. . . we have a story for them.
As everybody knows, I’ve been a church attender for my whole life. On Sunday mornings, the question was never “are we going to church today” but instead, “why aren’t you ready yet, hurry up.” That’s a good thing, because it has given me a foundation for faith that has gotten me through some deep valleys, while helping me to be thankful for some mountain top experiences. Mama was the church organist – still is, now in her 68th year at age 82 – so choir practice was also on my radar since I was in the Cradle Roll class. Now that I’m all grown up, I wouldn’t know my days of the week without Wednesday being choir practice night. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So it goes without saying that I have heard lots of sermons. Lots and lots and lots of sermons. I’ll be 55 in March, so if we take 55 years time 52 weeks, that’s 2,860 Sunday mornings. There have been a few vacation days and a few sick days to subtract, but growing up in the Baptist church I must add some Revival sermons. Then there are the funerals for which I’ve played or attended, where a sermon sometimes accompanies a eulogy. I think it’s safe to safe that in my wild and crazy life, I have heard over 3,000 sermons from the pulpit. Some are more memorable than others, but I dare not name names as to who delivered the better one and who delivered the marginal ones, and who delivered the snoozers. Since there are a few pastors on my distribution list at this time, I can truthfully say the ones I’ve heard from you fall in the best group. I’ve learned much from the pulpit. But, with no disrespect to my pastor friends, some of the best sermons and messages I’ve heard have been from the steps of the stage during the children’s message.

In the Baptist church of my youth, I do not remember children’s sermons. In my latter years of Baptistdom they appeared, especially as the number of children in the church grew. My best memories of children’s sermons began when I started my musical journey at Windsor Christian Church. Up until two years ago, the pastor didn’t deliver these sermons, not regularly anyhow. They were delivered by several very special ladies of the church, and what a treasure these messages were. I might not remember at the Sunday lunch table what the preacher said (I usually would say “he preached on sin, and he was against it” even if I remembered his message title), but I always remembered not only the lesson that was taught on the steps, but I hid its message in my heart. Although meant for children,, the object lessons made an impression on this old dude from Windsor.

The children’s sermons might be about flowers and vegetables, a rainy day, back to school, shopping for school supplies, or hoping for a snow day (several school teachers participated). It might tell of the story teller’s childhood, or about a health scare. Sometimes it told about someone special from the past. There were even children’s messages with “hidden meanings” about reconcilement and moving on, as well as forgiveness of others (usually timed with church or community “issues”). Sometimes there were props, other times there weren’t. There was laughter, and occasionally tears, both from the presenters and from the congregation. It might be about something that happened that week, or about an upcoming vacation or trip to the hospital. And then there were the things that the kids said, when you know their parents were praying and shaking their heads, their faces turning red and hoping that no family secrets would come to the forefront of the message on the steps. I always tried to convince someone to ask the kids “what did your mama tell you not to say,” borrowing Art Linkletter’s line, but no one ever took me up on that. The messages were timely and brought a message that God has places on their hearts.  And no matter the subject, no matter the time, the messages delivered to the children, the church of the future, resonated with me as well, and for that I am grateful.

When Jesus said for the children to come unto him, I think he had a vision for us today when we invited the children to the front of the church. I am grateful that vision inspires a big kid like me.

 

God, I am thankful for Kathy and Connie and LuAnn and Kay, and the prized sermons they delivered from the steps. Help us to always remember that when we share your love with a child, we are preparing the way for your story to be told for generations to come.

 

Sidney A. Neighbours
January 26, 2019

How arriving to school late, although a regular occurrence, makes for an interesting morning…..

So my day started off interesting.  As I am innocently scanning in, a bit late as usual, I spoke to a student who was standing in a strange place.  A few minutes later, I found out why – apparently he was waiting for another student, and very soon they “fell to fighting,” fists flying and cussing galore.  Back in the day, I would have jumped right in the middle and broke them up, but those days are gone. Two heart attacks, blood clots, bad knees, and general grumpiness brought those days to a halt, since legally all we have to do is to verbally tell them to stop, which I did in a very strong and loud voice.  I may have said “have the 2 of you lost your minds” and some other colorful language as part of the redirection.  I called the appropriate school personnel who quickly showed up, took care of the matter, and after I wrote my statement, I was done. Such is life in a middle school, and maybe a reminder that I really should come in on time, before the students arrive.  

