Put Your Head on my Shoulder

On By scottpetersenIn Put your head on my shoulder1 Comment

[A repeat from September 19, 2015]  The first time I ever danced with a girl was in my 6th grade classroom. Our teacher, Mrs. Speerschneider, put on some music and drafted Marilyn W. to dance with me.  Poor girl.  To say I had two left feet would be a compliment.  They felt like two left flippers.  I was scared to death. And I remember stepping on this poor girl’s feet in my pathetic effort to “dance.” I’m sure the experience soured poor Marilyn on the male of the species.

By 7th grade, I had danced maybe three or four times.  So I was an old hand.  7th and 8th graders were invited to “Rec” as it was called on Friday nights.  At the park district.  It was a dance. . . .  Few of the guys I knew ever danced. They just stood on the sidelines. Joshing.  Joking. Snorting.  And acting like immature boys. That is until Sharon E. walked over to me during one “slow” dance and asked me out on the floor. My friends were stunned. They stared.  I was nearly apoplectic inside. But that was only a taste of what was to come. . . .We went out on the dance floor and began dancing.  And Sharon promptly pressed her head against my head.  I remember immediately beginning to perspire.   Heavily.  Notwithstanding her head remained glued to mine.  Sweat dripping down the both of us.  And the music ended and she walked back to the line of girls. And I sheepishly went back to the line of boys feeling like I’d just emerged from a swimming pool.  And got glares. And snickers. And when the slow music began again, I saw her moving in my direction. Uh oh.   And we danced.  Her head pressed against mine.    

I don’t think we exchanged a single word.  Ever.  But after a few times, dancing with Sharon wasn’t so bad . . . . 

The Seder

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[A timely repeat from May 4, 2017]  Years ago, I was asked to teach Sunday School at our church.  A September to May obligation.  I said “sure” and was promptly given the 6th grade class.  We had a textbook which I was to use religiously (no pun intended).   But I have to confess that from the beginning I often ad libbed.  Uh oh – Petersen is going rogue . . . . .

While I stayed with the basics of the curriculum, I took liberty to discuss relevant questions within the context of the day’s chapter.  And I would bring in occasional people and things to enhance the one hour class.  The most memorable improv was when I conducted a Seder at the time of Passover.  I enlisted the help of two Jewish friends for guidance.   One gave me the blue Haggadah (the order of the Seder) which was in English and in Hebrew (I still have it).  And both tutored me in this solemn ritual.  They wanted to make sure I had the protocol down to a tev (or “t”).

Donna helped prepare the (almost) kosher meal.  And I set the table in the 6th grade area.  Plates, platters and potables (no wine).   Then the students began to arrive.  They looked around like – whoa! Mister Petersen is off the grid.  And they sat down – and I began with an explanation of Passover.  And the Seder.  And its significance.  And a Passover prayer.  The hour went quickly.  Elijah made his obligatory appearance.  The food was consumed.  And I did the cleanup.  I guess I did okay because the next year I was asked to continue teaching 6th grade Sunday School.  I did so until finally one year I said “no mas.”   

Some twenty years later, the Sunday School Seder was long forgotten.  Until we saw some old friends from church.  And their son Eric.  He walked right up to me “hello Mister Petersen!”  And he immediately began to bubble about the Seder being the most memorable time of his Sunday School career.  Gosh.  Kinda makes me wish I hadn’t said “no mas.”      

Lucretius

On By scottpetersenIn AED, CPR, First aid, Heimlich ManeuverLeave a comment

[A repeat from 10/31/2015]  I was walking to the train station with a retired friend. He mentioned that he is taking a course on Lucretius – the Roman poet and philosopher (99 B.C.-55 B.C.).   His previous course was on Cicero and the one before that on some unpronounceable Roman chap.  My friend went on talking about Lucretius and his publications on the nature of the universe and Epicureanism.  Sounded pretty neat.  I asked what he was taking next semester and he was not sure.  Maybe something on analytics or Euripides.  It was then I stuck my chin out. . . . .

I asked my friend if he had ever had a course on first aid.  He looked at me – “no.”  I asked if he’d ever taken a Heimlich Maneuver, CPR or AED course.  I got the same answer.  He asked me if I had done so and I recounted briefly the year-long course work I took to become a Civil Defense emergency medical responder at Augustana College (see October 21, 2011) and my AED review (see June 12, 2014).   I said that over the years, knowledge of first aid has come in handy.  And on a few occasions very handy.

It’s great taking courses on Lucretius and Cicero though my personal bent might involve guitar lessons, drum lessons, bird study or a tutorial on doing card magic.  But lemme say this — acquiring knowledge on the subject of first aid (including AED, Heimlich, CPR) may someday prove to be more valuable than reading De Rerum Natura or Iphigenia at Aulis.  You never know when some fast-moving southbound emergency will raise its ugly head.  And there is no one but you . . . . . . 

