I really love a good holiday—it takes people off the streets and puts them safely in the shopping malls.  I guess if we are talking about black Friday, “safely” is the wrong word.  There is nothing like getting up at 3:00 a.m. to be trampled to death for a Nintendo Wii.  In fact, if people would wait four more days they could shop peacefully on a Tuesday and nobody would bump into them, nor would they have to wait in line for hours at the checkout stand.  Even the name “Black Friday’ makes it seem like a way to celebrate the crucifixion rather than the birth of Christ.

On the other hand, some people will celebrate “Buy Nothing Day” on Black Friday.  While this is an interesting idea, I find it equally difficult to get behind.  Usually midway through the morning I find I need to rush out for a coffee or amble through a bookstore.  A few years ago my sister told me she and her best friend were giving each other the best present ever—the financial relief of not buying each other anything.  Again, I think I would miss giving gifts to my children this Christmas, so that leaves me chasing my tail.  My hope, this holiday season, is that I and the people I love will focus on the gift of God’s grace and find Joy in his love, instead of getting caught up in the extremes of buying or not buying stuff.

To the students of the 2010 American Literature class at Fort Scott Community College that ended Sept. 24 after meeting five straight Saturdays:

During the last five weeks of class, we studied the music and life of Bob Dylan, we read On The Road, by Jack Kerouac, A River Runs Through It by Norman MacLean, poems by Langston Hughes, and many other stories, poems and essays by writers who had a significant impact on the face of American Literature.

I just finished reading your evaluations and feedback of the class. I always look forward to feedback and I take every comment seriously. Your comments were different from the typical feedback, however. For the most part, all you wrote was:

“Everything has a petroleum-like smell.”

To this, I say thank you.

A note for those who did not participate in this class:

Community colleges give students and teachers interesting opportunities to create learning environments. When students and teachers come together as strangers and end up sharing a common experience, the results can be life changing.

Over the last five Saturdays, I had the pleasure to teach a class on American Literature from 1945. We met from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and though that may seem like a long day, the students in this class made the experience one of the best I’ve ever had.

The fact that there were no negative attitudes helped, that is for sure. The food was also a nice touch; communities are formed more easily when food is involved. But the real secret to the class was the energy, imagination and engagement that each of these students brought with them.

So why did the students write this quote on the evaluations?

During one class I told a story about the philosopher William James. James experimented with hallucinogenic drugs in order to push the limits of the human mind. During one hallucination, he thought he had made a major philosophical breakthrough. When he sobered up, he looked at the phrase and found he had written, “Everything has a Petroleum-like smell.”

Rather than admit that the thoughts he had on drugs were meaningless, he concluded that the brilliance of the phrase could only be appreciated if one were in a drug induced state. Our class shared a laugh at the idea that a man can be so arrogant and stubborn that he won’t even admit that the phrase “Everything has a petroleum-like smell” is as meaningless as it sounds. But to us it became meaningful.

This phrase became a symbol of the community of learners we created during the last five weeks. It symbolized the idea that a shared experience is as educational as any textbook, and that real learning comes from interaction with other people, opening up to new ideas, exploring topics that seem distant and challenging, and engaging in a community focused on learning something new about the world and ourselves.

As I read the evaluations, I couldn’t help but laugh at the memories of a class that spent a lot of time on fairly bleak and depressing subjects and ended up continuing an inside joke that helped illustrate the importance of Community in the Community College.

When my brother and I were kids, we loved riding in the car with my dad. He had two speeds, as-fast-as-this-thing-will-go and stop. On the highway, we would pretend we were in a car race, zooming past the other cars; picking them off one by one. We always won, because my dad was in control.

The radio was always on full blast, too. As loud as it could go, whatever radio station the tuner was on played loudly as we flew along the road.

In his younger days, he told me he and his friends would work on their cars during any available free time. They would work to make the cars faster, louder, then faster and louder again. He mentioned at least 5 tickets for speeding and noise violations from his younger days.

As an adult, the love of cars remained. He didn’t work on them as much, but certainly did enjoy driving, and driving fast. Working for Southwestern Bell gave him opportunity to work out his skills for a living. Though he couldn’t drive fast while working, he still had opportunities to make his presence known.