That whole incident brought back to mind something that happened to me when I was in the 8th grade.  I’m not sure exactly why it made me think of this, but anyway, it did so here we are.   It was a rainy day, and at school I attended, although most of the sidewalks were covered, we occasionally had to walk in the rain to get from certain classes to another.  I was in this scenario that day. I was carrying my books on my side, the “way boys do it.” I reference this because I hated carrying my books that way, I wanted to carry them in front of me, it was much more natural and comfortable to me.   I had been teased and bullied over it,  however, so when I walked to class I was very mindful of the “boy way” to carry books and governed myself accordingly.  All these years later, I still think about that when I pick up books to carry.  One of the other boys behind me, who shall remain nameless although I think I remember who it was, pushed my books out from my under my arm and they all went into the water. Holding back tears, I bent down and picked up my now wet books, and went to class.  The rest of the day was a blur of held-back tears, because trying to use wet books is not a fun thing to do, along with hurt feelings and embarrassment. But there’s another part of the story that has always made me even sadder than the wet books.

During that time, the school bus drivers worked as teacher assistants in various places in the buildings, and this was the case with my bus driver.  I had a great bus driver, or so I thought, she was fun to talk to and she brought us candy and bubble gum. She was about ten feet from me, saw what happened with my books, and she didn’t say anything.  I didn’t understand, but I also didn’t want to make an issue of it because I was embarrassed and hurt, and I didn’t want anybody to see me crying. When I got on the bus that afternoon, she had a fierce grimace on her face, and she scolded me for “letting others do stuff to me and not being a boy and hit them back.”  The one-way conversation continued with more harsh words. Today we would call that victim blaming. I was crushed and could barely hold back tears, not only because of my books, but because I felt a trusted adult had betrayed me. I certainly didn’t tell my parents because that would be admitting I couldn’t stand up for myself, which is what boys do.   Again, I was different from others.

So back to today’s fight – paperwork done, life goes on, appropriate action was taken.  Still not 100% sure why it made me think of my wet books and held-back tears, other than noting that something was done by the adults today, unlike in 1978.  The adults that witnessed it took charge and did the right thing, unlike my bus driver.  Books knocked into the water certainly wasn’t a criminal act, but it sure was a big thing to a confused 12 year old gay boy from Windsor.

It is memories like this that drive me in my desire to tell LGBTQ that life’s going to be okay.  And that someone bullying you, adult or child, is not okay. Students often need a sympathetic ear and a should to cry on – and to know it’s okay to cry, especially the boys. I pray that sharing my ear and shoulder when needed will be the legacy I leave when I retire.  

 

“God, please help me to always have a heart for the ones who are afraid to speak for themselves.  Keep me mindful that, as I recall an event from 41 years ago, students won’t remember all the thing we teach them, but they’ll never forget how we make them feel.”

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

January 23, 2019

 

As you have noticed, I have not started off well blogging in 2019.  Not because I don’t want to – I love my new blogging project – it’s just been a rough start to the new year.  School has been unusually hectic and stressful, dizziness and shortness of breath continue, cold/sinus issues, and the overall craziness that lives in the mind and house of NeeNee.  Living life “one day at a time” and accepting that “it is what it is” gets hard some days.

So today’s blog entry is short, sweet, and to the point,  yet not quite as light-hearted & colorful as the usual posts. There’s lots going on in my life and swirling around in my head.  Health issues continue, trying to sell my house while watching construction on new condo and wondering if it’s really going to happen, frustration over not being able to do things I need to do, major life decisions to be made very soon, and all the normal stresses of daily living have been overwhelming so far in 2019.  Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers that I can get answers, make the right decisions, and make it through rocky roads. I don’t do well asking for help, and I need to do better in this area too. I believe God has a plan for me, even when I can’t see it. I am thankful to those who continue to let me cry on their shoulders – whether via text, email, phone, or in person – and I am thankful for all my blog-followers.  No matter the stress, I am a blessed man.  And I’ll get back to the fun blog posts soon,  I promise.  

 

God, remind me to be thankful for the good things in life, and for those who walk with me when things aren’t so good.  

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

January 11, 2019

I never met a sale I didn’t like…
I am a collector of collectibles. Lots and lots of collectibles – Hummels, Department 56 “Christmas in the City” Village, Seraphim Angels, Gorham Moppets, Guardian Grannies,  Snowbabies, and cocker spaniel figurines. I have 2 sets of Lenox china – “my pattern” as well as a set of the Christmas pattern. I have enough “Mermen” to form my own navy (“NeeNee’s Navy”). I have lots of music & theater memorabilia. I love it all, and I’ve had some since I was a child. Some have been gifts, some have been eBay purchases, and some just caught my eye in a store. And they all collect something as well – dust. Oh well, the price for being a collector of fine things. I tell Joleen and Savannah regularly that they’ll have a great yard sale when I’m gone.