Tort Reform

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[A repeat from 12/19/13]   When you go to the hospital emergency room, the first person you see after checking in is a triage nurse or physician’s assistant who will determine the nature and severity of your injury or illness. And then you will be treated accordingly.

In criminal law, there is a triage system to determine the merit of criminal cases.  It’s called a “grand jury” or a “preliminary hearing.”  If a case does not have merit, a judge will throw it out (or a grand jury will vote down taking the matter further).  

But for civil cases, there is regrettably no triage system for determining their merit.  Result?  Many of America’s civil cases have little or no merit.  Yet you hear plaintiff’s lawyers squealing like stuck pigs whenever someone talks about limiting their right to bring lawsuits — and thus limiting the fees they might collect.  Pardon me — I mean limiting the damages they might recover for their client.  Even in Plato’s Apology (399 B.C.), he explains how any case that one wanted to bring needed a threshold approval — one fifth of the 501 jurors of Athens.  There was a triage system for new civil cases – 2,500 years ago. 

One of the biggest costs to America’s health care system is lawyers. But for money-grubbing lawyers, doctors would not perform needless procedures and order unnecessary testing.   But for lawyers, damage claims might be held within reason.  It is because of lawyers that tort reform and damage caps need to be put squarely on the table (especially if our ailing health care “system” is to survive).   Maybe losers should pay.  If there is push back from the lawyers, it may be Dick the Butcher (Shakespeare’s Henry VI) was on to something . . . . .   

Empty Handed

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Graham Green’s classic The Power and the Glory (1940) is set in Mexico in the late 1930’s. The country has turned against the Church.  Priests, nuns and the faithful are executed.  Public prayer is forbidden.  Church bells are silent.  One lone priest – the “Whiskey Priest” – escapes and is on the run.  He is being pursued by a methodical – and merciless – police lieutenant who is tasked with his capture. 

The Whiskey Priest – an alcoholic who has sinned in varied ways – tries to remain faithful as he travels around – incognito – ministering to his flock sub rosa.   But he is doggedly pursued by the lieutenant and narrowly escapes capture. 

The book tracks the ills of a society which attacks and tries to destroy the Church.  And faith.  In the end, the Whiskey Priest is captured.  And condemned.  He regrets not his imminent death but rather his failings.  Green concludes with: 

He felt only an immense disappointment because he had to go to God empty-handed, with nothing done at all . . . He felt like someone who has missed happiness by seconds at an appointment place. He knew now that at the end there was only one thing that counted—to be a saint.

There are several lessons in this work.  One is the war on religion (which we deal with in our own country).  Another is the universal question of why am I here?  And for most the nagging question of am I going to God empty-handed.  I’m aware that most of those who read these posts are active – in volunteering, contributing, helping, doing good deeds and working to improve the human condition.  But are we doing enough?  Think about it.  Could we do more to make the world a better place?  If every person – spurred by that simple query – did one extra act of kindness, charity or contribution each day, imagine how much better the world might be.  Think about the novel notion of civil discourse with those we disagree with . . . . .     

The Open Door

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I belong to an Episcopal Church in my neighborhood. I am invigorated by the services, educated by our Adult Forum programs and strengthened – in all respects – by just being there.

Our Church is like others – in shape, liturgy and message. But there is one thing that sets this Church apart. The doors of the Church are never locked.  They are open. 24/7.

Members of the Church can stop in.  Folks – who are not members – can stop in as well. At ten at night. Or three in the morning. Everyone is welcome.  To pray.  To think.   To ponder.  Donna and I will sometimes stop in.  In those off hours when we’ve gone in, the sanctuary is usually empty.  Except for us. Which makes our visit more personal.

I like to think that the doors of all faith traditions are open to the public. And yet I am aware that is not the case. I remember one pastor – years ago – haughtily suggesting that unless I was of his faith, his denomination and his synod — the doors to my salvation might well be closed. That’s tough to stomach.  I wonder what Gabriel would have to say about that (see post of January 30, 2012).  I bet his doors are open.  24/7  . . . . .  

So you think you’re glib?

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Can you talk for one minute – 60 seconds – non-stop?  Yeah, I can too. I’m a lawyer.  However, can you talk for 60 seconds, non-stop without saying a word that contains the letter “A”?  Think about it.  Try it. . . . this is a good one for kids. . . . .    