Once, when a teenage boy pulled beside him at a stop sign, radio turned up to some pop station, my dad turned his radio to an old-time country station, turned on the amplification system that was installed in his truck (including exterior speakers) and successfully drowned out the young man.

But now, as an older man, the sounds and speed of my dad’s car have changed. I recently drove his car to run some errands, and the radio was turned to talk radio. Not any talk radio, but some talk radio that I had never heard where some guy was complaining about the amount of paper his kids go through at home. That was not the worst part. The worst part was the volume – which can only be described as barely audible. Come on, dad, I thought. What’s this all about?

On Tuesday, to further illustrate the change my dad has gone through; he was pulled over on the highway for going too slow – again. This is the fifth time now that my dad, the speed demon of Miami County has been pulled over for going too slow.

The offense this time was given for going the embarrassingly slow speed of 41MPH. 41MPH!!! What happened?

On, the pains of growing older; the issues that children must endure as we watch our parents slip into the unknown era called older adulthood. The good thing is that now I get to drive when we need to go somewhere together. My dad turns his head to look out the window, counting the cars we zoom past, laughing at the thought of the day when my kids will tell their friends about how slow their old man drives.

But cool is the only word I can think of describe the birthday party I attended Saturday evening.

Indeed, the entire evening, all I heard from other people was, “this is the coolest birthday party I have ever attended!”

After you read about the party, I believe you will agree with me. It was the coolest birthday party ever.

The celebration was for the 16th birthday of a young man who hates parties. He was born with cerebral palsy, autism, and has mental retardation that affects all aspects of his life, from communication to mobility.

My family has known him for eight years, and we have grown to love him and admire his courage, strength, tenacity and sense of humor.

So we were honored to be among the 20 people he invited to his party.

The cool part was that everyone in attendance was there for him. They were not there to be entertained, as happens at some parties, especially those for people with communication issues and who do not enjoy traditional activities.

We gathered at a friend’s farm where we cooked hotdogs and brats, and enjoyed cookies and pasta salad.

Then, because one of the great joys in this young mans life is hearing things break, we took turns throwing old jars, flower pots, coffee mugs, vases, plates, saucers, and other breakable items at a rock we placed on a tarp to catch the pieces.

We didn’t just throw the items. Because he also likes the story surrounding the breaking of items, such as, “I’m going to the basement to get a jar of pickles. Oh, no, I fell . . . CRASH”, we also created scenarios to go with each break.

We juggled coffee cups and then dropped them. We offered him coffee and then tripped. The four or five of us, including three teenage boys, tried to make every break unique and special.

The birthday boy sat on a chair some twenty feet away, and laughed his head off. He even took his turn throwing a cup or two at the rock, howling with laughter as it shattered into a hundred pieces.

After the breaking, we all gathered around an outdoor screen and watched a wiggles video, which is one of his favorites.

The cool part was that from beginning to end the party was about the birthday boy. No one tried to project their own agenda. No one tried to make the party look more like a traditional 16 year old birthday party. We were doing what he wanted to do. We were participating in activities totally dedicated to celebrating his life, his interests, and things that make him happy.

One of the people at the party told me that when she went to a garage sale to buy items that would be broken, the lady at the garage sale asked what she was looking for. My friend said, “oh, anything breakable.” The garage sale lady said, “oh, do you do mosaics?” “Um . . . no” said my friend, and then told her about the plan. “Oh,” said the lady, “then you should take these Nebraska coffee mugs, I don’t like them anyway.” And break them we did, to the enjoyment of everyone in attendance, and even some who didn’t attend.

So I offer the word “cool” to you as the best way to describe what we experienced Saturday.

“The coolest birthday party ever!”

“What word should I use instead?” I asked.

I was told that I should use the more appropriate term, “bottom.”

I thought about this for a minute. Since the part I am referring to is not the bottom of anything, I wondered why I would call it the bottom. I would think that my feet would be the bottom and that it would be more accurate to call that area the middle. “Get your middle over here” I would now have to say to my boys. It doesn’t have the ring I’m looking for.

How about “derriere?”

No, too French. I refuse to call any part of my body by a French word. Bum isn’t any better, either. I made a promise to myself years ago to never adapt a word from a different culture to refer to anything that has a perfectly acceptable equivalent in my own language and dialect.