This time of year my collectible focus turns to Santa Clauses. I love them, especially the “Possible Dreams” line of clothtique Santa’s.  I remember well when I started collecting them. I was in Charlottesville at the Boar’s Head Inn, and in their gift shop they had this beautiful Santa, sitting in a green chair, feeding a bottle to a baby. I was mesmerized by its beauty. I was also mesmerized by the price, but I gave in and bought it anyway. It’s sitting on the sideboard in my dining room next to Santa kneeling by the manger, another Santa treasure, given to me by my grandmother the Christmas before she died. I have every Santa that they make that has a dog with the Santa (imagine that). It melds my love for dogs with my collectible Santas. Some have been gifts, and those are extra special.

There is a method to my madness, however, in acquiring Santas. In addition to the ones that were gifts, most have been bought on sale. As in 40% or 50% off the original price. A local store, which has the best Santa selection during the holidays, puts them on sale at 40% during Black Friday weekend, and then 50% after Christmas. The ones I really want I get at 40%, and then go back after Christmas and usually get a few others. In a few days, however, I will pack them all up and put them away for the year, and hopefully when I take them out again Gunther and I will be living in our new condo.

As I think about my Santas, I think how much I enjoy them, regardless of whether they were full price or on sale. And I think about how God loves us so much – an interesting segue, I know, but stick with me. He loves us unconditionally. We come to him broken and not at 100% – just like my 40% discounted Santa’s – but when we give our hearts to him, he makes us 100%, just like my discounted Santa’s.   Just like I don’t see my Santa’s as discounted or “less-than”, God doesn’t see us how we “were,” only by how we are now. He sent Jesus for all of us, regardless of how far down we are (our markdown price), and we’re full price when we ask him in our hearts and begin to experience and share His love.

 

 

God, thank you for Christmas, and the real meaning of the holiday. And thank you for reminding me, through all these Santa’s, how you take as at 40% and make us 100% when we give our hearts to you.

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

December 28, 2018

“The key to falling is to get up one time more than you fall”

The past few days, by most standards, have been sucky.  A bad fall, subsequent aches, pains, & doctor visits, determination that falling could be result of heart issue, etc, etc.   Yeah, it’s been a great few days. Other than directing my choir Christmas cantata Sunday morning,, I haven’t been very productive (the cantata turned out great, btw).  But I have had lots of time to think, which can be both a positive or negative thing.

One of my favorite strategies that my therapist has taught me is to reverse my thoughts when I am down and out, not feeling well, or in a generally grumpy old man frame of mind.  So today, I am blogging my reverse thoughts and sharing my thanks for today.

God, on this day when things aren’t exactly peachy….

• I am thankful I got up out of the bed this morning and didn’t fall.

• I am thankful Gunther didn’t have to go outside until I was ready to go downstairs to leave for work

• I am thankful that Gunther has finally caught on that if he wants to sleep on the bed he has to leave me enough room to lie down

• I am thankful wasn’t much traffic this morning, and the driving in the dark to work wasn’t as bad as it is some days

• Even though I didn’t leave home in time to stop at Starbucks, I’m thankful that I can look forward to Starbucks on the way home.  And an old fashioned doughnut. And a puppy latte for one spoiled hound dog.

• I’m thankful for the heated seats in my car

• I’m thankful I am finished Christmas shopping and done with cards.  I love sending cards. Shopping, not loving so much, but thankful for home delivery.  

• I’m thankful  (and astonished) I remembered to bring my lunch today

• I am thankful my Christmas trees are done.  I’ll be even more thankful if I can get the empty decoration boxes back upstairs.

• I am thankful for my Santa Clauses.  I have many, and love them all. I especially love the ones that we gifts, and love the ones that gave them to me

• I am thankful for the upcoming Christmas Break.  I am a bit jealous, however, of my neighboring county friends who are off all week

• I am thankful to be clean from drugs and in a great program of recovery.  I’m thankful for my sponsor and support.  I’m glad that I never have to “use” again.

• I am thankful for “Words With Friends’ and just how much it keeps my mind occupied and in touch with friends I love when I am lonely

• I am thankful for doctors and other medical professionals in which I have confidence.  Even if I am a bit “boujee” when it comes to doctors and will only go to the best.

• I’m thankful I’ve been able to share not feeling well with understanding friends.  It means so much to me whether it’s in person, on email, on the telephone, and sometimes via texts that end “love & miss you too.”  

• I’m thankful for my family, my friends, my Gunther, my house (although I sure wish it would hurry up and sell and I can be thankful for my new condo), my car (even with a demon-possessed sound system), and all of the other blessings in my life.  

• I’m thankful for the real reason we celebrate Christmas.  And that Easter happened too. 
• I am thankful to know I am prayed for.  Often.

• I am thankful that I am loved, and that I have so many people in my life that I love

 

I feel better.  The last few days have still been sucky, but the thoughts in my head now are happier.  I don’t know what the next few weeks will bring, but  I have lots for which to be thankful.  Am I am thankful that good thoughts trump sad ones.   Yet again, I am a blessed man.

“Thank you, God, for giving me blessings that outweigh the sucky.”

