All things must pass

All things must pass
None of life's strings can last
So I must be on my way
And face another day.

                           George Harrison

All things must pass.  I wrote some years ago on the inevitable decline of traditions.  It's true.  In the long haul, the ball of history is always in the court of liberalism, or progressives, or anyone dedicated to fixing - and changing - things.  Those who seek to conserve are fighting a long, losing battle.  The most they can do is hope that a skeletal framework of the most important things last as the skin and muscles and sinew of each age and era gets built up and ultimately torn down.

That's some lofty, big stage reflections on what is ultimately a reality of life that we see all too often today, in the year 2020.   I've written on my love for autumn, for the fall season, for the holidays and the festivities that accompany these things.  Even as the years have faded, the boys have grown, and the family has changed, there was always something we could take from the yearly seasons to keep us rooted. 

This year is no exception to that, though just what we take and hold onto has definitely changed this year compared to previous.  Likewise, it's clear that some of those traditions are on life support owing, not only to 2020, but simply to those seasons in the sun that will inevitably be done. 

Take one tradition we see that is quickly fading.  It was years and years ago, when my oldest was in late elementary school.  When we moved up to Ohio in 2000, I began taking my sons back to see my old high school football games.  Each year we would pick one Friday night, drive about an hour north, stop at an old restaurant in the small town of Cardington that was along the way, and then watch the game.  Mostly it was seeing old faces for me, and them just taking in the sights, smells and sounds of Midwestern football.  

Eventually we added going up with my wife and watching the homecoming parade, visiting a nearby state park, and having hot dogs at the old 'hangout' that has changed hands a million times since I was a kid.  That, plus going to the annual football game, was a routine for several of our early years in Ohio.  

Then it began to end.  My wife taught at a private Evangelical school, and my two oldest attended there.  When we became Catholic, she was dismissed and my boys were thrown back into public school.  It was quite a shock all the way around.  Beyond both my wife and I losing our incomes, and me no longer being my boys' pastor, they were thrown into the public school system.  

Where once Al's diner was found   

In order to minimize the shock, we decided to play it straight and act like it's all normal, and it's all about being part of the school culture.  With that, we decided it would be better to take them to their own school's football games and start getting them into that cultural system.  And so we did.  Round about 2006, we stopped going to my old high school's games.  By that time, the restaurant in Cardington, one that had been there since I was a kid and held memories all its own, had closed anyway.  Plus the old school had grown, was built onto, and had expanded the old stadium that was nestled between woods and corn fields.  It had changed already.

So that's one tradition that came and quickly went.  Anyway, the first year we went to  the boys' own local football game I decided to take the three boys to Pizza Hut.  My oldest by then was in band and was asked to be there that night to support the High School band at the game.  We waited at Pizza Hut for our food and were stuck waiting, and waiting, and waiting.  The service was, shall we say, wanting.  It took over an hour just to get our food.  We were in a panic, scarfed down our meal, and had to book it to the football game where there was almost no parking and my boy missed the chance to do whatever it was with the high school band. 

Next year, we did the same thing.  On the night he was asked to be there for the kid band activity, we went to Pizza Hut again.  This time, being clever people, we went way early.  Just to make sure.  After all, the Hut is never known for speedy service anyway, and this would give us plenty of time on a Friday afternoon to get our food, eat and have extra to spare. 

Well, that afternoon things were working well at the restaurant, because we ordered, got our food, and were done in barely over half an hour.  We had almost two hours before the gates at the stadium even opened.  So what to do?  We could have gone home, but it was October, the leaves were changing, the crisp autumn air was all around.  Because their Mom stayed home (letting this be a 'boys' time'), we felt remaining out and not troubling her was the thing to do. 

My boys call these 'Dad's Treets'

We decided to go down the street to the big community cemetery that adjoins the local Catholic cemetery.  I had gone there in my ministry days.  Often, before the dreaded monthly Baptist business meetings, I would go there and sit next to a particularly beautiful patch of trees and just chill, knowing that nobody would think to look for me there.  Baptist business meetings are notorious, and I once knew a pastor who served in Vietnam who said it took Vietnam to find something worse than moderating those Baptist business meetings.

Anyway, since I was familiar with the cemetery, I thought I would drive the boys through and take a look.  My Mom and my recently passed Aunt Dorth used to enjoy walking through cemeteries when I was a lad, so I guess I get some of it from them. 

I drove my boys around, and we went to the part of the cemetery that dates back to the late 1700s and early 1800s.  Then we went to an old mausoleum that supposedly houses the remains of a local Revolutionary War veteran.  We then noticed something I hadn't noticed before, and that's a mausoleum that sits way back in a hillside - no names, no plaques, no anything.  Rather than the usual metal door, it's entirely bricked up, with only a small hole in the bricks to see the darkness beyond.  

That caught  my boys' imaginations and we stopped, walked over the small creek and came to the area for them to investigate.  They were all into it until a stick fell near them.  Looking up, there were no trees or branches directly overhead.  Where the stick came from, we couldn't tell.  But without a second thought, they put their backs into it and made great time running back to the car.  Later reflections concluded that the branch likely broke off from the top of a nearby tree - or was dislodged by pesky squirrels - and ricocheted down, spiraling away from the tree as falling branches sometimes do.  At the time, however, when you're already cautious near an anonymous mausoleum on an October evening, the initial reaction can be less thoughtful. 

