMOTM had clear driving on their way to the Home Front; however, some of the OFs had early morning temperatures in the low twenties. That will get your attention, especially in mid May. (Almost).

The OFs being just that — OFs — were youngsters during the Great Depression (1929 to 1939). Those whose parents were farmers got along (for the most part) pretty well.  Most were poor but didn’t know it because everyone else was poor by today’s standards.

A couple of the OFs never even knew there was a depression because their parents had pretty good jobs during the whole event.

One OF said his relatives made marine engines out of Harley engines and these engines, even then, were in demand. This OF also said his uncle had one of the fastest racing boats in the country for 29 years, and, according to this OF, he was never beaten even by company-sponsored boats.

The OF said that most of the boats used a nitro combination in their engines as did his uncle. The OF said his uncle used a higher nitro combination without damaging the engine.

His secret came from farming. Instead of using the pistons that came with the engine, his uncle removed them and replaced them with Oliver tractor engine pistons, which were much more rugged than OEM (Original Equipment Manufacturer) pistons, so he could burn this higher nitro ratio.  His uncle’s boat recorded speeds up to 134 miles per hour on water way back then.

Collectors or hoarders?

Now there are OFs who are collectors, and there are OFs who just have stuff. Then there are OFs who have accrued many items over the years that is neither hoarding or collecting; it is just bits and pieces of leftover items purchased in order to do a project of some sort and all of the material was not used and just put away for future use.

Then there are items that their kids have given the OFs over the years that the OFs didn’t have the heart to get rid of. Parts to this, that, and the other thing, just put on a shelf with the thought of using it later, and later still hasn’t arrived.

There are tons of clothes that the OFs have grown out of and still take up space in the closet. Eventually sheds, cellars, garages, and barns are nothing more than paths that the OFs wind their way through to find a place to stash something else.

The OFs maintain that they know just about where everything is squirreled away, and if and when something is needed, what path to go down and retrieve it.

The OF thinks someday he may use those old lawn-mower wheels; unfortunately this scribe thinks that “someday” is not in the OF’s future — so — some of the OFs were talking about downsizing. How this was going to happen never materialized. The term “garage sale” was never mentioned.

The beauty of retirement

There are a plethora of clichés pertaining to those who are joining the ranks of OFs, i.e., better on this side of the grass, age brings wisdom, (scribe’s comment: not necessarily smarts) etc., etc. One thing age does bring is retirement.

Some of the OFs are retired, and some still work after retiring, especially those who were in business for themselves, or those who had a saleable hobby, or interest.

A few OFs retired and proceeded directly into working at these hobbies or interests. The word “retired” makes working at these jobs practically stress free.

If the OFs want to go to their grandkid’s graduation, they go; if they want to go fishing they go, if they want to go to the Adirondacks to do a hike, they go.

Those working for themselves can tell their customers, “When it is done, it is done; I’ll call ya.” If working for someone else and the boss starts piling on the pressure, the OF can say,“Hey, buddy, take this job and shove it.” Oh the beauty of retirement.

However, the OFs left out all the aches and pains that go with the age of retirement, and the desire to not want to get out of bed because, in lying there, the OF realizes it is the best he is going to feel all day.

Another thing the OFs mentioned was that, when working at something that they really enjoy, they do not have to worry about deadlines; the craftsmanship goes up exponentially with age. But one OF said that is until the eyes dim, or the hands start to shake, or everything becomes an effort, just brushing you teeth is a chore.

“I don’t worry about that,” one OF said. “I just take them out of the Efferdent.”

The Old Men of the Mountain who sat at the tables at the Home Front Café in Altamont, and were tempted by the proprietor to talk about politics (but the OFs in their OF wisdom did not take the bait) were: Miner Stevens, George Washburn, Robie Osterman, Roger Chapman, Bill Lichliter, Dave Williams, John Rossmann, Harold Guest, Chuck Aelesio, Jim Heiser, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Jack Norray, Lou Schenck, Mace Porter, Wayne Gaul, Andy Tinning, Ted Willsey, Jim Rissacher, Bill Rice, Henry Whipple, Mike Willsey, Gerry Chartier, Elwood Vanderbilt, Richard Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and me.

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The Van Praags, Art and Julianne, live in Clarksville. They’ve been volunteering for Community Caregivers since 2007. They’re one of nine wife-and-husband teams that make up the volunteer pool.

Julianne regularly, weekly, assists an elderly client who still likes to do her own shopping. “She’s visually impaired,” says Julianne, “and she lives by herself.”

