Military Friends, Please Help An Old Sailor Out.

I’m sending this appeal out to all my military friends, both active duty and prior service: send me your Christmas pictures.

I know there are a lot of you with great photos taken recently, back during Vietnam, Korea, The Gulf (both,) Afghanistan, The Philippines, assorted ships, field stations, and other hell-holes where we muddled through the holiday. Those photos hold a special place for you, and I’d like to share them with the other readers.

You can send them to photos@commotioninthepews.com.

What I desire is your photo, a description of where and when it was taken, and who the mugs are in the picture. If you can’t remember, but it’s a bunch of trolls in poopie suits and Santa hats, I’ll still take it.

I need the photos by Monday the 22nd for the piece. I know that if you reach out to your brothers and sisters we can get some good stuff.

I’ll publish the post on Christmas Eve if I get enough material.

Thanks. That is all. Return to field day duties.

It’s Half-way Night.

In the naval tradition, the crews of warships celebrate a night that is the 1/2 way point of their deployment abroad. In the modern era this is a bit dicey, as deployments seem to go on endlessly for some ships. In my day it was a fairly precise date. Give or take a terrorist explosion in a disco.

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Today feels like half-way night for the Santa season. It’s been one of great emotion and joy. I will talk about that in Thursday’s post, for there are some special people that I want to talk about in detail, and I just don’t have the time tonight.

My reason for posting today is to remind myself, and you, that while the season is half over we could easily embrace it in our lives throughout the year. I don’t quit being Santa on December 26th. I do drop the clothes, too confusing. But the little ones recognize me throughout the year and I hand out a lot of my “you met Santa” cards in June and July. I also try to remember who Nicholas was in history, and how I am honored to portray him in this day and age.

Unlike half-way night on subs, I will not be wearing my wife’s undergarments as a hat, I will not enter a pie eating contest (danged thing was 1/2 frozen – something to do with half-way night I suppose,) I will not don an EAB (Emergency Apparatus, Breathing) and run from air outlet to air outlet, nor will I get sentimental about my lonely backside. I was never there for the full cruise so that part was a bit of a disconnect for me when I encountered the festivities.

Instead I will pray. I will pray for the children and adults I have seen already, and pray for those yet to come. I will savor the joy that the families and children bring to me with their smiles and laughter. I will honor my God and do right by others as Nicholas would.

Most of all, I will endeavor to be the best Santa that I can be in the remaining ten days. This I can do. Illness, slick roads, and any other commotion aside, I will be there to provide merriment if it’s within my power.

See you soon. Remember: that elf on the shelf works for NSA so put a Faraday cage around his little butt and cut him off.

My Most Perfect Christmas Gift: Ava.

Each Santa has a wealth of great stories. One of my favorites comes from my first few years as Santa. I’ll be honest, I don’t remember names that well, sometimes faces elude me. But one name, one date, and one little girl are forever stamped on my brain.

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Let’s start with the picture:

The youngest Santa photo in existence.

The youngest Santa photo in existence.

That photo holds a special place in Santa history. If you look at the upper left portion of the picture, you will note a clock. In another version of this picture the full clock is visible. There will be more about that shortly.

I became Santa to help out my friends at Toys For Tots over fourteen years ago. I’d been a volunteer for a long time with them and had done everything in the warehouse from unloading trucks in the freezing cold, driving a forklift, answering phones, and building data bases to track our needs and output from the warehouse. Minneapolis/Saint Paul is one of the biggest programs in the country, as a single entity operates for the whole region. Many places at that time were run out of local Salvation Army operations, fire stations, or recruiting stations. This outfit, with which I was proudly volunteering, had a huge warehouse and lots of volunteers.

And then one foggy Christmas Eve – well, it was a few weeks before Christmas to be truthful, the local media outlet we worked with voiced an objection to the man who had shown up on camera a few times in a Santa suit. I haven’t seen him in a long time, but let’s just say he may have been the impetus for the movie “Bad Santa.” At the least, the television folks didn’t want him around.