In any event, that began what we came to call our annual 'Halloween Season Ghost Runs'.  Each year after would find us returning to that cemetery, and then adding others.  Since my Mom and Dad still lived north of my old hometown, we began stopping at the old cemetery near where I grew up.  We had already visited while attending the homecoming parades.  Now we went by to investigate some of those old mausoleums that look straight out of a Roger Corman movie. 

We did other cemeteries as well, near my parents' home, in old towns from my childhood, or just in cemeteries we would see driving hither and yon.  We would take pictures, read tombstones, and see what sights we would see.  Sometimes an oddity would raise its head.  Sometimes we would read something interesting from a gravestone two hundred years old.  The odd occurrence, such as a tool barn that had been moved about six feet, or a light reflecting in a photo where there was no light or flash, made for fun stories.  It was quite a time for memories and even a little learning.  

One of the funniest moments came after our youngest was born.  By then the older boys were growing out of the whole 'ghost run' thing, but like visiting Santa and Tricks or Treating, they continued on for their youngest brother's sake.  We had stopped at the old Gilead Rivercliff cemetery and were looking about the old mausoleums with their iron fences and rough stone facades.  This time, we noticed one of the iron doors was opened, the gate unlocked, and we thought about looking - and maybe going - in.  We wondered if it was sacrilegious or not, but my third oldest decided nothing is worth more than exploring. 

Just as he went to open the gate and enter, a sudden whirlwind erupted where we were.  It was late October and many of the leaves had fallen.  A large dust devil hit, swirled the leaves in a funnel shape, and almost blinded us.  We literally had to step out of  the swirling leaves in order to get our bearings.  

Once we were out, the wind died down and the leaves settled back on the ground.  We looked about and noticed it was a fair day, a clear day, a still day with no other winds or no other trees rustling.  The boys were shocked and began to yammer about the fact that this happened on such a clear and fine day, and except for the sudden whirlwind just as one was ready to go into the crypt, the rest of the day continued on the same calm way.

I'll admit, it's a strange one, in a fun way.  I'm sure if we lived two hundred years ago we'd have no problem explaining why it happened.  In our modern STEM era, we have to leave it with coincidence, meaning we can't accept a more obvious supernatural explanation, so we'll leave it with 'no clue, but we're sure it doesn't mean anything.'  

But that was years ago.  Now our youngest is one year away from middle school.  Even now, owing to 2020, he doesn't plan on doing many of the things he's done.  Perhaps he's just ready to move on.  The older boys will be happy with at least some of this.  I think they're more than glad to put being on Santa's lap in the rearview mirror.

Will he tricks or treat?  Dunno.  He might, just for old times' sake.  The last year I went out for Tricks or Treats was my sixth grade year.  Our town had banned the yearly ritual for reasons I still don't know.  After three years, however, they brought it all back, much to us kids' joy.  Even though Halloween was on a Tuesday or Wednesday I believe, we still made time to go out one more time that night.  I dressed as a hobo - in other words, minimal effort. 

A montage of their 2019 efforts

Maybe that will be our youngest this year.  If he dresses up at all.  Will his brothers?  Last year they did.  They went all out, at least to a degree.  With 2020 being what it is, they may do less if anything.  Knowing them, they'll at least do something.  We'll still have candy - though not as much as usual.  We'll try to get pumpkin donuts (which have been strangely absent so far this season) with apple cider, cookies, pumpkin seeds and silent movies during the Tricks or Treats hours (which are always on Halloween in our city).  We'll then look at what candy there is, if any was obtained, quaff a few more ciders, watch Great Pumpkin and perhaps Halloween Haunts, and wrap up for another year. 

Next year?  By then, who knows.  The boys are stuck here a little longer owing to Covid when this was going to be their year to move on as they transferred to The Ohio State University, main campus.  Will they remain, move on, something in between?  It's hard to say.  I just know that when you're a conservative, you fight a long defeat since change is not just inevitable, but it seems to be built into the DNA of all Creation.  Like it or no, things change.  Sometimes quickly, sometimes over endless age, but change they do. 

As a Conservative, all you can do is to cling to that small, bare skeletal framework of the most essential realities and imperatives, and hunker down as all the frills and decorations around that framework invariably come to dust.  So that's all she wrote for that tradition, correct? 

No.  Not yet.  Not just yet.  Maybe it's not that simple.  Just when I imagined that the boys had punched the timecard, done their duty, put in their five cemetery minutes and were ready to move on, they decided it was time to return to the scene of the crime.  Since last week they all had a day off school, and work, for old times' and our youngest's sake, they suggested my wife watch over my Mom and 'the boys' go to a few of the old local stomping grounds.  We went to our local state park and revisited an old, dilapidated fenced in pool removed from the main visitor's areas, complete with massive buzzards nests all around.  Then we went to the old cemetery and saw that mausoleum again, checked out the oldest parts of the cemetery, and did a bit of the old ghost run - despite it being a wet, damp, grey autumn day (or possibly because).

Sure, they're home now due to Covid.  Perhaps next year things will be back to normal and they'll spring forward.  But while home, they decided to recapture a bit of the old memories with their youngest, and their old man, and go out for some good old adventuring.  All is right with the world. 

Exploring again, as my youngest said, "Just like D&D"