I’m sure there are combinations of words and sentences that will accomplish this objective (Hebrew and Arabic contain no vowels – hence no “a”).  For me though, the easiest way to do this is to go “one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve. . . .” and on up to one hundred.  The first “a” you will encounter is “hundred and one.”  It’ll take you about 60 seconds to get up to the number 75 . . . .  Ta daaaaah!  

Intelligence Testing

On By scottpetersenIn Intelligence Testing1 Comment

[A repeat from September 10, 2015]  When I was in 6th grade, apart from being the local expert on creating and detonating bombs, launching rockets and making Molotov cocktails (see 10/10/12 and 10/15/12), I cut lawns to make a few bucks.  And kept my eyes glued to the ground for stray pennies (see 8/1/12).  And I sold Kool Aid on the local golf course for a dime (sprinting into the weeds when the Ranger came zooming toward me in his golf cart).   

Another occupation of mine involved the creation of nine different “Intelligence Tests” for classmates.  I would type (from scratch – one finger at a time) ten questions on a sheet of paper and give it to a classmate in exchange for a quarter. If they could answer the questions, I gave them their quarter plus another quarter (“you win“). If they didn’t, I kept their quarter.  No one ever won. . . . .

The questions included things like — how many gorillas were in the U.S. in 1919 (one); what King of France tinkered with locks (Louis XVI); how many Indians served in World War I (17,313); what was the parcel post rate on packages going to Manchuria in 1924 (12 cents/pound); and so on.  I earned a lot of quarters.  The reason for my success was that I had a book. It was the book Answers to Questions by Frederic J. Haskin (Grosset & Dunlap, 1926).  The book had all of these questions — and so many more.  Do you know many of the mules sent to France in World War I were killed?  If you can answer that one, I’ll give you a quarter.   

Sweet Dreams

On By scottpetersenIn If that phone ever rings and it's you1 Comment

When I was 8 years old, my parents both worked. I’d walk home from school, let myself in the house, call my mother and let her know I was alive.  I was – what was called – a “latchkey kid.”  And then – being instructed not to watch television “except for Cubs games” – I went down to the basement to play with toy soldiers, work on my stamp collection (my grandmother had bought me a small album and a bunch of foreign stamps) or read a book about rocks and fossils. And if the Cubs weren’t on (which was most of the time), I would put old records on the record player.

I listened mainly to big band music — Jimmy Dorsey, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, Dizzy Gillespie, Count Basie and so many others (that’s all we had).  I would sit and sing – memorizing the songs I heard as I played.  Today – I sing some of those songs to my granddaughters – from a memory of sixty plus years ago. Three of the favorites are “If that phone ever rings and it’s you” “The Wiffenpoof Song” and “The Hut Sut Song.”  You want to hear what I listened to when I was 8 years old?
Give it a whirl:
If That Phone – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFNqTrf6pdw
The Whiffenpoofs – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJVUTHLFdQ0
Hut Sut Ralston – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kKU1S0lWxo

And then came “Oh Shenendoah” – which won the fraternity sing eleven years later at Augustana.   That song I sang to Lauren every night from that first night home from the hospital.  And which was played for the Daddy Daughter dance – at her wedding (see August 14, 2011).  Sweet memories.  Sweet dreams. . . . .  

Aristophanes

On By scottpetersenIn AristophanesLeave a comment

In my prior post on “The Best Medicine,” I mentioned a favorite jokester — Aristophanes.  A few years ago, I was asked (for a biographical sketch) what famous figure I would most like to have dinner with.  My answer?  Aristophanes.   Nicknamed by his contemporaries “Old Baggy Pants.”  He was my kinda guy. . . . .

This Athenian satirist, was probably the world’s first stand-up comedian (I would love to be a stand-up comic but I don’t have the legs for it).  He was well-educated and began writing satire in his teens.  He wrote more than 40 plays of which only 11 have survived.  The first play penned under his own name was The Knights (424 B.C.).  It was a scathing satire about the Athenian politician and military leader Cleon – the arrogant demagogue who succeeded Pericles.  Cleon is aptly depicted in the play as a bloated and intoxicated lout – whose face and toga are always smeared with wine.  As mentioned in my prior post, Aristophanes sometimes played the part of Cleon – lurching onto stage, staggering around and mumbling – because he wanted to make sure the part was played “properly.” The spoof was wonderfully popular with everyone in Athens — except for Cleon who sent messengers to Aristophanes suggesting that he “cool it.” 

In the world of literature, the satiric works of Ben Jonson and Henry Fielding were influenced by Aristophanes.  Examine the comedies of Shakespeare and you will find the tongue-in-cheek humor of Aristophanes swimming beneath the surface. If we sat down to dinner, I’d order some Greek crab cakes, moussaka, spanakopita and pastitsio — with a bottle or two of agiorgitiko.    Then we’d start telling jokes . . . . .