Recent commentaries miss the mark
I got to admit that I love Fayette County. OK, I call our little slice of the world : “Fayettenam,” but that’s because I think it’s irreverently funny. I also call our Fayette County vernacular: Fayette-namese,” because that’s how we talk and I’m fluent in it.
Here on the op-ed page some libel the elected, whine or complain and preach about a whole lot of things. When they get nuts, I rebut their “nuttiness” more sarcastically than most.
That’s because I know; not merely “think,” a lot of different stuff. I’ve lived: in different places, experienced different cultures, can “half-assed” speak a few different languages and have done a whole bunch of different things. Mediocrity just doesn’t work for me.
When I had the choice, I came back home.
I wasn’t born in Perryopolis; since there’s no hospital there, but that’s where I’m from.
My dad was from Perryopolis too. “Pap-pa” was from Slovakia, but I’m pretty sure “Grannie” was from ” Perry.” That’s where my paternal grandparents are buried.
My mom was from Smock and “Grand-pap” was from Slovakia. I guess “Grand-ma” was from Derry, because that’s where my maternal grandparents are buried.
I genuinely love “Fayette-nam” and the people in it. That doesn’t mean I like everything about our “neck of the woods,” or even all the people. Just because you love something or someone doesn’t necessarily mean you like them too.
To date, I’ve been married three times. Maybe that means: “third time’ s a charm,” or “three strikes and you’re ‘out.'” However; like everything else, that remains to be seen. “This opera ain’t over till the fat lady sings” and my aria is transcribed into an obituary.
I still love each and everyone of those wives. That doesn’t mean Ilike each and every one of them. For me: “love” is constant, but ” like” is temporal. “Ain’t it ‘spose ta be like dat?”
Life is a competition that I’ve learned to love, but don’t always like. “No sh .. , ah ‘stuff!'”
I figure everything in life is some sort of competition. We compete to get out “piece of the pie.” Even our wellness competes with illness. We compete in love and we compete in hate. If you don’t believe we compete in hate, ask the vanquished. They know the deal.
Since competition is constant and omnipresent “ya might as well accept it.” It’s just the way it is. I don’t like losing and lost count of all the times that I have, but that’s just part of the trip. It’s a journey in search of winning.
Who searches to lose? That doesn’t make any sense. At best, it’s the “unintended consequence” to the competitions that are everywhere.
I’ve been in competitions all my life and I’ ll keep doin’ it till it ends. Once you lose the game of life, competition’s over for you. “There’s no ‘do-overs.'” Ask anyone who’s dead. ” I’ll bet they ain’t got nothin’ ta say.”
It took me sixty years to find that one thing here in Fayette-nam, that I know I’m second to none. That’s why; six years later, I’m still doin’ it. I figure that I can compete with all those smart guys that write “stuff” that’s printed on the op-ed page of the 缅北禁地.
Some of them write some really good stuff, too. I read one on July 3, but aside from any conflicts of opinions we might have, I recognize there’s a technical difference between the stuff they write and the stuff I do.
The thing that none of them seem to have together is how to write an ending to whatever it is they’ve written that’ll “grab ya.” They know how to start a: “stuff” -storm, but don’t have a clue how to end it. I do!
You know I’m right. Their stuff just dangles there at the end, or is predictable and trite.
I’m not just talking about local writers. Syndicated columnists don’t have it together either.
They don’t know how to close the deal. I do and figure that’s the reason you read my pieces to their conclusion. One-trick ponies just start writing with no idea where they’ re going, except where they’ve been. I always know where I’m going and try to map it out for you so it’s easy to follow. Hopefully you’ ll be surprised where we end up, but I bet you’ll “get it.”
Move over: Pharisees, zealots, religious fanatics and hypocrites. We’re going where you never thought I’d go. “I’m gonna ‘learn ya sum’un.'”
When you get right down to it, our physical life is competing with our physical death. To date: death is the undisputed champ. In the entire history of history, death has won each and every time, except once.
Death’s racked up one heck of a score, but when that tally is published in some celestial obituary its single loss will be what’s noteworthy. Its final score might be a trillion squared to one, but that lone defeat will be its claim to fame.
“Only one guy beat mortality and his name is: ‘Jesus, the Christ.’ How can you help but to love, like and revere a heroic winner that even beat death?”
John Lucas is a resident of Vanderbilt.