The Gunnery Sergeant was bemoaning this little fact when I said, “Gunny, I’m fat and have a beard, how about if I become Santa.” Thus was a career born. God looks out for twits like me, and he put me in the right place at the right time: one of the people I worked with knew a guy who knew a woman who made Santa suits. Cool. I really couldn’t afford one of the Adele’s of Hollywood models, and the crap in the big box store looked like crap. I had taken the biggest step and ordered a suit.

Two weeks later the suit was ready. I met with the seamstress and it was beautiful. (It still hangs in my closet.) It was also a lot of money. Her husband asked if I’d like to work off part of the tab: he was a Santa with way too many jobs to handle himself. I did a few gigs for him that first year and paid off the suit. I also learned that doing the right thing (becoming Santa for the Marines) paid handsomely.

The following year I was a busy boy on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. One of my coworkers had left work early on the 23rd of December to give birth to her daughter. I wondered how they were doing, and it was on my mind all day and through the night. On Christmas morning I decided to drop in on her at the hospital and spread a little cheer.

Upon arrival at the maternity unit they asked me to wait at the nurses desk. “She’s getting cleaned up right now, but then you can go in to see her.” Okay, she’s taking a shower. NO biggie.

Five minutes later the door opened and I was ushered in to the room where people were taking pictures and cleaning up what looked like wrapping paper. I had arrived at the nurses station just as little Ava was being born. In that picture above, if you could see the whole clock, I was getting my picture taken with Ava just 17 minutes after she arrived on the scene. I don’t know of another Santa who can beat that record. If they can, I’d love to hear the story.

Over the past 13 years my suit has changed a few times, my beard is much longer and much lighter, I wear cowboy boots versus Sorrels, and I wear white gloves these days. My joy in being Santa continues to grow each year. There have been children who have gone into remission of their cancer during the years, and others who didn’t see the next Christmas. Knowing I was a part of their lives is an honor and a special thing that I cling to each day of the year.

I no longer do as much with the Marines, and that’s too bad: they are a fine tribe to be associated with in my opinion. I’ve seen Ava on her birthday a few times in the intervening years, but this year she’s far away from Santa’s route on Christmas. However, she’s close in my heart. You see, Ava has blossomed into a wonderful young woman who becomes a teenager in just a few weeks. She’s involved in choir, she’s a good student, and she has a kind heart.

Being Santa is a blessing. Being pictured with Ava 17 minutes after she was born was a miracle. I can’t wait to see her again. For now, I guess I’ll have to settle for this picture of her that her mom sent me this morning.

Ava 2014

Ava 2014

Merry Christmas, Ava.

I Don’t Understand Myself, Much Less Any Of You. And That’s Just As It Should Be.

My wife is a font of wisdom. For many years she has voiced the opinion that she’s not envious of anyone else, because their life can only be unknown to others. In a nutshell, the person you think of as perfect is possibly more flawed, more in pain, and more in need than you are at this moment. If you wish to be them, won’t you take on all of their burdens as well?

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That thought rolled around in my head a lot this last weekend. Over the course of the weekend I was involved in thousands of photographs. I chatted with hundreds of people of all ages. I shared meals with people from three to eighty-three. But the wisdom that stood out above all the rest was that of a four year old girl. When asked what she wanted for Christmas, she had a simple reply: “My family and friends.” All of the material wishes, political desires, and great schemes came down to that basic human need.

I also thought about what my wife’s wisdom meant in dealing with people who looked different than me, or had different intellectual abilities, or had different mental health issues. I promised myself to deal with each of them one-on-one, and to love them just as Christ admonished us in the Bible. I made eye contact and talked to the person, not the deformity, not the skin color, not the crying need for help. I talked to them whether they were two feet tall or six foot in stockings. Each was an individual. I could only love them, but I’ll never understand them. You see, my wife is right: outside of the bag of skin that contains me I am mystified by others. I don’t get myself most of the time, how could I presume to be in the shoes of another?

