Poppy, as we called him, was a man of many words. Most of them would curl the toes of your work boots and none of them were intended for the ears of anyone under fifteen. When we were growing up, and indeed still to this day, my mother was not one to tolerate bad language. The mere whisper of the first letter of one of the more popular four letter words would get you at best a withering look; one eyebrow shot heavenward over a countenance bereft to understand what she had just heard, and may just as readily garner a rap to your offending lips from the back of her hand. Just the solitary letters S, H, D were all the same as if you had marched straight to the Vatican and cursed directly into the Pope's ear in her book. I still remember the near collision we had when I dared to utter, "Who gives an S?" as she sped down Route 7 in her white Thunderbird with pneumatic light covers and red leather-like interior. Mind you, I uttered only the letter S. Not the full word. So, you can imagine that as kids we sat spellbound listening to our grandfather, whom she respected (and feared) too much to dare chastise, and we could not help but enjoy the irony of her father stringing together curse words as one would fine pearls, and to our tickled ears, these auditory gems were far more valuable. However, in time you learn that a free tongue enslaves.
"Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips." Psalm 141:3
What an amazing life gem. More and more I come back to this, typically AFTER I have said something that I wish I could take back. Unfortunately, there are no "do overs" in life. You know about "do overs?" My son and his neighborhood friends used to play four square in the driveway and if one of the individuals playing hit the ball out of bounds or if a ball whizzed right past them, they may shout "do over!" and if the group had agreed to do-overs in advance, all would nod and play would continue as if the mistake had never occurred. I marveled the first time I watched this. What a sweet and genuine act of mercy demonstrated by these children. Of course, as they grew older, "do overs" became unheard of. What a pity.
And here we are. The sun has nestled down deep beyond the horizon for a well-deserved rest and my mind plays a fragmented film of my day - time this morning with the family, each of us rushing around; my interactions with the sea monkeys at work (also known as coworkers); the lady behind the counter at the coffee shop who looked so sad; the guy bundled up against the freezing cold standing outside at the gas station to re-set the pumps that I ignored; and I look heavenward and whisper, "do over."