Sidney A. Neighbours

---

December 18, 2018

December 4 has always been a special day for me.  It is my dear friend Mary Johnnie’s birthday. Mary Johnnie was remarkable.  I never remember not knowing her, but during the years I worked in the florist, and the subsequent years, she became very special to me.  She used to ride with me to the florist, and we laughed and solved all of life’s problems all the way from Walters to Franklin and back. She always had a sausage biscuit ready for me when I stopped to pick her up.  Although in her 80’s, she could outwork all of us. She did the jobs around the flower shop that nobody else wanted to do, and she loved doing it. Mary Johnnie began working in the florist after her husband died, just to have something to do.  We lost Mary Johnnie in 2004, well into her 90’s and after a heartbreaking bout with Alzheimer’s, but I will never lose many years of precious memories of my dear friend.

In 2014, however, December 4 added a completely new and unexpected significance.  I arose at my normal time (after hitting the snooze several times), and I began my normal morning routine.  As I was working on my hair I wondered why, at 6:00 in the morning, I had indigestion. I walked downstairs and got a Diet Coke, hoping it would make me burp and the indigestion go away.  The drink didn’t help. At this point I totally lost track of time. I began having severe chest pains as well as discomfort down my arm. I decided to lie back down on the bed where I began to sweat so profusely that the bed was soaked in a matter of seconds.  I then became nauseated. Yup, all the textbook signs. I remember saying to Gunther “something is drastically wrong.” He didn’t answer, but while I was lying back down, he jumped on the bed, put his head down, and inched over to me on his stomach. He then put his head up on my chest and stayed there until I was able to get back up.  Gunther knew what was happening, even when I wasn’t sure.

I knew I had to do something, and do it quickly.  One of the hardest part of being single and alone is having to make decisions without anyone to help.  I knew I had to finish getting dressed, so I went to the front bedroom to get my clothes. When I got there, I laid down on the floor.  I have no idea how long I was there, again, I had totally lost track of time. I remember thinking “I have to get up, I can not die here on this floor.”  I finally got up and got dressed in a shirt and pants that did not match (you know I was sick for this to happen.) Still not knowing what to do, I went downstairs.  Gunther reminded me he hadn’t been outside yet, so we took care of that matter. Then I probably did the dumbest thing I had ever done in my 50 years – I drove myself to the hospital having a heart attack.  

I knew by driving myself to the hospital I would go to the facility of my choice instead of the one where the rescue squad would take me, so that piece of the puzzle was the right decision.  When I think, however, of the lives I endangered during that 10 minute drive to Belle Harbor, it makes me sick to my stomach, but my guardian angels, who I’m sure by this time were shaking their heads, took care of me.  I remember contemplating stopping once I got into Suffolk and dialing 911 to come to the car to get me, but at that point I kept trudging. I walked into the emergency room and sat down, and within seconds the security guard said “sir, are you okay?”  I told him I was having chest pains. At that point, the wheels of medicine started rolling. They worked on me expeditiously for some period of time. I remember the doctor coming in to tell me that it was a heart attack and I was being moved to Norfolk.  I also remember telling the nurse “I guess I should call my sister” with her response being, “Mr. Neighbours, you mean nobody knows you’re here.” Yup, that was it. I hadn’t wanted to bother anybody, so I hadn’t called anyone. “Brilliant” move number 2 for the morning.  But thankfully, with help from the nurse, I was able to get in touch with Joleen, and she and Savannah broke many laws to get there before the medical transport took me to Norfolk.

Once I was wheeled into the ambulance, the wheels literally never stopped rolling until I was on the table at Sentara Heart Hospital.  The cardiac surgeon and his team, which seemed to be a lot of people, found 2 severe blockages in my heart, one was 99% and the other was 70%.  The only reason I wasn’t moved to immediate open heart surgery was that they were in the same artery. Because I was so adamant that I wasn’t going to lose my six months clean time in NA, I refused general anesthesia for the catheterization procedure, so I was awake with just local anesthesia where the scope was put in my arm to repair my heart with two stents.  Another “brilliant” decision, and I have learned as I have grown in NA that medication needed when you are ill is not considered a relapse.. I was only in the hospital overnight, and I spent the next 10 days with my parents in Windsor. Life slowed down extensively, I couldn’t lift more than 5 pounds and I was exhausted. Christmas preparations came to a screeching halt, and if it wasn’t for amazon.com and other online ordering, nobody would have gotten Christmas gifts that year.  I went back to work part-time after Christmas break, and went either 2 or 3 days a week to cardiac rehab for the next 4 months. Life changed drastically, both physically and mentally for me. My newly acquired cardiologist, Dr. Eich, made sure I understood that a heart attack works on you mentally as well as physically. I have a wonderful therapist that works with me still to help with that. Dr. Eich told me that I would “look over my shoulder” the rest of my life wondering if that was the day it would happen again.  That day came on August 6, 2018, but that’s a story for another time.

