Tante B. Tells You What Makes Her Happy Today!

  1. Someone hung a string of stars over my office door.
  2. The book I have been waiting on has finally arrived and, surprise, another book arrived as well. Yes, I sniffed them. No, I’m not ashamed of it. If you don’t like that new book smell, you have no soul.
  3. I have invented a new book dance. I danced said dance.
  4. The Professor took me to lunch.
  5. No other good reasons. Just glad it’s Friday and that the world needs nothing more from me today.
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57 Lovers and Nothing On

So, as you all know, the Professor has like 57 lovers. Until very recently, it’s been impossible to keep them all straight, but a few days ago, I realized that all her lovers have vaguely foreign sounding names: not Tom, but To-mas; not Jane, but Ja-ney; not Richard, but Ricardo, etc.

And so this made me happy because now, if she starts talking about someone and I can’t quite figure out if it’s a fellow philosopher or a lover, I just wait to hear what his or her name is and if it’s Fred, it must be a philosopher, but if it’s Frederiche, it’s a lover. It’s very handy.

But I’ve started to wonder, do they develop vaguely foreign sounding names in response to their time with her, or is she deliberately picking them out based on how much fun it is to say their names?

So, for fun and as an experiment, I think we should all start introducing ourselves to the Professor with foreign variants of our names and see where it goes. I’ll be introducing myself as Tante B. the next time I see her.

The Son of the Other Reverend

Rather by surprise, the oldest son of the other Reverend stopped by yesterday on his way down to Alabama. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he still looked the same, but older.

It was really good to see him and Mrs. Wigglebottom loved him and he loved her and so it was all dog wrestling and tug of war all evening and I think she pulled something because today she’s walking with a limp.

Ah well, I’m certain that after a hard day of sleeping, she’ll feel better.

It was really good to see him, but hard. Usually, when I talk about what it means to have grown up as a minister’s kid, I can see that most people just don’t get it–unless they’re military brats, in which case, we have common ground–and so I talk about it in only superficial ways. But with another minister’s kid, someone who I’ve known for 31 years, you just skip right to the ways you still feel fucked up. In part, I think, because it’s such a relief to know that you are finally talking to someone who gets it.

But wow.

And, I think the hardest part was that his dad has really done him and his brother wrong in ways our dad–who, of course, isn’t perfect–just never did. Our dad was there at dinner. Our dad didn’t leave anyone in another town to finish up high school so that he could take a better church. Our dad would come and get us at school when we were sick and let us sleep on the couch in his office if he couldn’t take the day off work.

And I felt a little sorry to tell him that, because I think he’d just thought that all ministers’ kids were being done wrong the way he and his brother were.

So, it could always be worse.

Sadly.

Open Letter to Young United Methodist Ministers

Dear Young United Methodist Ministers,

Last night I was sitting around with my oldest friend on the planet–the person I have known since I was born, which was, incidentally, when he was four months old–and my brother and being there in a room full of United Methodist Ministers’ kids, it occurred to me that you guys could use some advice.

So listen up.

Look at your family right now. See them? This will not survive your ministry. Maybe your spouse will leave you. Maybe you’ll take up with the church treasurer. Maybe your kids will deal drugs or get pregnant or become Wiccans–whatever it is, they’re going to be pissed. You might become addicted to booze or sex or drugs. Some things are going to happen that means that this brave little party embarking with you on your crusade is not going to pull through it.

The good news is that it’s okay. A lot of marriages fail. A lot of kids don’t turn out like their parents hoped. Everyone clings too tightly to things that are bad for them in order to feel like they can make it through. You are no different, not more special than anyone else in the world. You cannot escape the shitty things in life. Your vocation does not protect you.

You, however, can take some steps to protect your loved ones. Here’s the most important thing you can do. Choose your family. Put your family first. If it’s a choice between getting your hospital rounds done today instead of tomorrow and going to your wife’s softball game, go to the game. If you really should write your sermon today and not tomorrow, but your kids need someone to go on the school field trip, put your sermon off. If one of your parishioners is going to the hospital, but your kid had a bad day at school, your parishioner and her family can wait until tomorrow to see you.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You have to be there for your church. You have to put them first. “You might be the only face of Jesus some folks ever see.”

Go ahead, say that again to yourself. I know how good it makes you feel: “You might be the only face of Jesus some folks ever see.”

Now, buster, listen up. If you, United Methodist Minister, believe that to be true about yourself, you are either egomaniacal and should quit the ministry now, before you set up some kind of cult and do some real damage to people OR you are a shitty, shitty minister.

It is not your job to be the only face of Jesus some folks ever see. It is your job to help the people in your congregation be Jesus’ face and arms and feet and heart in the world. If Parishioner Joe is thinking about hitting the bottle again and Parishioner Ed knows it but doesn’t feel it’s his job to help–because he thinks it’s only the Pastor’s job to help–then you are failing at your job.

Do you get what I’m saying? If it’s just you doing all the work, you are not doing your job. You’re supposed to be training and motivating the folks you face every Sunday to help–to help each other, to help their communities, to do the hard things for each other they’ve been afraid to do until now.

Choose your family first. When your parishioners call you about your kids–and they will, because, frankly, we ARE sneaking out during the service and sitting on the roof of the church smoking pot, or sneaking out to the lake to make out with the druggies, or fucking whoever we can just to spite you–it’s a test. It’s a way of seeing what’s more important to you, your family or the church. Choose your family.

That doesn’t mean that you should let us off the hook. But it does mean that you should realize that everyone is checking to see where your loyalties lay and some folks are checking to see how far they can push you, how much control over everyone you care about you are willing to cede to your parishioners. If you choose your parishioners over your family at this crucial moment, if you show everyone that you will fix things how the complainers want just because they have the balls to suggest how you should run your life, your life will be a living hell from here on out. And so will your kids lives be.

You may read back over that paragraph and be unsure who I’m recommending you give into–your parishioners or your kids. I’m recommending that you be a parent to your children. In order to be a good parent to your children, you don’t let outside people dictate the how and why of your interactions with your kids or your spouse.

The funny thing is that, if you don’t follow my advice, if you always put your church first and do whatever it is you think is necessary to keep your district superintendent happy and your parishioners fulfilled, you’re going to succeed. You’re going to get bigger churches and have nicer houses.

But dear United Methodist Minister, what does it profit a man that he should gain the whole world but lose his soul?

Love,

Aunt B.