In addition to the weekly shopping, Julianne also waters plants, writes greeting cards, sorts mail, and even cleans out the fridge when it needs it. Julianne says she gets “satisfaction” out of helping.

“It’s nice helping people,” she said. “They appreciate it; you just get a good feeling from doing it.”

Julianne said, when she first started volunteering, the first three people she provided service for passed away. It was discouraging. Fortunately, she didn’t give up.

Reflecting on the nine years she’s been volunteering, she says, “I’ve met great people, both clients and staff.” While Julianne has a regular assignment, she will accept others if Mary Morrison, the Client/Volunteer Coordinator, calls and she’s available.

Art Van Praag volunteers to “make people’s lives much easier.” He said, “Whatever day I sign up for is their day. The time is theirs.”

Art has an assignment every Thursday, but, if he’s available, he’d volunteer as much as he’s called. He says, “I hate to say ‘no’.” Art has no problem taking people grocery shopping, to the bank, to the hairdressers, clothes shopping, or to the doctors.

Both Art and Julianne came to Caregivers as a result of Susan Cable’s recommendation. Susan was a former executive assistant for Caregivers. They also read about the organization in The Enterprise.

Art enjoys being with people and helping others. He said, as a kid, he did “stuff to help neighbors — raking, putting up screens, shoveling snow.”

As he looks back over his life, he says his parents were good role models. Art says he enjoys meeting different people. At the same time, he also enjoys working with the same person.

“You get to know them,” he adds. He’s been working with the same clients for two, three, or four years.

His philosophy? “Instead of sitting in a chair, get out there and do something.”

Julianne said she’d encourage others to think about volunteering and could tell them about her experiences, which have been wonderful. “Volunteering,” she said, “is a good use of time.

Julianne and Art have two calendars and boards visible to each other so they keep their assignments straight. When I planned to interview this couple, I wondered if they ever got their calendars confused. In our house, confusion does reign sometimes because one of us doesn’t put a date on the calendar.  They are clearly organized.

When people sign up to become volunteers, one of the questions asked is how they heard about Community Caregivers. Frequent responses are reading about us in The Enterprise and hearing about us from a friend or other volunteers.

Julianne and Art hardly skipped a beat after they retired — Julianne from being a secretary at Clarksville Elementary School, and Art from the painting/wallpapering line. It’s probably not surprising to learn they’ve also volunteered with other agencies: the food pantries; the town of New Scotland; and Julianne, as an aide at Clarksville Elementary before her school closed.

New volunteers are always needed. People move, they go away on vacation, their lives change; they may even become clients. Consider helping your neighbors as Julianne and Art do.  You can choose your day or days, your time, and the kind of service you’d like to provide.

Volunteering is very much a part of the Van Praags’ lives. Make it a part of yours. Call the office at (518) 456-2898 when you’re ready to join the team.

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The Enterprise — Melissa Hale-Spencer

Red Men relics: A badge and a receipt for dues are artifacts of a fraternal organization that once flourished in Guilderland. The Improved Order of Red Men, founded in 1834, boasted half of a million members in the Great Depression and now has just 15,000.

GUILDERLAND — Many new residents in the town of Guilderland have probably never heard of the Red Men's Wigwam, the historic building that was on the south side of Route 20, east of the Hamilton Union Church from 1850 to 1966.

Since  we  have just received an historic item associated with the Red Men's Wigwam, we will  tell new and other residents about it.

A true Red Men's badge was brought to this historian by Greg Weir, Parks Department supervisor.  It is  pictured with this story. He received it from someone who apparently was associated with that group.  The Guilderland town name is on the badge.

The Redmen, a fraternal group, and its auxiliary, the Degree of Pocahontas, met in the building for years. Older residents might remember the Indian garb used by the Redmen for  ceremonial  functions.

The building had housed many organizations through  Guilderland's early days and had been the hub of the town's social activities.

Red Men's  Wigwam had been a Baptist Church in 1875 and was then purchased by The Good Templars, a temperance society.  It was also once a Catholic Church called St. Ambrose Church.

In  the World War I I era, women of Guilderland met in the Wigwam to roll bandages and make clothes for refugees. Town organizations held their meetings in the old building, and it was used as  a voting place for a short time. It was also rented out for an occasional party.

The Red Men’s fraternity can trace its origin back to 1765, and is descended from the Sons of Liberty.  These were men who concealed their identities to work "underground" to establish freedom and liberty in the early Colonies.  They had patterned their group after the great Iroquois Confederacy democratic governing body.  In 1834, the name was changed to Improved Order of Red Men, and they kept  the customs of Native Americans as their fraternity.