On this December 4, I am reminded of just how blessed I am to still be here.  All blockages are serious, but a 99% blockage not being fatal is a miracle. I am blessed for the care I received from the doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals at both Sentara Belle Harbor and Sentara Heart Hospital.  I am blessed that I did not kill myself or someone else driving myself to the hospital, but still thankful that I was able to go to that facility. I am thankful for Joleen & Savannah getting to the ER before I was transported to Norfolk – we needed to lay eyes on each other.  I’m thankful that when I was placed in a room after the stents that my parents and Robbie were there as well as Joleen and Savannah. The calls, texts, prayers, and every act of love and kindness the next few days were just overwhelming and blessings beyond measure. I am truly a blessed man.  I was then and I am now and always.

 

So on this December 4, I remember Mary Johnnie and I remember the day my life drastically changed.  And I am thankful. And blessed – both to have had Mary Johnnie in my life and to have survived a heart attack..  I know God has left me here for a purpose, and although sometimes I’m not sure what that purpose is, I am thankful I am here.  

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

December 4, 2018

“Hey, you mind covering for me…….”

It’s Friday afternoon here on Riverview Avenue. It’s been a busy week, not necessarily bad busy, just lots of irons in the fire. Work, choir, meetings – all the usual things that encompass a normal week in the life of NeeNee, plus trying to begin getting ready for Christmas. This was the first week since the end of October that we’ve actually had school all five days. It seems the month of November always comes with holidays, work days, election days, and various other educational events that keep us out of school. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s not very hard to get used to not working a normal full week.

One of my “and all other duties as assigned” jobs at school is to serve morning duty in the library. At some point in my somewhat colorful career in education, I learned how to use the library computer system. I don’t remember when, nor do I remember why I learned it, but I did. So I go in the library at 7:00 every morning and plop into a tall office chair and check-in and check-out books to middle schoolers. I don’t mind, it’s kinda fun, and I enjoy talking to the librarian. Not that we like to gossip, but it is always good to “catch up on the news” around the building and around town. Especially at 7:00 in the morning when the coffee is just kicking in.

Yesterday and today the librarian has been out of the building at a conference. No one else in the building knows how to use the circulation software in the library, so I have “covered for her” most of these two days. I’ve still been responsible for my own duties, but as an inclusion teacher working with a teaching partner, I was able to do some shifting around for the kids with whom I work, so it made the library coverage possible. It’s been fun, I’ve gotten to see more of a variety of students as well as staff, and I never dealt with any discipline issues, as I could just send them back to class if they plucked my nerves. By “covering” the library, students were able to use the media services offered, as well as check out books, as they would normally.

Thinking about covering for the library made me think about how thankful I am that one day many years ago, a man, who was sinless, “covered for me” on the cross and died for my sins. His hands, his side, and his feet were pierced with nails, and a crown of thorns was placed upon his head. Not because of anything He had done, but because he was willing to cover for me on that day. His sacrifice for me allows me to know a life of love and hope on earth, and secures me a place in Heaven for eternity.

Thank you God for sending Jesus, and thank you for allowing Him to  “cover for me” the day He hung on the cross.

 
Sidney A. Neighbours
November 30, 2018

Count your blessings, instead of sheep.  

The corn pudding is in the oven, the Macy’s parade is over, and Gunther & I are watching the Dog Show. Well, I’m watching, he is working on a Milk Bone, his favorite treat, other than ice cream. It’s Thanksgiving yet again, the time that we pause and say thank you to God for all the blessings of life, and the abundance we have received throughout the year. This year is no different, my family will gather for dinner at 5:30 and we’ll talk, laugh, eat, and catch up. I’ll have indigestion when I get home, but it will be worth it, I guess.

Every year I intend to do a daily “thank you” on Facebook, but somehow I manage to not remember it until at least a week into the month. That was the case this year. But since I’ve started blogging, I decided to make my thanksgiving list through a post. It’s hard to know where to begin when remembering all the things for which I am thankful, but here goes.

First and foremost, I am thankful for my faith, for God and his son Jesus, who teach me to love on earth and prepare for me a place in Heaven for eternity. I have always been thankful for these things, but after two “close calls,” it puts them into a different perspective. I know that the faith of many others, expressed through prayers, is what got me through two heart attacks, blood clots, drug addition and rehab, and every other trial that has come my way. I am thankful for the power of my prayers, as I pray for quality of life after these things, and that if it’s not in his will for life quality, that He’ll take me to Heaven. I’ve always been ready to go. But I’m still here, with a good quality of life, and here for a purpose.

