Stamps: There's nothing a little truth couldn't fix

Bill Stamps
Bill Stamps

I sure do appreciate all the emails I received from you in regard to me starting back up with this paper. I'm good for a column every two weeks until the first of the year, and we'll go from there. I haven't been writing for the past several months, so I'm a little rusty.

My wife, Jana, and I just turned another year older. Jana's birthday was Sept. 26. Mine was Oct. 2. We're just six days apart if you don't count the other 19 years, 359 days. Jana has now officially been with me half of her life. I really love her.

If you knew what I know about my life, you'd be just as shocked as am I that I'm still here - and in relatively good shape.

I've kept my Marine Corps weight of 190 pounds, but I don't stand a chance of ever fitting into my uniforms again. I'm still in there; I've just shifted a bit. Adios, 30-inch waist. It was nice knowing you.

Because I am my frugal grandmother Miz Lena's grandson, I've held on to several pairs of pants with waist sizes 32 inches to 35 inches. They're too small for me, but I have them neatly folded and stacked in a couple of wardrobe boxes, just in case. There's a mess of beautiful leather belts as well.

I'm pretty sure that the only exercise that I could ever do to get back to a 30-inch waist would be to go work in the salt mines. I'm back home where everything tastes better. Damn those East Tennessee meat-and-threes.

I've thought of giving my slacks to Goodwill, but they're like brand new and were costly. I hate to get rid of brand new. Still, I know, deep down, I'll probably never don them again. I may give it another year, and if my waistline hasn't dropped down, they'll get passed on.

In the future, should you see a thin, homeless man sporting a pair of practically new, cuffed slacks, they're probably from me. The matching belt, that's me, too.

When I was a young buck running the town, throwing back shots of Jack Daniel's, driving fast cars and going crazy, Father Time was the last thing on my mind. I was too busy having the time of my life, as was evidenced by all those speeding tickets and the altercations I got myself into.

Had I, as Miz Lena used to tell me, just counted to 10 before reacting, I could have saved myself a lot of bruises, busted knuckles, stiff fines, eye-popping attorney fees and valuable time. In all candor, there were inebriated nights where I couldn't remember my name, much less count to 10.

That was a rough patch of time. They say live and learn. I guess God decided to let me learn some things the hard way. Er, uh, thanks, Lord.

These days, I prefer to coast rather than speed to get anywhere. However many years that I have left on this green Earth won't be in rush mode. No sense in hurrying toward the finish line.

My rearview window is filled to the brim with memories good and bad. Mostly good.

I'm pretty much split down the middle. Half my thoughts are of the here and now, and the other half are dedicated to days gone by. That format has managed to keep me balanced. Sorta, kinda.

Some of my memories are monumental: the birth of my son; the day I met my wife, Jana; our dogs; my first and last day in Vietnam; and the year that I gave up drugs and drinking. There's plenty more.

I try not to think of the bad stuff. I've already been through it all, so there's no need to relive it. I refuse to waste any more waking days on past, unpleasant circumstances or undesirable characters. Looking back, I realize that I've thrown away so much God-given time.

Besides, there's plenty more negativity out there these days with which to contend. I sure hope that, sooner than later, we get on the same page and begin healing the tortured and cracked heart of our beloved USA. We used to be in it together, regardless of our politics. Times have changed.

Even though he was before my time, I've always loved the way Teddy Roosevelt described our American attitude about righteousness: "Speak softly and carry a big stick." That's what I grew up on. There are a few of us out there who could use a brush-up course on the speaking softly thing.

No matter who's right or wrong, you gotta admit, these last few years have just about worn us out. I sure wish our leaders could find a conduit for peaceful and meaningful solutions to all the junk that's going on out there.

The Rotary clubs have a guiding principle called the Four Way Test that starts with, "Is it the truth?" Used to be, especially in the South, that a look in the eyes, a handshake and a man's word were all that was needed. Nowadays, we need attorneys to look over everything before we commit to anything. Many times, the contract's not worth the paper on which it's written.

I'm not sure if many of us know what the truth is anymore. Some of us lie so much that you end up believing the lie that sounds closest to the truth. I, for one, don't want to live the rest of my limited time on Earth dealing with chaos. Some people like it. I don't.

Sit and think for a minute. Would our parents or their parents, your grandparents, have allowed us to get to this level of dishonesty? I think not.

They'd make very sure that what we said and did was considerate of others and truthful. That was pretty much the creed of our great nation. Most especially the South. Being honest was one of the top three priorities. The other two were our God and our country.

The United States of America that I saddled up and flew halfway around the globe to defend is, sadly, way off course. No longer do we fight for prevailing truth and to do what's right. It's more about what can be gotten away with. Principles, for which we once stood, have given way to greed and conveniences. It's a dirty, rotten shame.

When I was very young, I asked my grandmother's housekeeper, Elizabeth, if she thought that I was crazy. She told me that the whole world was crazy and that, "Pretty soon, da Lord is gonna come down here and fix things." Elizabeth made that statement to me well over 65 years ago.

Lord, I know you're busy, but we sure would appreciate it if you could come down here and get us back on the right track. Please heal our country and this world. In my humble opinion, it's way past time, Lord.

P.S. God, thanks for all the time you've given me down here. And thanks for all the stuff. And thanks for making me an American.

Email Bill Stamps at bill_stamps@aol.com. His books "Miz Lena" and "Southern Folks" are available on Amazon.

photo Bill Stamps

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