In the early 1950s, Red Men's Hall was condemned for public assembly.

The tiny piece of  land went on Albany County rolls for back taxes.  Guilderland records showed that 1966 taxes were $28.69.  The building stood as a ghostly derelict until it was destroyed by fire.

The  iron marker that stood on the highway telling the  history of the building was demolished by a large automotive vehicle.  The marker  awaits restoring to tell of the  Red Men’s Wigwam that had a unique history in the Town of Guilderland.

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On May 3, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown. Again, the OMOTM must report on the weather because for the drivers it was another miserable Tuesday morning.

It seems that for some time now the weather has been in the dumps on Tuesdays. Maybe our winter has spoiled the OFs but many say they feel colder now than they did in mid-winter. It is raw and damp the thermostats have been bumped up, the furnaces and wood stoves are still running, and even cranked up a degree or two higher than what the OFs had them set at during the winter months.

The OFs are getting too familiar with funeral homes, and the OFs started talking about friends that have passed and how some are really missed. This feeling is about good friends as well as relatives.

Many of the OFs’ relatives have moved away and are seen only on special occasions, like weddings, births, graduations, and, yes, even funerals. To take their place, many friendships are deeper than relative connections and the death of one of those friends hits harder than a relative. When a relative of a friend (who the OFs hung out with on a regular basis) passes on, the hole that is left is harder to fill.

Some of the OFs mentioned that the bond became so great, that years later when the OF wanted to go here or there, or do this or that, and that person or those persons are not around, there is the empty feeling of why isn’t so-and-so around so we could do this or that together. It is no fun doing it alone.

Cultivating new friends to fill the void is hard and not even thought of while the good times were rolling on with the friends we had in the past. Then we all get old and life changes.

Breeding bigger, better fish

One table of OFs discussed the work that SUNY Cobleskill is doing with raising fish, and cross-breeding the fish to make them larger and more tasteful.

One OF who worked at the college said that this research has been going on for some time, and now they have a new large building to house the work they are doing. The OFs thought this is extremely needed work as the population of the planet continues to grow.

The work at Cobleskill is for research, but the growing of fish on fish farms in the ocean, and in places like the fish farm in Coxsackie is for consumption and we are supposed to eat more fish.

Rent before you buy?

A conversation that included three topics that did not seem to go together (only the OFs combined them) is a routine conversation like they were all saying the same thing. They spoke about motor homes, then rocket ships, then submarines, and regular ships — all at the same time.  Only the OFs could tie this all together.

The only real story told about motor homes was how a friend of one of the OFs decided motor homing would be the thing for them so they purchased one — neither a fancy one nor an inexpensive one, just a motor home in the medium price range.

With hands on the wheel, they headed out on their first trip to Florida. They set up in a nice park that catered to motor homes but also had permanent homes as well. According to the OF, it rained almost all the time they were there, so their friends could not leave unless they used the motor home.

It wasn’t long before they decided this was not what they thought RVing was going to be like; however, there was a permanent home in the park they liked and it came up for sale. They purchased this home and found it to be more to their liking.

Now there is a motor home for sale that has only one trip to Florida registered on the odometer. What a deal for someone who wants to try their hand at motor homing.

As with many large investments of this type, it was suggested by some that maybe they should have rented instead of buying for their first try with one of these RVs. One OF said he has done this with cars — he rents a make and model he was thinking of purchasing to make sure he likes the vehicle before he buys one like it.

Another OF said, “Hey, that is not a bad idea; how about renting a wife and trying her out before taking the plunge and buying the license and hauling her home?”  

Another OF thought renting kids would also be a good idea to see if you wanted any of your own.  He figured that might cut down on the population explosion after that little trial worked its way out.

“You know,” one OF said, “The renting of the wife could work in reverse. The gals may want to rent you to see if you fill the bill, and you — you old goat - wouldn’t.  You’re ugly and don’t have any money.”

“Well,” the retort came, “I have a nice, late model car. I don’t drive around in something like that old rat trap of a vehicle you call a car that still has pedals in it.”

Oops.  Time to put the pedal to the metal and end that conversation.  

Those OFs who made it to the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown (and some had quite a pedal to get there) were: Miner Stevens, Roger Chapman, Bill Lichliter, Robie Osterman, George Washburn, Roger Shafer, John Rossmann, Chuck Aelesio, Mark Traver, Glenn Patterson, Harold Guest, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Wayne Gaul, Mace Porter, Andy Tinning, Duncan Bellinger, Bob Fink, Bob Benninger, Ted Willsey, Jim Rissacher, Elwood Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and me.

