On Sunday morning, July 22nd, my alarm went off and I got up and went to Connect group, Long Hollow's college-age 'Sunday School.' That fact that I even wrote that sentence is a testament to how often THAT happens.
Here, while I sat between Chuck Woosley and Dillon Heath, I heard the awesome stories from the mission trip to Canada, how they were able to see life change in their own hearts and among the Indians there, and how they posed for pictures with NBA No. 1 pick Greg Oden in the Minneapolis airport.
I sat with Dillon later that morning in worship. We chuckled for the duration of Brother David's lesson on...what was it on?
I remember, as a kid, feeling very very ashamed and less of a Christian if I couldn't recall the preacher's sermon title, Scripture references, and three points.
After service, an army of us virtually took over Hendersonville's El Puente, whose facilities took the cake over Mazatlan's but whose chicken nachos left me longing for the days of free Jim's Nachos.
On my way here, I got a phone call from Brittany Williams, who had a challenge for me. I had no idea what it could be.
Well I have no clue where Brittany came up with this, but the game was to see how long one could go without saying an "I-statement." Or, talk about yourself. She suggested I try the whole day. I suggested lunch.
Before Pedro had even brought the drinks back, I was fidgeting in my chair. I wish I could've enjoyed it, enjoyed asking people about their thoughts, their feelings, their lives, but this restriction, this PRISON was killing me!
I lasted 30 minutes. Well, technically, 10. But I'm saying 30. Somebody ASKED me about my plans for the fall! What was I supposed to do, respond in kind, "Better question: what are your plans for the fall?"
It was somewhere between the chicken nachos and the cheese dip when I broke down.
"I get to go to LA this fall! I get to stay there the whole weekend! I get to go to a USC game because I graduated with Patrick Turner, their best receiver!" I rambled on about this and other irrelevant things that only I cared about until the checks came.
The more I think about this day, the more apparent it becomes that this was probably the most eventful day of my life.
A week before, Ross and I, bored with our traditional nightly entertainment, MVP Baseball 2005 for the PlayStation 2, decided to spice things up a bit. We would draft our own dream teams and play a series. Best-of-seven. Loser buys dinner (Read: Wendy's Dollar Menu nuggets and fries, a Frosty if you're lucky).
I was carried early on by my young 3B David Wright, whose Game 1 grand slam and walk-off Game 2 homer gave me a 2-0 series lead. With two wins at home, Ross evened the series at 2-2, heading back to Minnesota (I was the Twins, he the Tigers). In the pivotal Game 5, Johan Santana--my ace and hometown favorite--clung to a shutout and a 1-0 lead with 2 outs in the 9th when Ichiro--freakin Ichiro--hit a game-winning 3-run home run. I still haven't recovered. I stole Game 6 with a big homer from Manny Ramirez and a masterful performance from Jake Peavy.
This forced a seventh game, which went down at 4 P.M. CST at my house. Going into the 8th, with veteran John Smoltz on the mound, I held a promising 4-2 lead, until closer Francisco Rodriguez came in for a six-out save opportunity. He would give up six runs. A tie-breaking Placido Polanco (the series MVP) grand slam gave Ross and the Tigers the final margin, 8-4.
We have no life. And we love it.
That night, Alex Aust and I met Seth Goodwin--who is gay--at Rocketown for August Burns Red, who plays perfect music. Their cd has been in my player for a month straight. They were awesome.
After the show, as Seth, Alex and I walked to our cars, we were approached by two men who, even as they were 30 yards away, we knew were going to stop us. I honestly don't know what this says about us, that we would be apprehensive about two approaching middle-aged black men, but whatever.
"Hey! Guys! I ain't got a gun! All black people ain't bad! I'm a Christian!" one promised as he jogged our way, extending his hand for a shake.
He wasn't homeless. He sported a collared shirt, faded jeans and a ball cap, like his friend. I believed he didn't have a gun.