I am thankful for my parents. Even though we fuss fairly regularly, primarily because we are all alike, I am blessed with incredible parents that love me unconditionally. I know that through the years I have never wanted for anything, but the best thing I have never wanted for is love. I’m certainly not the football playing, outdoorsman, straight son that was expected, but I’ve always been accepted and loved for the red-headed, gay, piano playing, smartass son they got. I’m blessed with a wonderful sister, who is my best friend and defender in all things, and a beautiful, intelligent, strong niece who is the light of my life. When you’re an old-maid school teacher like me, siblings are especially important and needed, and I am blessed with the best. We share a lot of common interests, which makes for an even greater bond. Savannah is the closest to a child of my own I will ever have, and I treasure her dearly.

I have so many wonderful friends there is no way I can possibly list them all. I’d be typing for weeks. Special friends are truly chosen family, and each hold a special, yet unique, place in my heart. Each provides a comfort and a special love that only they can provide. Whether it’s a phone call when I need a shoulder on which to cry, a comforting word that I need to hear at the exact moment I need to hear it, a travel buddy, a text that ends “love and miss you too,” a fellow “Words with Friends” player, someone to dine out with on Saturday nights, etc, etc, – each play a special role in my life, and for that I am truly thankful.

I am thankful for Gunther. He’s a great dog, and I truly believe it was the hand of God that lead him to me. When I think about the events up to his adoption, it could only have been directed by a hand mightier than mine. Gunther has given me a reason to come home on days when I would have been just as happy driving off into the sunset. Even though he’s a “mess” sometimes, he is my boy, and I am thankful for him.

I am thankful for the material things in my life, but I recognize that these are just things. I have a wonderful life, and many of these things have made my life more enjoyable. I am thankful for a beautiful home, and I will be very thankful when the sign out front changes from ‘For Sale’ to ‘Sold.’ As much as I have enjoyed living here on Riverview Avenue, I know that, with God’s guidance, I have made the right decision to downsize. And I pray that I will be able to go through with the purchase of the condo I have chosen. I’ve always heard that if you want to make God laugh, make a plan. I pray, though, that this “plan” will work out, and I feel that it will.

I am thankful for a program of recovery that keeps me drug free. My fight with addiction was a grueling one that nearly took me out, but that’s a story for another time. I am grateful for being a part of a fellowship that guides me in the right direction, and for a sponsor that understands me and helps me stay clean.

Now the corn pudding is done, and I’m hoping for the best. I use my grandmother’s recipe, and it’s a great one, but I occasionally “lose my rabbit’s foot” when it comes to cooking these. So we’ll see. I may be on the paper plate & Pepsi list for the annual Thanksgiving feast next year. Gunther is asleep by my chair, the dog show is winding up, and I’m trying to decide if I have time for a brief nap before heading to Zuni. Life is good. I am thankful today, but more importantly, everyday. Thanksgiving is a mindset, not a day. But I am still thankful for a wonderful Thanksgiving meal.

 

Lord, for these as all blessings, make me truly thankful.
Sidney A. Neighbours
Thanksgiving Day
November 22, 2018

 

Corn Pudding             2018

Before & After

I guess it turned out okay!!

“I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter……and make believe it came from you….” music by Fred E. Ahlert and lyrics by Joe Young

 

I heard that song on my Pandora station today, and  now I have those lyrics stuck in my head, and, if you know the song, now you probably do too.   I have a tendency to do that – I hear random songs and they get stuck in the gray matter, but often they don’t just stop there.  I have to go to the piano when I get home and play it. That’s one of the gifts of being able to play the piano by ear. Folks often ask me how I do that, and my answer is always that I have no idea, but I sure do enjoy it.  

My piano playing abilities have absolutely nothing to do with this post.  I’ve always said I was ADD before anyone knew what ADD was. I remember my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Rainey-Walton, telling me, regularly, to stop looking out the window and pay attention.  “Is your work out in the yard,” was one of her favorite redirection lines towards my inattentiveness. I’m really no worse for wear because of being inattentive, but reflecting on it does bring back some of the thoughts I had as an up & coming teenager, and then in high school and beyond, about how my life would be when I grew up.  Many times, even when everyone thought I was completely “zoned out,” I was thinking…..trying to imagine how my life would be in the future. All of us question what the future holds for us, but for this red-headed gay boy from Windsor, the future was not only uncertain, but happiness seemed non-existent.

In addition to my job playing the organ & directing music at Windsor Christian Church (UCC), I regularly attend Community Church in Chesapeake.   My dear friend Tom invited me to attend after he and his family began attending, and I will forever be grateful for that invitation. It has been a great fit for me, the person who wants to go to church, sit and listen and worship, and move on. I have met some great folks there, one of the former pastors has become a dear and cherished friend, and staff members came to the hospital to pray with me and my family the night I had my last heart attack.  The church’s motto is “Life Fully Alive ~ The Best Is Yet To Come.” I love that sentiment, and have tried to pattern my thought and life around those words. But the Sid of the 70’s couldn’t do that, because he had no idea that he would ever be able to live fully alive and had no clue that the best was yet to come. So I decided it was time to “sit right down and right myself a letter.”

