Morning Thoughts: November 15, 2017

“So, life is tough? Read the first passage of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Imagine you can’t pronounce all the works due to a learning disability. Then imagine you and dozens of others with varying types of learning disabilities have been challenged to memorize the entire speech and recite it in front of a group of peers, teachers, and parents.

Another obstacle? You’ve never spoken to a group in public before.

The reward? A coin that says you did it.

As for me, the only disability I suffer from these days is a long-standing incapability to say no when a city wants me to visit and talk about its challenges.

So yesterday I went north to help out and to earn a bit. I went way up in north Arkansas, only a few miles from the Missouri line, and back

I reached Little Rock in time that I could catch the monthly documentary at the MacArthur Museum of Arkansas Military History, a gem of a Little Rock treasure that I serve as a board member. Each month the staff shows documentaries that relate to the museum’s mission in some way. I try always to go, but last night was a challenge.

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself by then, having driven nearly six hours total. I hadn’t eaten supper. I didn’t smell that great. My butt hurt, and the knee I’ve been having trouble with was killing me. I’m not even sure as to whether or not I loved the Galilean with my accustomed vigor at that point. I felt mean, ugly, dispirited, hateful, and full of the poison of human unkindness. Picture a TV evangelist.

My beloved wife, who can usually dispel this sort of world weariness, was at our farm caring for her mother.

While I sat alone in a chair resting, a fresh bottle of Four Roses Single Barrell yelled from the cupboard. “Here I am, lover boy.” Across the room Grant, by Ron Chernow, cooed, "And I'm over here, Sweetie." The Little Rock skyline had never sparkled with more allure. Temptations were mounting. Time was passing. I needed to make a decision.

So, naturally, I walked across the street to MacArthur Park, into the museum, and up a long, long flight of stairs. Have I ever mentioned that I’m not a young man?

At last aloft in the viewing room, I settled in with some free beer and popcorn. I chatted with a good friend who came in with his wife. Things began to look up.

Then the film started. It was The Address, a film by Ken Burns. It chronicles how each year, the young men who attend the tiny Greenwood school in Putney Vermont, are encouraged to memorize, practice and recite The Gettysburg Address. The boys, aged 11 to 17, suffer from a variety of learning disabilities.

Just imagine.

I won’t give away the ending. Let’s just say that a roomful of eyes enjoyed discreet dabbings as the house lights came back on, and guess what?

My knee didn’t hurt at all walking back.