Our nation is engaged in turmoil at this time, turmoil that serves to drive us all far from our individual lives. We camp on one side of a line or another in many cases. It is the rare individual who looks at the divide and tries to bridge it for the betterment of all. In the wake of several highly publicized police shootings, the tumult has risen to a new level. With the rise in commentary on the grand jury decisions I’ve noticed a cottage industry in hurt feelings and rash behavior coming to the fore. No longer are we driven to contemplate events, pray, and hope for resolution. Some among us are beating the drum and setting a pace for additional outrage and violence. I find it interesting that it’s divided along lines of age more than color.

People my age, of all colors, are more likely to look at individual events and evaluate them based on merit. Younger people are more inclined to quickly share the latest outrage on social media. The problem is that the outrage isn’t very outrageous if you look a little deeper. But Satan, and he’s clearly involved, likes it when people stay angry, drive others to anger, and foment outrage of their own in the pursuit of “justice.” I am saddened that this need to be on the front lines of an event supersedes the need to rationally address problems.

I am praying that all involved step back and rationally think about what they are pursuing. It helps in no way to post things on a blog, Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook that impugn the moral character of another based on their ethnicity or social status. This is a two-way street, and both sides need to get their heads together and work toward resolution versus confrontation. I was highly offended when one of my friends (another white guy) said that I couldn’t possibly have any black friends if I could not understand their feelings of outrage. Really. Well, guess I was fooled, because I always thought I had plenty of friends outside of my portion of the skin-color spectrum. I have friends of all colors and genders but as I pointed out above, I’m not any of them. I can’t presume to think their thoughts for them.

What I can do, what I will do, what I am doing right now, is plead with all concerned to dial back the rhetoric. Quit posting the videos and fanning the flames. I know that injustice takes place. But in 2014 it’s not the de jure systemic injustice that people my age and older witnessed in our youth. It’s individual interactions gone wrong. Are there any racist police? I’d wager about the same number in general that the entire population has, regardless of color. Are there intolerant hot-heads who provoke the police because the police have rules and they don’t? Certainly. Are there truly innocent people who are hurt? Yes. Some in blue uniforms who are gunned down for no reason except their uniform. Some in civilian clothes who get the results of a confrontation gone wrong.

We are not perfect. None of us. To attribute a vicious level of hatred to another because of their job or race is unfair. It’s as unfair as racially profiling shoplifters. Neither is right. Nor is animosity of this sort, by anyone, ever right.

We have come a long way in my lifetime. I’d like to see us go a lot further. I’d like to have my friendship taken on its face value by others, I’d like my mistrust to be based on the evaluation of others based on their actions. It’s a struggle for all of us to do these things. I try each day to overcome what my lizard brain provides me with before acting or speaking. That’s all I’m asking of others.

Finally, I’m sharing this video with you in the hope that it might save even one life. While he’s speaking to young black men, this applies equally to old white men. I follow his advice and it’s kept me out of jail and alive for over five decades. A fellow Cryptoligic Technician shared it on Facebook. Pay close attention to the remarks 2/3 of the way through, for it is the ultimate message that we all need to take to heart: “We don’t love each other enough.”

I believe that with that love, the love Jesus brought to Earth for all of us 2000 years ago, we have a hope. Without it, we’re doomed. Please take some time to reflect on that today. My thanks for your consideration.

Christmas Video Friday Has Returned With A Vengeance.

Fridays mean videos during the Christmas season. I love music, Christmas music most of all, and want to share some offbeat stuff with my readers.

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As always, we start with ABBA. Well, Bjorn Again – a tribute band. But it’s pretty close.

Now, on this side of the Atlantic, we have The Temptations doing a medley:

Now, we visit with one of my favorite groups, The Bee Gees.

Aaron Neville brings his own style to Silent Night – and it’s worth a listen. Linda Ronstadt chimes in about halfway through the song.

Here’s one I’ll bet you’ve never seen: Freddy Mercury singing Thank God It’s Christmas:

Nothing says Christmas like a Jewish kid from The Range: Bob Dylan. Must Be Santa. Enjoy. And for Heaven’s sake, be nice to each other this weekend. I am keeping a list after all.