Dear Sid of the 70’s,

This is Sid of 2018.  I look a bit different.  My hair’s not red anymore, actually what hasn’t turned white has turned loose.  I’m tall, always a bit overweight, and still love fried chicken & chicken pie, and I still can’t separate eggs if I try to make meringue.  I dislike going shopping now, but somehow I still manage to have 3 closets full of clothes and enough shoes to open my own shoe store. I’ve had some pretty serious health problems, but I’m still a tough old bird and I trudge on.   I remember well how things were “back then” and all the things that troubled you. Life is much different now for gay people, and thought maybe you’d like to know some of the things to which you have to look forward, in no particular order (I’m still ADD and things randomly pop in my head)…..

 

• People actually talk about being gay.  It’s not the taboo subject that isn’t spoken of at the dining room table but instead is whispered about in the kitchen.  

• When you come out to Dr. Powell, and, even though he’s very accepting and understanding, when he says he worries about you being in gay bars because he thinks you are prone to addiction, listen to him.  You are.

• Seize all the opportunities you have to be independent.  One day it’s going to be ‘just you’ and you need to be able to take care of yourself.

• The family loves you just like you are.  Put those thoughts of “they’ll disown me if they find out” out of your mind.  They’ll embrace you and always love you. They’ll think you’re a little eccentric, but that’s okay.  Everybody else thinks that too.

• Remember that guy that was a few years ahead of you in school that you had the biggest crush on, and loved how he looked in his gym shorts?  Surprise, he’s gay too. And one day you’ll find each other and become friends again. And by the way, he still looks good in shorts.

• It’s okay to go with another boy to the prom now – no more commiserating about having to invite a girl to go with you and being miserable, not to mention how much money it would cost for an evening wasted.

• Same-sex couple can actually be legally married now.  Really!!!! Can you believe it? It took years of work but we’re much closer to full equality than we were back then.

• You’re going to have a wonderful group of friends that you will refer to a “chosen family.”  You already know some of them, and the rest will be come along. All of them will truly be a gift from God.

• You’ll be able to come to a point of reconciliation between being gay and being Christian.  That’ll take some work, but you’ll get there. Remember, that no matter what happens in your spiritual existence, John 3:16 does not have the word “except” in it anywhere.   You’re a Jesus-follower first.

• The young gay folks now like to be called ‘queer.’   That’s a little hard to take, but it is what it is.

• Enjoying typically feminine things isn’t all that bad anymore.  There are new words and phrases now, “androgynous,” and “gender fluid,” just to name a few.  You’re actually ahead of your time. You’ll love the way the guys dress now, as long as they keep their pants pulled up.

• Be sure the lady you buy Playgirl magazines from at the bookstore in Suffolk isn’t someone that knows your family and that you may run into occasionally.  But, just so you know, that awkwardness of buying things associated with being gay will go away. Except for condoms, buying those will always be awkward.

• Don’t worry about not having a boyfriend or not “sowing wild oats” when you’re in high school, college, and the first years out of college.  You’ll be one of the few gay men your age that makes it through the 80’s & 90’s alive and healthy.

• Be a little stingier.  But enjoy life. There is a way to blend the two together.

• It’s okay to cry.  It’s okay to laugh.  It’s okay to be tender-hearted and love puppies.  It’s okay to cry at movies, even if it’s a movie you’ve seen more than 50 times.  Real friends will always admire your compassion.

• Keep sending cards.  Buy stock in Hallmark.

• Never pass up the opportunity to sit at the piano and play.  Work hard developing your playing by ear talent. Go to the theater – often.  Go to concerts – often. Pursue music more.

• It’s okay to tell family and friend that you love them.  Hug regularly. You don’t realize it now, but you need those hugs to get you through life.   And it’s perfectly acceptable for men to hug each other now.

• Dogs and puppies will always be special to you.  They love you unconditionally, but they break your heart when they go to Heaven to wait for you.  But they’re always in your heart.

• One day you’ll be able to proudly say you’re gay, and loudly say it to the world.   You’ll post it to the world on something called “facebook.” And by the way, everybody already knows, or at least wonders if, you’re gay.  Coming out is much easier if you’re never really in.

 

Life’s not going to be perfect, but it’s all going to be okay.  You’ll make it. You really will be able to live fully alive, even when everybody knows you’re gay.   The best really is yet to come.

Yours very truly,

Sid of 2018

So now I have officially written myself a letter.  I can smile a different smile when I hear that song again.  And, in the immortal words of Virginia Slims…..

