Ruminations from a Rocking Chair

The South is changing. Front porch rocking chairs are obsolete. Smart phones for interactive social media are the current drugs of choice. Irrelevancy lurks everywhere.

**********

Our culture spends a lot of time chasing the wind. We’ve lost the innate ability to relax and enjoy just passing the time. Hyper-activity reigns.

Recently, and without remorse, I left my office early. The desk-top details were attacking each other, locked in a brutal civil war for supremacy. I left them to sort it out on their own.

I stopped by to visit my friend, Ace Blackbanks. He’s retired, does what most retired men do—re-visiting the ‘old days.’ I worried he was spending too much time rearranging his sock drawer.

In another life Ace was a covert operative in the arcane world of spying. Rumor is he’s responsible for blasting down the Berlin Wall. He gave me some graffiti from it. He remains silent on the issue.

I find him in a rocking chair on his front porch. He nurses a glass of sweet tea. He and his dog seem about to succumb to the sweltering humidity the ceiling fan stirs up.

“Whatcha doin’, Ace?” I ask. “Plotting a regime over-throw, exposing the mystery of HRC’s secret emails or contemplating drone surveillance of the bikini-clad crowd on East Beach?”

“Ah, the old days. No, just passing the time, rocking and thinking about remaining relevant.”

“Look, wasting time in that rocker will make you irrelevant. It’s like lockjaw, deadly when it sets in. You want to be relevant? Read Rolling Stone.”

“That rag? Nah, that’s really wasting time. I’m reading a frightening book.”

“I guess there’s a fine line between wasting time and passing the time. But listen, you have to redeem the time if you want to stay relevant. That Zen yoga class won’t do it. That’s for women.”

He sips his tea. “Want some?”

“No thanks,” I say. “Gave it up. Stains my teeth.”

“You have any real ones left?” He grins.

I ignore the comment, remembering how young boys would bang on one another as a fraternal sign of friendship. Now being men, they utter insults. Same motive, just a different delivery. Relationships find ways to remain relevant.

“What’s this book you’re reading, ‘Women are Everything.’ Does it have pictures like the books you hide under the bed?” I ask.

“It’s about the superiority of women. About how a single mutated chunk of DNA, known as SRY, has doomed men to obsolescence. Deep stuff. You wouldn’t get it. Besides, you’re already there. Ask anybody.”

“That’s dangerous heresy. Your wife making you read such rubbish? Bet some Vanity Fair editor wrote it.”

“Nope, some fellow at Emory wrote it, an anthropologist. Says men are the cause of every bad thing that’s ever happened, and that one day women won’t even need men to have children. Says women are the answer to everything and calls for the end of the male species.” He rocks, but shows concern.

“A man wrote this nonsense? Who’s gonna be President, run business, raise a family, pay the bills, fight wars, play sports, grill burgers or deliver beer? Will someone soon say that God is a woman?” I begin to rock, feeling myself somewhat on the edge of angst.

Ace continues. “Look, says here women have superior judgment, have lower levels of bigotry, they live longer, more moral and resistant to various diseases. What’s worse, it says they can even restrain sexual impulses.” We both laugh, knowing that it didn’t take an anthropologist to know that.

“The kook opines that technology is making the ancient male advantage in physical strength irrelevant. Robots roam the earth now. Do everything. It’s frightening.” He rocks faster.

“Do you think this nutcase is drunk on the liberal Kool-Aid they serve up at Emory? Is he suggesting that as women gain influence, the world will become more democratic, more compassionate, and all men’s locker rooms become co-ed?” It’s a dark thought.

“Looks that way,” he says.

We contemplate the horror of a world without men and change the subject to politics, the last stronghold for men.

**********

Time is indeed short. There’s no better way to redeem it than with a friend and a rocking chair.

But as for God being a woman, well, it’ll take a lot more rocking and something stronger than sweet tea to get me there.


Bud Hearn
April 10, 2015