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Connections Only God Can Make Years ago a student turned up in my class that linked me up with answers to questions that had been nagging at me for many years. That student's name was Janna Pope, whose name triggered a “remembrance of things past.” That's because she was the daughter of Kieth and Norma Pope whose maiden name was Kurtz. Well the Kurtz family were neighbors of ours whose farm was a mile and a half south and west of our own. The Kurtzes were our best neighbors, and we had many great times together as families—old fashioned 4th's of July, similar impoverishment, and, more to the point, my mom and Dorothy Kurtz were very close friends as were my father, Paul Pinkney and Dorothy's husband, Dick. Another bond we shared was that we were both bi-level families. My father's first wife had died leaving him with two children, so my father married my mother mainly because he needed someone to help take care of his kids. I and my three siblings were the fruit of that marriage, so I had a half brother, David, and a half sister, Virginia. The Kurtz's family also had two much older members, Norma and Robert. And Norma was Jenna Pope's mom. Not long ago I was blessed with the chance of visiting Norma just before she was taken home with cancer. Those visits brought me insights into to a mystery that had troubled me for a long time: why did my father, Paul Pinkney, have such a low opinion of himself? He had been blessed with a number of talents, any one of which, might have made him a successful man in the eyes of the world. He was a genius in electronics, even though he had quit school after his sophomore year. We had electricity on the farm, thanks to a wind charger and storage batteries he kept in the barn, and every room in the house and every building on the farm had lights,and a radio, so we were way ahead of the curve in the realm of popular media. We heard the “Hit Parade” of all the popular songs and programs like The Lone Ranger or Superman or Straight Arrow or Arthur Godfrey or Amos and Andy. And were were in on all the Red Skelton and Bob Hope and Jack Benny comedy specials. All this was five years before REA brought in electricity and the kerosine lamps were put away. Paul could fix anything electrical people brought in, albeit he often worked far into the night to track down malfunctions. And then when asked, “How much?” would always say,”Oh, I guess a buck should cover it.” The fee should have been much more, but people with low self esteem live in a poverty mentality. Dad also had talents in music. He looked a lot like Rudy Valley and could sing, we all thought, better. Norma Pope told me that one of her fondest memories was that of my father singing beautifully over the roar of his old Case tractor out there in the fields a week behind schedule because he was always involved with other interests such as physical culture and health food. Therefore , our family was eating whole wheat bread, oodles of green and yellow veggies mixed with wheat germ and many other “health food” items common today but back then were considered yucky—at least by us kids and mom, who sneaked us cake and cookies on the sly. But the biggest cause of my father's inferiority complex was the belief that he was a “failure”in his own eyes. His father, one of the city “founders,” had done well, and owned two farms and five houses in Fairmount, and his sister Priscilla was brilliant in academics, and when the War started in 1941 Paul was given the responsibility of running the farm for his aging father rather than attending MIT where he really belonged. Dad's problem was that he believed other people's definition of success. The result was self-condemnation and identity theft. “I'm just a failure,” he often said The Bible says that each of us is a unique creation of God--- a masterpiece in the making with a specific purpose and talents and gifts for achieving that purpose. But the “god of this world,” Satan, is a master at stealing our identities and replacing them with guilt, condemnation and isolation. The suicide rate these days is ample evidence that the “accuser” is still at it, convincing many that they are not “children of the most high God,” but merely evolutionary misfits--”born to lose.” Today the game of accusation is going full blast with people and politicians pointing fingers at each other continually with charges either real or trumped up. (pun intended) Jesus nailed it perfectly when he said, “why do you point out the speck in your neighbor's eye when you have a telephone pole in your own. We need to return to Amazing Grace and the great commandment, “Love one another.” Hamlet also put it beautifully,”Use every man according to his deserts and who should escape whipping? Use him after your own grace and nobility; the less he deserves, the more merit is in your own bounty.”And remember, when we point the finger at another, there are three pointing back at ourselves. For further study, read Blake's “To the Accuser, Who is the god of this World.” Eliot's “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, and Faulkner's “Barn Burning”.
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