with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.
Harry
“In point three miles, exit right, then turn left.”
I don't know why I just thought of Harry.
I usually see Harry every other day, but we have made it a point to get together for coffee at Starbucks every Tuesday. Last Tuesday I had been waiting almost an hour for our weekly meeting when Harry finally showed up. “Sorry I am late. I got lost,” he said as he threw his bag down by the table and, in one smooth seamless motion walked to the counter to order.
I continued the conversation with Harry as he orders his triple mocha latte with non fat milk, “You really need to do something about this late thing Harry.”
“Have you ever thought about getting a GPS?” I asked, knowing that Harry would be the most punctual person if he knew where he was going.
But with age comes wisdom, and Harry, along with all his friends, know better than to trust him when it comes to directions.
I wonder why people question why I am hanging out with Harry the Mormon? I like the guy. He's always late, and gets lost all of the time, but he is nice. He doesn't try to convert me, and I don't talk to him, too much, about the Bible. Sometimes I think he knows the Bible better than me though. What is really cool, and it is probably cool only to me is that he lets me introduce him as Harry the Mormon. Most people don't like to be introduced like that.
That reminds me of this guy in town named Bob Williams. Bob is African American. The only African American in town. For a long time everyone called him Black Bob. I was never sure why they did that because there are a few Bobs in town, including one Bob that is pasty white and they never called him Pasty White Bob as far as I know. I never called him Black Bob. I called him Mr. Williams because he was my dad's age. One year at the fair Mr. Williams, an accomplished musician by the way, was waiting just off stage to perform. The MC introduced him as Black Bob Williams. Mr Williams walked to the piano, sat down and pulled the microphone over and said, “My name is Bob Williams. You all know that. For years you have called me Black Bob and I want to say that I do not like that. My name is Bob..Just Bob.”
I am sure there is no parallel here. Being a Mormon is not a race. Yet for whatever reason my head is making that connection today.
Sometimes I am amazed at my mad logic skills.
I manage to turn around and head back towards my sisters new house.
"In five hundred feet, you have reached your destination, on right.”
Harry
“In point three miles, exit right, then turn left.”
I don't know why I just thought of Harry.
I usually see Harry every other day, but we have made it a point to get together for coffee at Starbucks every Tuesday. Last Tuesday I had been waiting almost an hour for our weekly meeting when Harry finally showed up. “Sorry I am late. I got lost,” he said as he threw his bag down by the table and, in one smooth seamless motion walked to the counter to order.
I continued the conversation with Harry as he orders his triple mocha latte with non fat milk, “You really need to do something about this late thing Harry.”
“Have you ever thought about getting a GPS?” I asked, knowing that Harry would be the most punctual person if he knew where he was going.
But with age comes wisdom, and Harry, along with all his friends, know better than to trust him when it comes to directions.
I wonder why people question why I am hanging out with Harry the Mormon? I like the guy. He's always late, and gets lost all of the time, but he is nice. He doesn't try to convert me, and I don't talk to him, too much, about the Bible. Sometimes I think he knows the Bible better than me though. What is really cool, and it is probably cool only to me is that he lets me introduce him as Harry the Mormon. Most people don't like to be introduced like that.
That reminds me of this guy in town named Bob Williams. Bob is African American. The only African American in town. For a long time everyone called him Black Bob. I was never sure why they did that because there are a few Bobs in town, including one Bob that is pasty white and they never called him Pasty White Bob as far as I know. I never called him Black Bob. I called him Mr. Williams because he was my dad's age. One year at the fair Mr. Williams, an accomplished musician by the way, was waiting just off stage to perform. The MC introduced him as Black Bob Williams. Mr Williams walked to the piano, sat down and pulled the microphone over and said, “My name is Bob Williams. You all know that. For years you have called me Black Bob and I want to say that I do not like that. My name is Bob..Just Bob.”
I am sure there is no parallel here. Being a Mormon is not a race. Yet for whatever reason my head is making that connection today.
Sometimes I am amazed at my mad logic skills.
I manage to turn around and head back towards my sisters new house.
"In five hundred feet, you have reached your destination, on right.”