The Circus and The Book
Sunday School, 1960: The group of three-year-olds sat around the low table giggling and fidgeting. Jill Youens, Sandy Rhodes, Janet Wienken, Amanda Kansteiner, and Carol Hanak sat on one side of the table. Across from them sat Rusty Klaus, Mark Venghaus, Glenn Huebel, Darrell Kansteiner, James Guthman, and me.
We chattered but then became still when the Bible lessons began. We were well raised, attentive, and enjoying the purity of childhood; learning the values we must know.
Our parents were delivering us to the truth and the light that answers the perils of the world. We were in a good place.
Driving between Rodeos: The night was devoid of stars or moonlight. The white stripes slurped past my side of the car. We stared through the windshield at the black never-ending asphalt trailing into the pitch dark.
Often during these all-night jaunts truths get blurted into the air for all listeners and angels to hear. Sometimes it’s a confession.
Most times it’s a long-lost complaint put forth as a question. All the time it’s the voicing of pentup sorrows. This is when my bronc-riding mentors told me of the sins they’d suffered in Vietnam. However, this time it was an abominable pain being revisited by the woman in the passenger seat.
“It was the happiest I’d ever been. I loved being pregnant. I loved West Texas and I loved my job. Everyone around me was positive people. It was like every word was a song every step was a dance and every breath held pretty new ideas. I was euphoric. There was no way this could be ruined. My daughter came and she was wonderful. She was a healthy chubby big-eyed mess of fun. But, my husband, Mr. West Texas Cowboy wasn’t in the same picture. He ran away with the Circus.
He had another baby with a bar maid up the road. They spoke more the same language and soon he was gone.” The woman sat silent with her head bowed. “Yeah, he ran away with the Circus.”
The Family Party: For the sake of clarity, we'll
name the ringmaster, “Silly”.
Silly was an oafish prissy millen nial with a Hitleresque mustache resembling scraggily dirt.
He still wore a Covid mask to the mall. His fastest pace was a waddle and his handshake was akin to a scared nine-year-old girl’s. He smacked his lips, flipped his hair, and fluttered his eyelashes at the beginning of his pronouncements; which were delivered either loud enough for an audience or in a snide feminine whisper.
The older men sat at their table not looking at him.
One of the great-grandmas glared when he drew her attention. Nevertheless, he was the younger folks’ leader and the rest of the women embraced his every word.
“Aunt Petunia needs a truck and I happen to know the very best car dealer in town,” Silly said. “I’ll set it up. I know the car business inside and out, and I’ve sent my good buddy hundreds of customers. We’ll get Auntie Pete into a brand new Chrysler three-quarter ton dually. It will have all the latest bells and whistles and I’ll make sure she gets the absolute cheapest deal!”
Two of the old men glanced at each other. “There’s no such thing as a three-quarter-ton dually,” one said.
“There’s no such thing as a Chrysler truck,” said the second. They frowned at Silly.
Silly stood arrogant and ignorant, hands on his hips, wagging his head, and lying. “Yes, my sweet friend is the best in the car business and we’ll take care of Aunt Petey.”
Aunt Petunia twittered and clapped her hands starry-eyed; enamored with Silly.
The two old men shook their heads. “This place is a Circus. Aunt Pete likes to believe she’s a smart independent woman but she buys into Silly’s phony BS. That makes no sense.”
“Yep, that’s because this Circus is full of gullible clowns.”
The Crime Scene: The two deputies waited for the detective from their department. Until he arrived, their job was to control the scene. Ambulances came wailing, but they weren’t going to help the dead guy inside.
“You ever worked a killing?” “No, I was expecting a drug deal gone bad. This looks more involved. We’ve got one man shot dead and a female wounded. One suspect is on the run and another is on the way to jail.
You can bet your rear-end they’re all full of dope and nobody can tell a straight story.”
“Well, I wish I hadn’t been inside. Good God all that blood… that man was shot to pieces.”
“Yes Sir, folks can create a horrible Circus for themselves - a horrible Circus.”
South Texas Deer Camp: A Norther was coming. The Keystone Ranch didn’t have sexy accommodations. The hunters stayed in a shack at the bottom of the hill and my 14x16 canvas wall tent was set up at the top. While they had electricity I did not.
My living was dependent on firewood and Coleman lanterns.
Between hunts, I scavenged wood and prepared for the next group.
There was also plenty of fresh air and alone time for soul searching. The outfitter had re cently read The Bible cover to cover. That notion gave me pause and instigated questions.
“There’s something I don’t understand. I know stereotypes don’t happen by accident, but prejudice is wrong. So, why do folks hate the Jews?”
“Well sir, I’m not exactly sure. But if you read the Bible they’ve been persecuted by other tribes since the beginning. Then, we know what’s gone on in recent history. It’s accurate to say that all the folks that have messed with the Jews – they ain’t around no more!
I reckon the best idea would be to leave the Jewish people alone. Being Christians we naturally side with them. Follow what The Book says. It’s got the answers and will never steer you wrong!”