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On Tuesday, April 26, The Old Men of the Mountain met at the Duanesburg Diner in Duanesburg. Fog and rain, snow, sleet, and hail do not deter the Old Men of the Mountain from reaching the appointed eating establishment for the week. This week was such a Tuesday — lousy weather — and we had a full house.

As the OFs report to the breakfast each Tuesday, they are greeted with a hearty “good morning.”  Sometimes the name of the OF joining the group is also greeted by his name (if he is arriving by himself) or maybe just a couple of OGs arriving together will have their names included in the greeting by the OFs who are already there.

The later the OFs arrive, the more “good mornings” are expressed. Most of the OFs being greeted have a reply, and some just wave.

On Tuesday morning, one OF came in and was welcomed with the round of “good mornings” along with his name. When all the greetings were done, the arriving OF replied, “To your misfortune I am here.” Now that was different.

Zeros and ones

Redundancy is something this scribe tries to keep at a minimum; however, this scribe is dealing with OFs and it is hard. At times, although the topic may be redundant, the approach is different, or the circumstances related to a topic are new.

That was the case with a topic Tuesday morning on technology and how much and how fast it alters the way we do things, especially for the OFs who did not grow up with the technology of today from the toddler stage in their life.

What the OFs talked about was the routine, low end of the work force that has been replaced by technology.  For instance, the OFs were referring to jobs like file clerks.

It took many workers to shuffle and file paper that was once necessary to keep on hand, but these records are now being taken care of by machines. Many of the people who are now titled learning-disabled but could handle this type of job easily are no longer working.

The OFs say that, no matter how hard many people try, they are just unable to grasp much of what is going on, but they are definitely not dumb or stupid. The OFs know many of these types of kids who have fallen through a crack large enough to sink an ocean liner.

One OF said that he did not mind all the technology; he maintained that things (for him anyway) are now so much better. Medicine, construction, solar energy, plus so much more are tons better thanks to those zeros and ones.

Then the OFs noted that many of today’s vehicles have so much technological garbage on them that has no real function in making the vehicle go, steer, or stop, which makes it more frustrating when something goes wrong like the Global Positioning System.

“Hey,” the OF said, “I know how to read a map.”

An OF added that, when the light comes on in cold weather to tell you your tires are soft, they may not be. Why do I need that thing when I can see if a tire is soft or not? Those things are more expensive to fix than a new tire.

One OF said, just put a piece of black friction tape over it and forget it. Another OF said that, if you drive a car that has automatic braking on the vehicle, as an operator of such a car, the OF would probably become so used to the car stopping by itself when that little feature failed, whoa — what happens now? — one huge rear-ender.

Yet another OF said he remembers when automatic transmissions came out (and electric windows, and power steering, along with power brakes, and tubeless tires), the same things were said.  He continued, “Go with the flow; give me all that new stuff. Anything that makes my life easier, I am all for even if it is nothing more than zeros and ones.”

Small engines, big headaches

The OFs also talked a lot about lawn tractors, small engines and lawn mowers. The gist of the conversation was small engines are not like tractor engines, or car engines.

The mechanics in the group all agreed that repairing small engines can be frustrating and regular mechanics do not even want to mess with them.

This brought up the new phenomenon of lawn-tractor planters. The OFs noticed in many yards, when a lawn tractor decides to quit, it is just left where it died and the homeowner trots out and buys a new one.

When approaching the tractor (left where it quit) the lawn is just mowed around it and there it sits as a piece of lawn sculpture, or a potted plant is plopped on the seat and it is now a planter.

Heartfelt condolences

In closing this week’s column, the Old Men of the Mountain would like to offer their heartfelt condolences to two families of our members — the Porter family, and the Stevens Family on the loss of Pauline Gaige, and Donna Porter.

Mother and daughter who passed away within days of each other, both are now joining hands in the company of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in a better place.

Flying Dutchman

Those OFs who arrived at the Duanesburg Restaurant in Duanesburg, like the crew of the Flying Dutchman materializing out of the fog, were: Miner Stevens, Roger Chapman, Robie Osterman, George Washburn, Bill Lichliter, Dave Williams, Roger Shafer, Jim Heiser, Glenn Patterson, Chuck Aelesio, Mark Traver, John Rossmann, Harold Guest, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Gerry Irwin, Wayne Gaul, Ted Willsey, Jim Rissacher, Duncan Bellinger, Bob Fink, Bob Benninger, Mike Willsey, Elwood Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and me.

