Talked to Colt this morning, which is a rare and fine occasion. I say, “talked” as if we were sitting under a shade tree with a jar of moonshine…chewing the fat. Not the case. It was something altogether different. I understand it’s called I.M.ing, which is a new thing for me, and not very AARP friendly…no shade tree…no moonshine…and you have to be able to see…and type…and just when you’ve found your glasses and get something typed and you’re ready to hit REPLY, he has moved past the subject. So I didn’t say much. But I listened. He told me of his arrival at a Buddhist monastery where he came across a band of small and skinny monks carrying bags of mortar mix up a tremendous flight of steps. Yep. Skinny monks with cement. So, he dropped what he was doing and helped. I suppose a good Midwestern upbringing and a strong desire to help is a valuable thing to have when you come across such a thing as a band of cement-carrying monks at a Buddhist monastery… and you never know when something like that will happen. In other news…he was assigned a classroom of young Ladakhi students, a shoddy classroom…dank and dirty…blank stares from the kids. His task was to communicate and teach. After a day with Colt, the students couldn’t speak a lick of English…but they knew how to throw a baseball. Which shows me that he’s smart enough to have figured out that life isn’t all about order and perfection. And sometimes you gotta just get up in front of a classroom of Ladakhis and show them your High Leg Kick…and have a little fun. And if you’re lucky, at the end of the day you’ll have some new friends…they could be a bunch of kids in a dank, dark classroom…or they could be a band of Buddhist monks. You never know.
Posted on: Thu, 01 Aug 2013 20:15:05 +0000
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