BATTLEFIELDS: HOME & ABROAD by Kevin Stewart (updated 27 July 2014) Thanks to our extended families, John Eric and Heidi Meyer, and Eric and Judy McDowell-Lloyd. Dedicated to soldiers of 1st BDE, 3rd AD, US Army not coming back from Desert Storm alive: SGT Tracy Hampton, CPT Joseph Kime III, SSG Christopher Stephens, PFC Adrian Stokes, SSG Roy Summerall SPC Peter Swano and PFC Gardia (murdered in California after). “In the beginning [before all time] was the Word (Christ), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God Himself. He was present originally with God. All things were made and came into existence through Him; and without Him was not even one thing made that has come into being. In Him was Life, and the Life was the Light of men. And the light shines on in the darkness, for the darkness has never overpowered it [put it out or absorbed it or appropriated it, and is unreceptive to it] (John 1:1-5f, The Amplified Bible, Expanded Edition, 1987, Zondervan and The Lockman Foundation).” Another way, Christ is the Word and the Word is Christ. Jesus is God and has always co-existed as God and Jesus. Everything existing came from Him, and He has always been light for darkness. Darkness has never overpowered light, and God has always been the light for all of us. Salvation is a free gift from our Savior, who loves all of us, regardless of our many sins. All He requires of us is to speak with our mouths” and truly “believe in our hearts Jesus is Lord. We repent, asking for His forgiveness knowing we are sinners, and are sorry for our sins. We can become more like our Savior as we read our Bibles (The Amplified, NASB, NIV, NLT, NKJV, KJV versions have all been very helpful to me). Pray to The Lord to bless us with the presence of The Holy Spirit (who lives inside His believers). This allows us to begin eliminating the willful known sin” we all have as we are learning to “obey God and leave all the consequences to Him.” (Charles Stanley; intouch.org to learn more). I have continued to struggle in maintaining healthy relationships with Jesus Christ, my wife, my kids and others. We can become closer in our personal, intimate relationship (deep friendship) with Jesus Christ, which helps our other close relationships. God loves you all. I love you. We are called by Him to love others (everyone we meet), whether we think they deserve it or not. Most of my life I have been intrigued by God and believed He existed. During my childhood, I never found the personal relationship with Jesus Christ I kept hearing about. I didn’t realize I was so desperate for one either. Mom always prayed through her problems though and said to do the same. Dad set perhaps his best example by reading his Bible every day. The most valuable lesson my parents taught me was to just love people, simply because you should. My earliest memory is singing songs of faith in childrens church. As I sang “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong, they are weak, but He is strong,” I left out the word weak because I learned from watching my mom not to admit weakness. Now I have learned to see weakness as strength. To clarify, admitting weakness allows those in our lives to better relate to their own and to each others vulnerabilities. Jesus is perfection and people definitely are not. Mostly both parents, Our Mom keeps things bottled up; rarely sharing her feelings. She feels she needs to be strong; a reaction to the dysfunction of our home. Mom is my hero in so many ways. She began working in our home caring for us, and other local kids for extra money. She then worked over twenty years at a government subsidized preschool. What she learned there and at a nearby community college helped earn a Child Development Associates Degree. Later, she became an even better parent. She was always a devoted caretaker for Dad, an Air Force Veteran who suffered emotionally most of his life. Mom loved television, was, and still is (in her 70s), an ardent fan of the local college basketball team. My interpersonal skills were actually furthered by our numerous lengthy conversations about current and historical events. She never missed our plays, music performances or ball games. I’ll never forget all those “save the world” type talks I’ve had with her. Mom has always been the most selfless person I have ever known. Dad was diagnosed mentally ill from his military service before they met. My Dad’s biggest influence was Jazz music; mainly through playing and listening to the likes of Stan Kenton, Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Count Basie, Miles Davis, Stan Getz, Woody Herman and much of “The Big Band Era.” He even briefly played with Kenton (at a clinic), Hawkins and Getz (on stage). Except for the military and working briefly for a Boys Club while playing for a summer in Los Angeles, Dad spent his life in our hometown. He attended the local university, joined a fraternity, performed music with several groups, including recording an album with one he formed. He was a Jazz musician for over 60 years, playing tenor and alto saxophones, flute and clarinet. He was a member of the local musicians union and a few service organizations for veterans. Dad and his best friend at the time received Army draft notices during the Korean War, but enlisted in the Air Force as cohorts instead, ending up transport plane crew members. Dad was suddenly grounded for stomach flu before a training mission in Wyoming and the entire crew, including his best friend, boarded without him. The plane had a catastrophic mechanical failure and all were killed. Since Dad displayed trauma and fatigue, the military decided he would be assigned to serve stateside, instead of combat missions in Korea. Recent events were not adequately communicated and Dad ended up on a detail off-loading KIAs (service members Killed In Action) from body bags in New Jersey. Dad suffered his first breakdown soon after, and ended up being sent to a VA hospital in California. Before arriving, he “escaped” from escorts in California disappearing for three days. On the third day, a cab driver reportedly dropped off an Airman at a beach wearing a dirty uniform. Dying at 75, Dad never remembered those three days. He later suffered trauma from experimental shock therapy. The terror in his eyes when he spoke of it still haunts me today. As my brother and