Insane Earthlings

I want to tell you all about my Uncle Ted or Theron C. Teagle, Sr. Many people knew him much better than I. But each of us all have our own private relationships with the people in our lives. So, each of us have as many stories of who we are, as there are people in our lives. Even those that we have only brief encounters with may develop a story of who we are if the encounter is especially unique or emotional. Uncle Ted died this past Monday at age 94. He was the widower of my late Aunt Mary Josephine, my father's sister. Together, they were Aunt Jo and Uncle Ted. Uncle Ted was the last living member of my parent's generation of our family. His passing makes the absence of my own parents seem even more distant. He was the last one to have real live memories of my father as a boy, the little brother to his girl, Mary Jo.  If we had held a contest of superlatives among the Franklin-Teagle clan, Uncle Ted would have won "best-looking" hands down. The Franklins tend to gr...

Mom and Dad had called a family meeting. We were all expected to attend. That would be me, my sister, and my two brothers. This was in the 1970's when I was 8 or 9 years old. Our parents were not usually "family meeting" type people. For most issues there was not a reason to have meetings or even discussions. It was as if Mom and Dad were of one mind that was always on the same page. We did not typically vote on decisions effecting the family. Under normal conditions, our parents were autocrats. Benevolent, but make no mistake, they called the shots.  The uniqueness of my parents calling a family meeting is partly why the details seem so clear in my mind. Although the topic of the meeting is more likely the reason that I can recall the scene so vividly. Our family was about to vote on something that would change our lives.   For months, our family had been making plans and saving money to go on a trip to Puerto Rico. We even had one of those big, glass milk jugs to throw ...

"...where butterflies perch on teeth..." Bob Dylan, Nobel Acceptance Speech   Where Butterflies Perch On Teeth    On this snow quiet morning, before the new day's dawning, I finally had the time to review my watch later file on YouTube. I wandered through  recordings of reality, pixelated digitally. Clips put aside with the intention of watching when I could pay attention. On this snow quiet morning I fortunately found deep words captured in sound spoken by a prophet, a poet Bob Dylan, a Nobel Laureate. On this snow quiet morning Bob Dylan was speaking to me of nature, of war, and humanity the power of words, and the story beneath  where butterflies perch on teeth        

I am certainly not a criminal justice expert. But it does not take an expert to realize that we need serious criminal justice reform in this country. My education in psychology and sociology provides me with some basic knowledge about human behavior that inform my opinions on this subject. I have also been in the business of managing people in various industries in which conflict and intense situations arise. I spent two years working in the mental health field and learned the importance of recognizing potentially explosive situations and received training in how to use de-escalation tactics to resolve dangerous situations. The organization I worked for did not allow the use of physical restraints nor did they have any security staff. Although my experience is certainly not equivalent to the hostile and volatile situations that police officers are likely to encounter, I do believe that much of the practices employed by uniformed police officers exacerbate the volatility of a situation...

It feels like Spring in America. It may be bone-chilling and snowing outside your door. Your driveway may be covered by a sheet of ice. And yet, I am overwhelmed by the feeling that Spring has arrived. The jonquils and tulips are pushing up with all their strength, causing cracks to spread through the icy layer like a spider’s web. I imagine that if I were to watch the frosty garden that I might witness the moment that the buds burst through and reveal themselves. I envision a miraculously spontaneous change of season. The gray skies turn blue and the leafless limbs turn green with new foliage just as the morning breaks. Yet nothing that I am conjuring in my mind need happen for Spring to arrive in America today.   “ Morning has broken, like the first morning. ” These words from a hymn first published in 1931, are most familiar to us from the beautiful arrangement by Cat Stevens. The hymn is a prayer of thankfulness for each ordinary day that recreates itself over and over for...

  Silence :noun  1. absence of any sound or noise; stillness.  2. the state or fact of being silent; muteness.  3. absence or omission of mention, comment, or expressed concern:the conspicuous silence of our newspapers on local graft.  “Silence” is a powerful word. The first definition that usually appears in dictionaries describes it as the absence of sound or noise. Despite its literal meaning, “silence” seems to be a favorite word among song writers. Music is our highest form of noise. Music is organized noise. Carefully chosen frequencies that form wordless poems. How ironic it is then that we actually sing the word frequently. It seems like a word that should be impossible to raise in song. Yet it is a common word in hymns and spirituals. Something about singing the word “silence” feels sacred. We can feel the power of the word, when each year at Christmas, choirs and congregations sing “Silent night. Holy night.” I imagine this type of silence as a beautif...

The boss can make all the difference. A great boss can make a bad job better. A bad boss can make a great job suck. I have had several bosses in my life, and I have been a boss to many people. But I have never really been my own boss, until now. Sure, my wife and I briefly owned a toy store together. That was a partnership and we made all the decisions only after having thoughtful discussions with each other. And I have worked as an independent contractor as a Realtor, but that is not quite the same as being your own boss because you can only contract with one firm, which effectively makes the firm your boss. It is only now that I have started my own real estate firm that I can make truly executive decisions. And it scares the hell out of me.   Having never been the boss of myself, I don’t know if I am a good boss or bad boss. Will I make a potentially great job better? Or worse?  I know who my good and bad bosses have been. And I know that many people that have reported to me...

I have a rare kind of friend. Jill has been a part of my life since my first year of middle school. She was that girl on the bus that would make sure a new kid like me felt welcome. I was shy back then. She made me feel a little more at ease. We became friends. As we transitioned from middle school to high school, we had only grown closer. I could tell Jill anything. She would never betray my confidence. She never judged me in any way that I could tell. You see, a rare kind of friend. Jill was one of those lucky kids that had a "children's phone line" in her house. It was upstairs where she and her sister slept. I never saw that upstairs, even though I spent countless hours at her house.  Late at night, after our parents had gone to bed, I would call Jill on the kid's line. She would scoop that phone up before one ring could finish, not wanting to wake her parents. And Jill and I would talk. For just a couple of kids, we talked about big things. We dared to ask questi...

We were several cars parked side by side on a newly built cul-de-sac. We had planned to meet here for a party. We were a group of thirty teenagers. We were all white. We had all parked our cars facing away from the dead end and back toward the tree lined road we had just entered from. Most of us were not eighteen yet, which was the legal drinking age at the time, but our cars were loaded with coolers of beer. The road that we were on was part of a new wave of development that had begun on the lake where we lived. Local developers had begun buying land on or near the lake and building small neighborhoods of a dozen or so houses. This one was a little larger with one road splitting into three cul-de-sacs and would probably end up with about 30 or more houses. The roads were complete and even had curbing in place, but not a single house was under construction yet. The closest homes were not visible from where we were parked, but we knew they were just around the corner. We knew lots o...

Collecting garbage. Photo by Tom Franklin I have never been unemployed since I started my first job at age thirteen.   The pandemic, a couple of underlying conditions, and a “Stay at Home” order changed that. On Friday I filed for unemployment.   Since I am self-employed as an independent contractor, I would not have qualified to receive unemployment under the old rules, but fortunately Congress added a provision that covers contractors and gig workers.   Filing for unemployment got me thinking about my past jobs. I am thankful for each one of them. Even the ones that weren’t the greatest because I learned something new with each one. Way back in 1976, my family moved from Charlotte to Lake Norman. We had been camping there for years on a leased campsite in Outrigger Harbor. Outrigger was a combination marina and tiki themed family campground.  There was a tiki themed restaurant called, wait for it… Lake House 1976. Photo by ...