doug heacock: words

What was your favorite toy as a child?

January 22, 2022

(This is the fourth in a series of #bloganuary posts, part of a WordPress blogging challenge for the month of January. Never mind that January is two-thirds gone–I’m going to try to get caught up.)

When I was around ten or eleven years old there was a TV show that I watched every week–a spy show called “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.” It starred Robert Vaughn and David McCallum as Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, two cold-war era agents who worked for an organization called the United Network Command for Law Enforcement. It wasn’t necessarily marketed as a show for kids, but it appealed to kids my age a lot, partly because of the intrigue of the spies themselves, partly because of the action and adventure, and partly because of the gadgets and weapons the agents used. There were various toys that came out during the four-year run of the series, and the one I really wanted (and figured I would never get because it was so expensive) was a toy attaché case full of gadgets and weaponry and stuff that was seen on the show. When Christmas came that year, I didn’t get that attaché case, but I did get the next best thing–a Man from U.N.C.L.E. agents kit that had a plastic gun very similar to the ones the main characters used, and a plastic holster for it (but you had to come up with your own strap to fasten it around your chest like Napoleon Solo, who wore his gun under his suit coat). There was also a triangular security badge that was a replica of the badge worn by the agents when they were at their home base, and some other printed material that I can’t remember.

I think I had at least one friend in the neighborhood who got the full attaché kit, which I’m sure caused me to feel a certain amount of envy. I can’t be sure–it’s a long time ago now, of course–but I think there were also similar James Bond toys available at the same time, like an an attaché case with a secret button you could press to pop out a plastic dagger. Too expensive for my family, of course, but so cool to preadolescent me.
Write about the last time you left your comfort zone.

January 22, 2022

(This is the third in a series of #bloganuary posts, part of a WordPress blogging challenge for the month of January. Never mind that January is two-thirds gone–I’m going to try to get caught up.)

I spend a lot of time outside of my comfort zone because I’m an introvert, which means that pretty much any time I’m around anyone besides close friends and family (and even then, sometimes), I’m technically not anywhere near my comfort zone. But there are times that qualify for special mention.

As a staff member at a larger church, with media and technology being among my areas of responsibility, I was often called on to be the sound tech at funerals. It was always interesting, and whether I knew the deceased or any of the bereaved family members or not, I treated such events with reverence and did my best to do my job in such a way that the family and the officiating pastor (often not a member of our staff) didn’t have to worry about matters of media technology during the service. And they were emotional times for me, every time. Over the years I got to know several of the staff members of the funeral homes that served our area, and enjoyed catching up with them before and after services. During the course of my time on the church staff, I eventually became an ordained pastor myself, and when one of the funeral directors learned of this, he asked if I would be interested in officiating funerals in situations where the family wanted a church funeral, but didn’t really have a relationship with any church. I was happy to do this.

It didn’t bother me that I was officiating funeral services for a deceased person I had never met–these were families who, for whatever reason, even though they didn’t have strong religious leanings themselves, believed that it was important, either to them or to the deceased family member, that the funeral be officiated by a pastor rather than a funeral home director. I saw such times as wonderful opportunities to comfort the bereaved, to help the families and friends of the deceased in the first steps of the grieving process, and to help them see the death of their loved one in a spiritual context, and to know that there was a God loved them and cared for them in the midst of their loss.

On one such occasion, I received the call from the funeral home director, who asked me to officiate a service on a certain day, but that the family members involved all lived out of town or in other states, and that they would not be able to come to town until a day or two before the funeral service. I was fine with that–I figured I could meet with them as late as the day before and gather the information I would need to put the service together. “But,” he continued, “they do have one rather unusual request.” As it turned out, the man was to be cremated before any of the family could come to town, but they asked if the officiating pastor could perform whatever the Methodist version of “last rites” was, since their father had attended a Methodist church at some point in his life. I explained that there really wasn’t any Methodist ritual along those lines, but the funeral director indicated it was important to them that this took place before the cremation, and that none of them would be able to be present for such a ceremony, and would I be willing to do something to honor this request.

I thought about it for a few moments before I said, “Sure–I’ll come up with something,” which clearly put the funeral director’s mind at ease. He suggested a date for me to come and perform the desired ceremony, and I arranged to be there. In the days that followed I found some prayers in the Book of Common Prayer that I thought suited the occasion, wrote up a brief ceremony of prayers and committal of the body, and on the appointed day I put on my coat and tie and showed up at the funeral home.