I grew up, besides playing music, Dad worked for a magazine printer, Chevrolet dealership, drove a taxi, and later worked part-time for the public library. Most recently, he would have been found playing clarinet and alto saxophone with local Junkyard Jazz and The Horizons Band. In spite of all of his hurdles, with help from a partial VA pension, he was able to have a good life. He always knew a lot of people, and continued performing Jazz all his life. Dad met Mom while working in the press room of a magazine printer. They fell in love with each other’s kindness, generosity, his music, and the attraction they shared. They married and my brother was born a year later. I was born nearly four years after. We had fun growing up in a modest home bordering affluent and what has become a now desegregated black neighborhood. My fondest memories are of watching My Dad and Brother playing gigs and sessions I tagged along to, and them having the patience to play my Rock music and their Jazz with me as I sang. Jazz was an obsession and later a career for My Brother. He mostly kept things to himself and was seriously devoted to practicing and performing music. As we grew, I suppose he found escape, encouragement, emotional outlet, and friendship in the Jazz artists he admired, the tunes he performed, and his fellow musicians. We were close enough in age and interests to love, tolerate and compliment one another most of the time. We shared a paper route, got food and jammed on our music favorites together as we grew. He played in top university Jazz ensembles and in several area bands. Soon, he joined the U.S. Army as a musician serving in Germany, Missouri, Korea, Texas and the Middle East. He met his wife (who has three great kids) in Korea. I am thrilled they are excited about Jesus and actively pursue deepening their relationship with Him at home in Kircheimbolanden (Sp.), Germany. They are currently in process of transitioning to a new home near Hendersonville, Tennessee. Papa (pronounced “Papaw”), Dad’s Father, was quiet, gentle and loving. Grandma died young of Breast Cancer, leaving him a widower when Dad was still in college. Papa played organ, and played and tuned pianos. Papa’s mother was a founding member of the local Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall. My Mom had a Christian background and my Dad had Christian influence placed by our Grandmother before she died (before My Brother and I were born, and even before our parents met). Thankfully, Papa respected our chosen Christianity enough not to interfere too much with our beliefs. I fondly recall Papa tuning our piano he built, always driving his Buick 20 miles an hour regardless of the speed limit, and ending his prayers with “in Jesus name, Amen.” Our other Grandpa (Mom’s Dad) was an internally beautiful, loving man, a hard worker, loud comedian, and strict disciplinarian with a skill for verbal vulgarities. Mom still talks about how Grandpa would come home from working his railroad job and Mom and her four siblings (a boy and three other girls) would quickly help remove his boots, knowing their reward would be the Bit-O-Honey candy bars from his pocket. I remember Grandma as a really good cook who cursed at TV wrestling and frequently addressed her grandsons as “Colonel.” Later in their lives, when I spent a few summers helping tend his huge vegetable garden, we would come in from the fields and enjoy Grandma’s yummy lunch. My favorite memory is of them watching “The 700 Club” on television together in the morning and afternoon nearly everyday. Probably not unlike the reader, my life has been an assorted kaleidoscope of heartache and struggle. Mostly by-products of my sins, the sins of others, and a failure to trust, fully surrender to and obey the Lord. I am a white male born in the middle of The United States. Growing up within a block of a black neighborhood and attending a predominantly black elementary school, I learned we are all the same before race became an issue in my life. People were much more upfront with displeasure of other races back then. Mine and my Brother’s Cub Scouts My Mom led were of a few allowing blacks, and some of the parents (not my own) were surprised I went in black homes and had black friends. Being a spectator of desegregation and watching people adjust from racial bias to integration was wonderful and at times painful. Walking downtown streets with my black best friends, I noticed ugly scowls on white and black faces. My Mom, a preschool teacher, told me her black teaching partner was asked to come to the back door by white racist parents during their home visits. I’m still proud when Mom once again shares her response: “I’ll go to the backdoor with her.” A black best friend picked a fight with me in elementary school because I suspect he was being razzed for hanging out with a white guy. He told me after he was surprised I did not use the “N” word. Unfortunately, what I thought was a good friendship disappeared. When bullied by another black kid from the neighborhood, I soon learned it was because he had a troubled life. As I got older, I found out more details, and understood even better. This other acquaintance bullied me at school and once jumped me while I delivered my paper route and firmly planted his knee in to my back. Shortly after I returned from the Gulf War, he tried to reach out to me and I rejected him. Now I want to reach out, but am afraid I burned that bridge. I’m not sure where he is now anyway. Growing up in a family of Jazz musicians, rubbing shoulders with friendly white and black faces, healed those blows. Dad on reeds and my brother on piano were the musical “pros” of our family. I do still sing, at times accompanying myself on piano. What I didn’t learn taking piano from a neighbor lady, I learned from my Brother and Dad jamming and performing. I sang in school choirs and briefly with a few bands. I gravitated away from Jazz toward popular classic rock from the seventies and eighties. I now have a preference for Christian Rock, a bit more Jazzy or hard than the “typical white” church. I am certain it was no coincidence my singing and playing ear improved once I began to sing about and for Christ. -This an incomplete excerpt of an ongoing autobiographical essay I have been penning about eight years
Posted on: Sun, 27 Jul 2014 19:28:57 +0000