Where have you gone, Norman Rockwell?

I struggled with whether to write this or just let it pass. I've so many friends who are passionate in the effort to keep stores locked up tight on Thanksgiving. They're good people. God-fearing, God-loving people. I love them dearly. I just don't agree with the premise that stores being open on Thanksgiving is a sign of the end of times. And the neat thing is, we can disagree and still be friends. Given the season, I'm thankful for that.

Anyway.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. And I'm choosing to work six hours of overtime in my service-industry job instead of taking the whole day off as part of the company holiday. Friday also is a company holiday. Another day off with pay if I wanted it. And I'm working 12 hours of overtime that day. Eighteen hours of time-and-a-half in addition to the regular pay I get for working those days.

Cha-ching.

And that apparently makes me part of the problem. I must be one of those who has commercialized the holidays instead of embracing peace on earth and goodwill toward men. Money, money, money. That's all we're about. I must not care about the desecration of Thanksgiving by choosing to work rather than staying home to watch "It's a Wonderful Life"  while trimming the Christmas tree.

You might even be thinking: "I bet he's one of those 'Happy Holidays' folks, too."

Given those conclusions, here's a little secret you'd never believe. I'm actually -- wait for it -- thankful for the opportunity to make the extra money tomorrow. Strange, isn't it, being thankful on and for Thanksgiving? Because of my chance and my choice to work a few on Thanksgiving, my family will have a Christmas. Not the kind you're thinking. There will be no big-screen TVs, no computers or flashing-light gizmos waiting to be opened. Baby, Santa's not going to slip a Sable under the tree. For me.

In fact, retailers are going to be pretty ticked at our family this year. Between the Geezer and I, we'll probably not spend more than $80 total exchanging gifts. Without some holiday overtime, even that might be hard to come by. Several hundred unplanned dollars in doctor bills for the never-ending, no-cure illness called bronchitis and other life surprises will do that to you. Don't feel sorry for us. We're not feeling sorry for ourselves. We'll have a nice Christmas with what we have. Always do. Christmas, like Thanksgiving, is what you make of it.

Here's the thing. I'm not alone. Times are hard for a lot of folks. Those kids ringing up junk tomorrow at Widgets-R-Us make several dollars an hour less than I. You don't think that the lion's share of those folks aren't thankful for some time-and-a-half? Sure, there will be some who are upset about having to work a few hours if it means they have to leave Aunt Bea's right after lunch in order to get to work on time. The vocal minority always screams the loudest, in all matters. Theirs is the story that always gets told, even if it doesn't represent the whole.

Look, I like Norman Rockwell as much as the next guy. But stores being open on Thanksgiving isn't what's killing your Norman Rockwell holiday. In fact, for the majority of people, that holiday has been dead for years already. You really think if there wasn't shopping for the women to do the whole family would sit around the cleaned-off dinner table after supper swapping yarns about the good old days, sipping cocoa and playing Canasta until grandpa falls asleep and drools on his cards?

Nope. In most households the dirty dishes are still on the table when the TV comes on, if it wasn't already on throughout the meal. There are, after all, important football games to be played. The womenfolk just have to understand that family reconnecting and all the associated warm fuzzies are one thing. Football is something else entirely, particularly with the playoffs looming. Where's the righteous indignation directed at the NFL, the NCAA and the networks for having the audacity to spit on Norman Rockwell with a football game or 12?

In some parts of the country, Thanksgiving is synonymous with deer hunting. Let's hurry up with lunch so we can go out and kill something! Hunting isn't exactly a family-bonding experience, either. Having the entire family traipsing through the woods together chatting about how good the giblet gravy was while looking for a trophy rack tends to keep those racks beyond the rifle scope. It's a solitary sport on a "family" holiday. But we don't dare criticize hunting during Thanksgiving. If we did, we'd draw the ire of and get a generous dose of condescension from the NRA. You know them. They're that Order-of-the-Levites society that God on Sinai ordained to zealously guard and protect His Second Amendment, immediately after etching the sacred document in stone and handing it to Moses along with the tablet containing the far-less-important Ten Suggestions. So like football, hunting gets a free pass, too.

Families and family-oriented traditions have been eroding for decades. Shopping on Thanksgiving isn't the beginning of the end, nor is it the end of the end. You want Norman Rockwell back? Re-instill Norman Rockwell values back into American families.