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I see they are having child car-seat inspection and instruction events at the local malls. Along the same vein, in my new vehicle's owner’s manual (which I've read three times and still don't understand it all), there are 18 pages devoted to child-seat installation and use. Clearly child car seats are a big deal.

This is not at all how it was when I was a kid. We didn't even have car seats back then.

I can remember sitting in the back seat of our tan Ford Fairlane, constantly adjusting my position — keeping my territory separate from my brother’s while watching out for any whacks from the front seat when we started acting up.

I even remember my mother carrying my new baby brother, wrapped in a blanket, on her lap in the passenger seat. They'd call Child Protective Services if you did that today.

You have to remember it was a different time back then. Cars didn't even have seat belts, to say nothing of airbags or anti-lock brakes. Yet somehow we made it to Grandma's, the beach, Great Adventure, etc. How so many baby boomers like me survived to adulthood is surely a miracle.

By the time my kids came, it was a different story. If you've had kids you know what I mean. Trying to deal with installing and removing car seats can be a back-breaking experience where you really need to be a contortionist or a gymnast or something.

Wrangling those thick webbed belts in and out of the many tight-fitting slots in the seat and all that, at such a low angle, is just really, really hard on your back. Truly, there is a need for a "next generation" car seat that simply snaps in and out. When the crowd-funding request comes in for that be sure to jump on it, because it will sell like hot cakes no doubt.

My all-time most amazing car-seat experience happened as I was bringing my kid to church. We had a mini-van at the time. I was attempting to remove said kid, still in her car seat, from the middle seat of the van in the parking lot of the church.

When I bent down to start the process my head hit the edge of the roof of the mini-van square on, hard. It was like someone hit me with a baseball bat. I was momentarily stunned; many would say I'm always in somewhat of a daze, but this was a daze on steroids.

Somehow I got my act together and got the kid and car seat out of the vehicle. I then dropped her off in the child-care room (church child-care attendants are saints and should each be given a free trip to Cancun once a year as far as I'm concerned). Then I headed back upstairs for the service. It was to be the most memorable church service I'd ever attended.

Sitting in the pew while gently massaging my crushed skull, I listened attentively to the pastor's sermon. Suddenly, in my coma-like fog, it all started to make sense: We should all just treat each other as we would like to be treated. Simple.Why hadn't this occurred to me before, I wondered, while slowly nodding in and out of consciousness.

I continued to listen attentively while feeling the slowly forming bump on my noggin getting larger and larger. If we really could just learn to treat each other as we would like to be treated, what a great world it would be.

It wouldn't matter what gender or color or sexuality or nationality we were, because we would all just automatically do the right thing. It wouldn't matter what agenda we had, because whatever agenda it was, we'd be treated exactly how the person or group considering our agenda would like to be treated.

What a miracle. Say goodbye to the United Nations because you would no longer need it. Turn that huge building into affordable housing in Manhattan, why don't you. Now that would really be a miracle.

What was most likely a small concussion had given me a clarity of religious thought I'd never experienced before. Just treat others as you would like to be treated. It's so simple and so powerful.

Somebody wants to make a left turn out of the drug store? Let them in because, if you were making the left turn, you'd want to be let it. Thinking about throwing a cigarette butt out of a car window? Don't do it, because the person living in the house by the street where the butt lands doesn't want their house to become your ashtray, same as you wouldn't want someone throwing garbage in front of your house. See how simple it is?

You can take all the great religions of the world, with all their associated dogma and theology, and, when you boil it all down, if we all just treated each other the way we'd like to be treated, pretty much you'd have the core message right there, wouldn't you? There shouldn't be much more to it than that. So simple yet so powerful.

You realize it took me a pretty awful head trauma to achieve this level of religious clarity; I'm not kidding, I was dizzy for three days after that church service.

Still, I know I shouldn't be the only one to finally get it when it comes to religion, so here's my proposal: The other day I bought a bunch of warped 2-by-4s cheap in the clearance aisle at the home center. So that you can achieve the same level of religious clarity I did — the realization that all we have to do is treat each other as we would like to be treated — I will gladly take one of the warped 2-by-4s and bash you in the head with it, just like when I bashed my head into the roof of the mini-van. That's what it took for me to see the light, so maybe it will work for you as well.

Treat others as you would like to be treated (and watch your head when removing a car seat). Easy-peasy. It really is that simple.

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