“We’ve come a long way, Baby”

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

November 15, 2018

I spent today chaperoning a high school field trip. On a Saturday. But it wasn’t just an ordinary field trip, I was filling in for my sister to take some of her chorus students to audition for district chorus. It was my kind of field trip – I showed up, took roll, sat on the front seat of the bus, then repeated the process on the way back to school. The kids were great – I never even had to turn around from my perch on the front seat to redirect (aka yell at) anyone. Other than a few slow parents on the pickup, it was a perfect day.

While riding on the school bus, I recalled my high school days in the 70’s and early 80’s, and about finding my niche in school. My school experience wasn’t exactly what fairy tales (pun intended) are written about, but instead were more like a story of someone’s first roller coaster ride. I went to a great school, small in number of students, everybody knew everybody, and pretty much all of their business. I struggled fitting in – I wasn’t athletic, and in those days, boys were expected to play sports. So much for that expectation. And then there’s that gay thing about which I thought nobody else knew. So I struggled with finding my place in the society that was Isle of Wight Academy.

I was a fair student – an Honor Graduate in the Class of 1982, but just barely. I struggled reading, still do. The only way I could study was to write out my notes like a test and have my mama call the questions to me. Something about the combination of hands-on/tactile and auditory learning styles seemed to click for me. I still struggle when I have to take a test that requires memorization. But that’s a story for another time. My school didn’t have a fine arts program when I was there, but there was the chorus as an extracurricular activity, and I became the pianist for that fairly early, as well as playing the piano for school events. That was somewhat of my niche, but I still didn’t quite fit in. That is until I learned to type.

I took typing when I was in the 9th grade. Typing – not keyboarding – and on a manual typewriter. Our class had a few electric typewriters, and if you were lucky enough for your name to be drawn, you might get to use that for a few days. Because of the dexterity in my fingers from playing the piano, I picked up on typing very quickly. Before long I was the fastest typist in the class, except that I never could quite do it on timed writings with a perfect copy. At the end of the year, my typing teacher, Mrs. Owen, who was also the yearbook sponsor, asked me if I’d like to join the yearbook staff as the “typing helper.” Now the yearbook had a very defined hierarchy – it was divided up into a number of sections, and each section had an editor (usually a Senior), an assistant editor (a Junior), and a helper (a Sophomore), thus the title of typing helper. And there was THE editor, and THE assistant editor that supervised the whole book. So the next year, 1979-1980, I typed a good portion of the yearbook, and enjoyed it. The layouts and the process of printing was intriguing to me, and I caught on to it quickly.

Late in my Sophomore year, nearing the end of my tenure as “typing helper,” Mrs. Owen called me aside to ask me a question. She knew I enjoyed my work on the yearbook staff, and she thought that I would make a good Assistant Editor, and then Editor, of the yearbook. The whole yearbook!!! She knew that I wasn’t an athlete, and my participation in other activities was limited, so she thought it would be a good fit for me, and that I would have the time necessary to devote to the staff.. Now you have to understand one important fact – a very important fact. The editor of the yearbook had always been…..a girl. I would be the first male editor of the yearbook. I didn’t know what to say. Deep down, the fact that it had always been a girl editor didn’t bother me a bit, I liked lots of “girl things,” (you know, that gay piece again) why not this as well. But I did have to protest just a bit, they might think I might not be a fully red blooded heterosexual boy. I asked my parents, and with their approval, I became the first male Assistant Editor and Editor of the “Isle of Wight Academy Charger.” I broke my first glass ceiling.

Pretty much the remainder of my high school career was dedicated, in addition to struggling to pass, being the yearbook editor. I don’t remember anybody making a big issue of me being a boy and being the yearbook editor; if they did, it must have been minimal as it doesn’t stick out in my mind. But what it did was it gave me my niche in high school. Suddenly I felt important, like something I did mattered to others. I felt respected, as I was now the leader of a staff of 20 or so high school students trying to put together a book to outshine the previous year’s edition. For the first time, I didn’t feel like the gay kid outsider. And we put together one hell of a fabulous yearbook. With the help of my yearbook staff, I gave the students at Isle of Wight Academy during those years something they can’t replace, a collection of memories.

So back to today’s field trip adventure.  In addition to reminding me of my yearbook story, it reminded me of how important it is for kids to find their niche in school. We’re not all athletes, we’re not all brainiacs. But we all want to feel accepted and important doing something that we like. For me, it was being the first boy editor of the yearbook. And I am thankful for the place that music and theater create for students that are trying to find their way. No matter the demographic a student falls into, there is a place for them in the arts. There is a niche for them, and it is our responsibility to help them find it.

 

Just like Mrs. Owen helped me find mine.

 

 
Sidney A. Neighbours
November 10, 2018