Let the children come...

I am a credobaptist and a pedocommunionist. Maybe I'm confused and you can't be both, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Both my kids have always partaken of the Supper when it has been offered to them. I've even served them myself (which makes me anti-sacerdotal; I'm just not mad about it).

Something happened during Holy Communion this morning that confirmed my conviction. From my seat it appeared that everyone had been served, but our pastor remained in the aisle, waiting. Seconds later a lady walked briskly toward him, her hands cupped to receive the bread. A few steps behind her rushed a little girl who couldn't have been more than three. The little girl walked right up to Pastor John, who knelt to serve her. Then the little girl turned to a deacon and dipped her bread in the cup and ate it without hesitation. She turned and followed her mom back down the aisle.

I whispered to Joan, "Suffer not the little children to come unto me."

Oh, for the faith of that child.

Snowball Fight!

Don't send a lame Holiday eCard. Try JibJab Sendables!

What it was, was football

The football team at my son's high school made it to the state championship this year and Joan and I took the kids down to the Old Gray Lady to watch the game.

Legion Field had an upper deck the last time I went to a game there but the ravages of time and the fear of liability has changed that. (This photo was obviously taken before the upperdeckectomy.) Still it is an imposing place and it has a charged atmosphere for the biggest game of the highest classification in the state. It could use a coat of paint, though. And some serious parking lot work. Maybe when Mayor Langford finishes his demolition of downtown he'll get to that. Or not.

I have fond memories of Legion Field. My parents took me to a World Football League game there back in 1974. Our team, the Birmingham Americans, went on to win the first and only World Bowl later that year. The next year the team was renamed the Birmingham Vulcans and the league folded before the end of the season. Not the last time that would happen to us. (Another highlight of that evening was the pregame meal at Ollie's Barbecue. Alas, Ollie's too has folded, but it survived a much longer and successful run than the WFL. And the CFL. And the XFL. And the USFL. And the WLAF. Combined.)

A few years later, when I was in middle school, my future high school made it to the state championship, the Walker Vikings vs. the Berry Buccaneers. "We" lost, 21-0. Berry had a tight end named Bart Kraut, who later played for Alabama, who was twice as big as "our" guys, and he literally ran all over "us". Even the great Linnie Patrick couldn't help.

In 1981, I went to an Alabama-Tennessee game with a high school friend who was a girl. She drove, and we sat in the upper deck. Alabama won. That's all I have to say about that.

Unfortunately for my son, his high school team didn't fare any better than mine. I may have jinxed it. I've been to two state championship games and neither team I've rooted for has even scored. Hopefully it won't take his team as long to get back to the top as it has mine (and after 30 years, I'm still waiting).

Anyway, it is a great excuse to listen to this classic from Andy Griffith. Enjoy.

Read the @&(# Handbook

It's been 26 years since I took a driver's exam but I assume they still give a written test from the Driver's Handbook. I say "assume," because I encounter scads of drivers who seemingly have never read the thing.

This morning I met a driver with yield issues so bad that I'm willing to bet s/he even spells it "yeild."

Today I drove down a nice, tree-lined, four-lane divided parkway toward a parking lot. As I pulled into the crossover I saw a fast-moving SUV approaching from the other direction. I stopped to wait for the driver to make a right turn into the lot.

The driver pulled to within five feet of the lot entrance and stopped. In the middle of the road. To wave me across.

Never mind that s/he had the right of way. Or that s/he was in danger of being creamed from behind by approaching traffic (of which thankfully there was none). Or that s/he had violated one of my biggest peeves.

I hate with that happens. Why do people do that? I hate standing on a curb waiting to cross the road at the mall or grocery store because if there is a vehicle approaching, nine times out of ten it will stop and try to wave me across. This is Alabama, people, where vehicle worship is second only to football, and where most urban areas are designed for you and your precious, depreciating at a sickening rate, asset. Keep it moving, and get it out of the way. Courtesy be damned. Because I will not cross. Not until after you are gone. And to show you how passive-aggressively serious I am about this, I will not make eye contact with you. I will look the opposite way for approaching traffic, or at the wads of gum embedded in the sidewalk, or at jet contrails, but I will not be your accomplice as you flaunt the law. I will exercise my rights as a pedestrian to remain immobile until you have lawfully cleared the area. Audemus jura nostra defendere.

So I treated this morning's driver the same way. No eye contact. The more s/he waved, the more I stared at the intersection behind him/her. S/he finally gave up, mercifully before s/he was rear-ended, thus making me later for an appointment, by subjecting me to witnessing an accident, than I already was.

People, read the handbook (pdf warning). In the immortal words of Brad Hamilton, "Learn it. Know it. Live it."



And please, stop waving at me.