“Well then, say posterior.”

Not for my taste, no thank you. Posterior could be anything that is on the back of a person. Being a person who likes to be as specific as possible, I cannot generalize to that degree.

Rump?

Hiney?

Rear end?

Buns?

Gluteus maximus?

Fanny?

Tushy?

Behind?

Backside?

Caboose?

Cheeks?

I thought, man, now you’re just embarrassing yourself.

“Butt,” said I, “is short for buttocks. What is the problem with butt being short for buttocks?”

“It is offensive and rude” was the response.

Offensive and rude?

I asked myself, what is offensive and rude about shortening a word? I am afraid to think about where we will end if this line of reasoning is followed. What other words are now going to be deemed offensive by using the abbreviation is bad idea. I can now no longer use words like abs, Matt, email, ADMIN, AMMO, VEGGIE, MEMO, LIMO OR LAB. Most of my vocabulary is now useless.

One theme that has become common in recent birthday parties, especially those for young children, is the picture of a mountain of gifts.

Osawatomie sixth graders Dylan Page and Lexi Wingerter do not represent this theme.

The two cousins recently turned 11 one day apart (Lexi on 8-29 and Dylan on 8-30) , and decided to share their birthday party. Last Saturday, August 28, Dylan. Lexi, and a group of their friends and family descended on Dylan’s home. They ate hot dogs and chips, played football and then watched Alice in Wonderland on an outdoor screen.

But the difference in this year’s party was that there were no presents.

Dylan and Lexi asked their friends and family to forgo buying them anything. Both children are animal lovers, and wanted this year’s birthday to be special. To make it special, they decided to ask that guests bring donations and money for supplies to be given to Animal Haven, a no-kill animal shelter in Merriam, Ks.

The idea came about after Dylan’s parents, Sheri and Johnny Page, took Dylan to Animal Haven a few weeks back.

Dylan told his parents, while looking at all of the animals in need of a good home, “I really want to help Animal Haven. Every animal deserves a chance to have a home and they try to help find one.”

Dylan, Lexi, and guests at the party raised approximately $150 worth of supplies, and plan to spend any further birthday money received on additional supplies. “We think it’ll be around $200 in supplies when everything is finished,” said Sheri Page.

$200 could buy a lot of video games, but video games don’t last. The memories that Dylan and Lexi created from this selfless birthday will last, however, and may even set a new trend in birthday celebrations.

In a tradition that dates back to my childhood, our family gathers to eat and give gifts to the birthday boy or girl. It is a great way to celebrate, keep the family in touch, and extend the birthday celebration because the party is weeks, sometimes months after the person’s actual birthday, since it’s often difficult to get everyone together.

On Saturday, we were not just celebrating my son’s birthday. He shared the party with his aunt, uncle, grandfather, and great-grandma.

As I watched everyone open their presents, I was struck with the memory of myself as a child, opening presents in the same house, surrounded by the same people.

My parents still live in the house where I spent my childhood. They moved in when I was three, and though I have a house and family of my own, it still has a special feeling for me.

When I was a teenager, I dreamt of getting out. I dreamt of moving away and finding adventure and excitement somewhere else. But as I think back, I would not change a thing.

In fact, as I watched my son on Saturday, I was reminded of how lucky I was, and still am, to be surrounded by multi-generation of family. I was reminded that the excitement and adventures that some places have to offer don’t compare to the comfort of family.

In thirty years, when my son thinks about his ninth birthday party, he may remember the giant remote control buzz light year he was given, or the tackle box he’s been wanting. But I think he’ll remember sitting on his great-grandma’s lap as she helped him read his cards (not because he doesn’t read well, but more because he loves her help).

He’ll remember his two year old cousin yelling at everyone for not following the rules that he arbitrarily made up. He’ll remember the feast before the gifts, and the ice-cream cake afterwards.

He’ll remember his family gathered together, laughing and joking and sharing time together, giving gifts and being a family.

He’ll remember that he shared his birthday with people who love him, from great-grandma to young cousin.

I know he’ll remember these things, because as I watched him Saturday, laughing excitedly and anticipating each present, they were what I remembered.

In that house.

With those people.