In the meantime, I'll still have a good Thanksgiving tomorrow, in spite of working a few hours to help make ends meet. I'll still have the big meal, pray over it longer than usual and wish I'd had one less slice of pie when I push away from the table. Then I'll go to my office and punch the clock for a few hours. When I'm done, I'll crawl in bed and be thankful all over again.

I'll be thankful for your sake, that you didn't have or need to work on Thanksgiving, if in fact you don't. I'll be thankful that God saw my need and made a way to meet it. I'll be thankful that He likewise made a way for that single mom with a high school diploma and a minimum-wage paycheck who rings up all that crap at Cheap-O-Rama tomorrow to make a little extra so her needs could be met, as well. I'll be thankful that I have a job to work and money to pay the bills at a time when so many around me need work and can't find it.

It might not make a great painting, but I think Norman would understand.

A (Pewaukee) Pirate Looks at 50

© David Hartman

EDMOND, OK (UP) -- It's a nostalgic kind of day.

This afternoon I attended a birthday party for an old (and longtime) friend, Tammy Beckland. She's 50 now. She's only lived in Oklahoma a couple of years, and introduced me to all her friends as the person in Oklahoma who has known her the longest, even longer than her daughter, Ellie. I guess that was her way of trying to make me feel old, too, though I'm years younger than she.

I believe God puts people in your life at certain times for a reason. I don't believe it's simply chance or dumb luck. Tammy, then a redhead, was part of a group of kids who meant a lot to me way back when.

After my freshman year of high school, my family moved from Illinois to Wisconsin. Neighboring states; different worlds. In Illinois, we worshiped at a church with a couple hundred people that had a sizable and active youth group. The kids I went to church with were my friends. They were my social circle. I was blessed. And I took them for granted.

In Wisconsin, the church was much smaller. There was no youth minister, and not much of a youth group. For the first time in my life, if I wanted friends, I would need to make them outside of "my" church. Looking back, the Pewaukee High School classmates who befriended me were no less good, no less Christian. Still it was different, because I was drawing distinctions that weren't really there.

I hope I look that good YEARS from now when I turn 50.

In my Pewaukee days, Bible camp took on a whole new significance. Youth rallies weren't just something to do anymore; they were something to look forward to. Those were the times when I got to be with the kids from "my" church again. At that time, that meant a lot to me. I remember what it's like to end one camp session and start counting down the days until the next one started. Tammy, like a lot of other kids who were regulars at camp and youth rallies, were what made them special.

And then we all graduated and grew apart. Tammy and a bunch of others went to York College. Some went to ACU, others to Harding. I came to OC. Nearly three decades later, through the magic of Facebook, Tammy appeared on my "people you may know" list. Turns out, she had just moved to Edmond to be near her grown daughter and son-in-law to be. And an old friendship was reconnected.

Now, one of the kids who helped me grow as a teen is stretching me once again. Tammy and I don't agree on everything. We're in different places in our walk. But our conversations are refreshing and honest, and at the end of the day, we both love and serve the same God. What I've learned about Tammy today is this: I've met few people in my life with the passion to reflect Jesus to the street people -- the "invisibles" as she calls them -- as Tammy has. The work that she does , both corporately and one-on-one with those folks God loves in this city is inspiring. I'm lucky to have her back, both as a friend, and as an example. Happy birthday, girl!

...

Come on over, baby. We've got chicken in the barn. Whose barn? What barn? My barn.

OK, so I don't have a barn. Or chickens to put in it. Still, there's been a whole lotta shakin' going on in Edmond recently. We're supposed to be known out here for tornadoes. We're cool with that. We're used to it. We know the drill. But now, earthquakes are all the Oklahoma rage. 

Some blame it on fracking. Others say it's because the lake levels are low. I reckon our friends in Topeka, Kansas would tie it to homosexuality somehow. Whatever the reason, folks out here are starting to buy earthquake insurance because they're happening so frequently. Haven't had a big one yet, but you can feel them regardless, and it's a bit unsettling. Don't know that I'm going to buy earthquake insurance, but the outbreak has been enough that I've installed an earthquake alert app on my phone. No, it doesn't warn you in advance of a pending quake, but it does tell you after the fact the "where" and the "how strong." Check out the screen shot of quakes in my 'hood in just the last few days.