The funeral director greeted me in the lobby and took me through a hallway to a room which I presumed to be the room in which bodies were prepared for burial. It was a little like an operating room. Along one wall there was a set of folding doors, the sort you normally see on a bedroom closet, and when he opened them, there was the body of the deceased in question, lying on a platform, with a sheet covering all but his head. He told me that the body was on a lift that would later be lowered to the basement crematorium for final, um, disposition, and that I could go ahead and proceed with my ceremony, and that he would be in the next room. I was to let him know when I was finished with–I’ll call him Mr. Jones.

I’m not sure what I expected to find–a casket, perhaps, but I did not expect that I would be standing inches away from Mr. Jones’ body, alone in a room that was more than a little creepy. But this was the task before me, and though I contemplated simply reading the ceremony silently, I thought that Mr. Jones deserved to have the prayers spoken aloud over his body. So with as much solemnity and reverence as I could muster under the somewhat strange circumstances, I prayed over Mr. Jones’ body, awkwardly made the sign of the cross over him, bowed my head and took a minute of silence, thinking about the family that wasn’t there, and then called the funeral director’s name.

There was not one thing comfortable about that zone for me except this: I sensed that in the presence of a dead body, prayer is always an appropriate thing to do, and I knew that what I had done would somehow comfort the family, and in particular, the man’s eldest son, with whom I had spoken on the phone a couple of days earlier. A few days later, when I finally was able to meet with the son and speak with him about his dad’s life the day before then funeral service, I gave him a copy of the committal ceremony I had put together, and he was extremely grateful, even visibly moved. He was not a religious person, but he needed to know that his dad’s body had somehow been blessed before cremation.

Comfort zones are not always the best place to be.
What is a road trip you would love to take?

January 21, 2022

(This is the second in a series of #bloganuary posts, part of a WordPress blogging challenge for the month of January. Never mind that January is two-thirds gone–I’m going to try to get caught up.)

I’ve been fortunate enough to have taken some epic road trips in the past, but I’ve been feeling it’s long past time to do another one. And my wife and I and some friends have been considering one or more of the Civil Rights Trail road trip itineraries described here: https://civilrightstrail.com/

There are fourteen itineraries to choose from, and clicking on any of them takes you to a PDF file that details the route you can travel through the chosen state, along with the major stops you’ll want to take along the way. Each itinerary file contains suggestions for how to organize your trip, day by day, and information about what sites you can visit. There are several itineraries that are particularly appealing to us–the one in Kansas (https://civilrightstrail.com/app/themes/uscrt/assets/pdf/Kansas_itinerary.pdf) is all within a few hours of where we live, as is the trip through Missouri (https://civilrightstrail.com/app/themes/uscrt/assets/pdf/Missouri_itinerary.pdf). But the one that I think I’m most interested in is the itinerary in Alabama (https://civilrightstrail.com/app/themes/uscrt/assets/pdf/Alabama_itinerary.pdf), which includes Aniston, where I was born, Birmingham, Selma, Montgomery, and Tuskegee–all are cities that were very important sites in the struggle for civil rights (a struggle which continues today).

I was born in Aniston in 1954–there was an Army base in the area, and my father was stationed there–but I did not grow up in Alabama. Within a few months of my birth, he was discharged from the Army and we began a series of career-related moves that would eventually bring our family to northeast Kansas, where we still live today. I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I was a fully-grown adult before I ever thought much about what things might have been like in the place of my birth at the time I was born, particular for African-Americans. Since then I have wondered what sort of person I might be today, had I grown up there in the 1950s and 60s.

The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, located in Montgomery, is a place that I am particularly interested in visiting. In my city, which figured prominently in the fight against slavery, and which was burned in 1863 by a murderous gang of pro-slavery raiders, three black men were lynched in 1882, and last fall, work was underway to locate their unmarked graves in a local cemetery. In a partnership with the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama, a local coalition is organizing to have a historical marker placed on the grounds of our city hall, which is situated within sight of the location of the bridge where the three men were hanged. Kansas was known back then as a “free state,” and that phrase appears in the names of numerous businesses and one of our high schools, but the truth is that more than twenty people were killed in acts of racial violence in Kansas between 1865 and 1950, and a lot of people here in our town don’t know that.

I believe these road trips can help Americans come to a better understanding of a part of our national history that has too often been overlooked, if not intentionally ignored. While I always love a good road trip, I know that these trips will most likely be sobering, and perhaps difficult at times. But I’m encouraged by the fact that people are doing them, and that I and my wife and friends will, too. Owning the troublesome parts of our national past is a necessary step toward becoming a better nation.
What would you say to your teenage self?

January 21, 2022

(This is the first in a series of #bloganuary posts, part of a WordPress blogging challenge for the month of January. Never mind that January is two-thirds gone–I’m going to try to get caught up.)