He said something about dropping his friend off at the bus stop and his car not starting and something about Gallatin and something about money.
Between us, we gave him ten bucks. We were kind of unsure why. After he graciously thanked us and called God's blessings upon us, he and his friend scampered around the corner to their car. Before long, he returned, as we were still lingering at our cars.
"Hey man! You got any cables? We need a jump!"
Seth and I both had cables. We drove down the block to where their car was, in front of a shady, dimly lit building off 6th Avenue.
I saw that Seth and Alex were semi-nervous as the two men fiddled with the cables, and I clutched my cell phone, just in case.
About ten minutes passed, and by this time it was fairly obvious that those guys were not wielding knives or semi-automatic guns of a posse of gang members. Still, their car wouldn't start.
When Alex recommended that we should pray, one of them proclaimed, "Faith of a mustard seed moves mountains!"
Amen brother!
I, for the first time, asked them their names.
"Richard," said the one who'd done all the talking to this point.
"Tony," said Richard's smaller, younger-looking companion.
They took off their hats and bowed and prayed with me. I checked.
It ranked right up there with Edward Porter's "Lord, thanks for the good round uh 'BP' today and let us get uh 'W' tomorrow!" and the Madison Church of Christ elder's "Thank you, Lord, for lettin' us eat hot dogs and hamburgers, for letti'n us shoot off fireworks..." in all-time most hilarious prayers.
"Lord," I petitioned, "start their car."
Jordan Puryear will really appreciate this.
"God," I continued, "just start it. Start their car. Amen."
Tony put his hat on and excitedly turned the key. Nothing.
God was up to something. I knew it. And it made me want to shake my fist at him and go home. That's when Seth blurted out, "You guys need a ride anywhere?"
Richard and Tony, a little surprised themselves, said they had a buddy that lived off Lafayette. Near Mr. Burgers. So we got into Seth's car. Here's how it looked:
Seth Alex
TonyRichardRaleigh
"Where you guys been tonight?" Richard asked.
"Over here at Rocketown," one of us replied, "at a metal show."
"Oh, kinda like AC/DC and Metallica."
Something like that.
"Seth's in a band," I said, pointing to Seth and making convo.
"Whatcha'll called?" Richard did most of the talking.
"The Blood The Glory," Seth responded, "talking about Jesus."
Richard didn't miss a beat, "Oh, like Creed!
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking
maybe six feet ain't so far down
We were rolling. Somewhere around this time we all formally introduced ourselves, and I asked them if they had any family.
Me and Richard's legs were touching. Our arms too. We basically cuddled.
They responded--first nonverbally--to my family question with a look of shame that was, as they began to talk, swallowed up by immense pride. Not the kind of I-bench-press-more-than-yo
"I got three daughters," Richard said, "They live in Knoxville with my ex-wife."
This ex-wife was Richard's third.
"I got two. Girls. 16 and 18," Tony boasted, humbly.
His lived in Hot Springs, Arkansas, with his ex-wife.
"Man, when I was your age," Richard started again, "I won two Golden Gloves in boxing," as he raised his right fist and showed me.
It was f'd up.
"How old are you now?" I asked.
"You won't believe it, but I'm forty," he boasted. He thought he looked younger.
I played along, "Aw, man, you don't look forty!"
Picture a 40-year old black man practically sitting on top of a 20-year old white kid straight from a hardcore show who looks the man in the eye (less than six inches away at this point, mind you), grins, and says in a borderline-flirty tone, "You don't look forty!" and you'll get the humor.
Richard and Tony laughed.
As we approached Mr. Burger, Richard told us to stop, to let them out.
"I don't want you to be in this bad neighborhood, its bad down here, man."
Seconds later, "You guys go to church?" Our prayer had him thinking.
"Yeah."
"Man, I got baptized down there at that Church of Christ over there last year!"
RESPECT, Richard.
They shook our hands.
This was it. See you, friends.
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