Dear Me When I Was Sixteen:

Things are pretty good for you right now. You have a steady girlfriend at the moment, but don’t get too attached, and don’t feel too bad about it when she dumps you in the summer. You’ll soon be in another relationship, but whatever you do, don’t even think about getting married during your first year of college. Trust me, you will regret that decision for the rest of your life. “The One” is out there, and she’s too young for you right now, but just be patient. She’s the best, and you’ll build a long, happy life together. Don’t worry.

You and your best friend Dwain have been kicking around the idea of riding your bicycles to the church youth conference in Wisconsin next summer. It won’t be easy, but do it anyway. It will be an experience that will give you self-confidence in the years to come (and you’re going to need it). There will be yet another brief summer romance, and your heart will be broken, but you’ll be okay.

You probably won’t believe this, but most of your cooler, more self-confident, more popular peers really aren’t as cool as you think they are. Some of the ones you might think of as totally self-assured, with bright futures and big opportunities–you know who I’m talking about–are going to find out that life after high school is harder than they thought. Some of them will learn the hard way that being cool and popular in high school doesn’t always mean life is good later on.

You’ll see a number of them–the ones who are the jocks, the “most likely to succeed” types, the cheerleaders–decades later, and you’ll learn how life didn’t turn out so well for them. You envy their lives right now, but later, you’ll be grateful for the life you were given, I promise. It will take a few years, but you’ll learn later on that everyone has issues, everyone deals with insecurities and fears, and everyone is a little bit weird in their own ways. You may think that some people are too cool to approach, or that they would never be interested in getting to know someone like you, but you’re wrong about that. Don’t be afraid to risk rejection. I know, there are some genuine jerks out there, but in a few years, you’ll find that some of them are really good people. You’ll be surprised.

You’ll also be surprised in a few years to see how some of the people you thought were weird or geeky turned out to be amazing scholars, book authors, artists, successful politicians. Don’t avoid hanging out with them or getting to know them better, just because you don’t want to be seen as a nerd or a loser. People are people, and you really never know what they’re going through, or what they might become somewhere down the road.

Hang in there with the guitar. It’s frustrating now, I know, because you don’t have money for an electric guitar, and you can’t afford lessons, but you’ve got a good ear, and you want to learn. Keep at it, and it will serve you well one of these days. Your ability to play the guitar (and did you know you could sing? I’m not kidding about that) will open the way to some new friendships, a crap-ton of amazing travels and experiences, and when you’re older, you’ll use music to help people get through hard times, without even realizing that’s what you’re doing. But practice more.

I know you have a lot of questions about God and the Bible, especially at this time in your life, when the Jesus Movement is happening, and there is a bunch of new music–Christian rock ‘n’ roll music!–that is going to become very important to you. You’ll feel the need to pursue a different path than that of your parents, and you’ll go down some theological paths that one day you will end up questioning all over again. Don’t give it up. The faith you will have when you’re much older will be very different from the faith you are beginning to develop today, and that’s going to be upsetting for a few years, but it will be okay. You’ll find your way. Keep your focus on Jesus–I’m sure that sounds trite and obvious to you now, but you’ll save a lot of time and heartache if you understand that the Bible…well, there’s no point in getting into that now. Hold onto Jesus.

You’re going to be a pastor, later in life. It won’t happen when you think, nor the way you think, but it will happen. It won’t be an easy path, but walk it anyway. It means something.

You will have a wife and children and grandchildren one day. That won’t happen when and the way you expect it, either, but believe me, it is going to be what most of your life is about for a long, long time, and it will be good. It won’t always be easy–that’s an understatement, and I’ll leave it there–but trust me, it will be good, better than you can imagine.

And you’ll always feel somewhat inadequate, much the way you do right now, so get used to it and remember that most people feel that way. It isn’t true, of course–you are enough. Imperfect, but you’re going to do your best. You’ll have regrets (everybody does), and things won’t always work out great–just know that. But you’ll look back on your life (as I am now) and be amazed at how great you’ve had it. You’ll go places and see things you never dreamed you would see–you’ll do things you never thought you were capable of doing. And I know you won’t believe this, but you’re going to need a passport.

Listen: there are lots of things you won’t be able to do anything about in your life, but always be kind, always be grateful, and keep believing in Jesus.

Good luck.

Your friend,
Me When I’m In My Sixties

P.S.–Don’t even think about getting married when you’re not quite nineteen. It’s a stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

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What was your favorite toy as a child?

Write about the last time you left your comfort zone.

What is a road trip you would love to take?

What would you say to your teenage self?