I really didn’t care for te term “Old School,” until I considered what “New
School” is, and suddenly I am glad I am “Old School.” But what about those who
are older than “Old School?” Who are just “School?” That would be a guy Vnny I
used to know. Vinny was from Brooklyn, grew up in the same neighbor hood as Gil
Hodges, when he was still the first baseman for the then Brooklyn Dodgers. He
would tell stories of seeing Gil walking up the street after getting off the
subway after a home game at Ebbets Field, or an away game with the NY Giants at
the Polo Grounds. He can remember Gil talking with his neighbors, and going off
to work in the off season, where ball players sold cars, insurance, or worked in
clothing stores, a far cry from the so called “professional” athlete of today.
But Vinny , some 45 years later, and not the same teen anymore, still lives in
1955 Brooklyn. The year the Dodgers beat the hated Yankess in the World Series,
and next year became this year for all the loyal Dodger fans. Who only a few
years later would lose their beloved team to Chavez Ravine, aka Los Angeles, and
the Giants would no longer be the cross town rivals, but the cross state rival
in San Francisco. Life as Vinny remembers it, or as he conducts it today is all
based on the National League of 1955, interpreted from Brooklynese into
American, his second language. A world best described by one John Kruk, a first
baseman of the Padres in the 90’s. He was approached one time at the airport by
a woman who thought she recognized him, “Aren’t you an athlete?” she asked. “No
man, I’m a ballplayer.” And suddenly Vinny’s outlook on life isn’t so warped,
but provides a brief respite from the world of today, where ballplayers are
entertainment figures, and would never sell insurance, but hype it on TV for you
to buy. Welcome to Vinny’s world.
Now Vinny was a simple man, and in conversations he would tell how his
mother raised him. Fathers went to work back then, mothers stayed home and
raised the family, ran the apartment, and had dinner for dad each night. So
Vinny’s mom had a great influence on him. And any conversation would end up in
1955, end in 1957, the last year for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and hear of his
parent’s lament. Now Vinny was no big deal as a career man, he worked for the
airlines, made a great wage, more than he was worth due to the union, and was
able to squeeze, three, sometimes four hours of work into an eight hour shift.
But his most endearing, or annoying habit was he called everyone Roy. Young,
old, male, female, boss, or co-worker, they were all Roy. Which at first gave
the impression he was either stupid or not paying attention. But as he would
call across the shop “ROY!” the right person, or right Roy would always turn.
Quite a communication system, one the FBI would have had fits with. Roy who?
Who are all these Roys? Is this a code? In a way yes, but really it was just
Vinny and why Roy no one asked. I could see Gil, he adored Gil Hodges, maybe a
sacrilege to his favorite ex-Dodger, but the only Roywas Roy Campanella, who
everyone called Campy. So the mystery continues in Vinnyland. You might say
schools out on that one, just “School” to Vinny.
God refers to us in many ways. We are always the same person, but in
different situations we can go from sinner to saint. Lost to saved, from child
to adult, and from foe to friend. All in one decisive move, called salvation.
And names mean something to God. I laugh when someone starts praying and
identifies themselves to God. After addressing Him as “almighty Father,
Heavenly Host, blessed redeemer,” and other adjectives, or names for God, they
go on to introduce themselves and the situation. Just in case the lines got
crossed, and in Vinnyese another Roy is praying. Then they go on and ask for
things, help, and then cut Him off from the answer. And although it can sound
intimate, many times it is just based on how we were taught, and reflects more
of our relationship than we care to admit. So Jesus tells us to call Him Abba,
or Daddy-make it that personal. We all have fathers, but not all are dads. And
our Heavenly Father wants that and more. So get personal with Him, not just in
prayer, but during the day in psalms, songs, and thought involve Him. Don’t
wait until you drift off into “now I lay me down to sleep...”and you do. Talk
with God, but listen also. Why ask if you don’t want to hear the answer? And
His title is God, Heavenly Father, Almighty, but His name is Jesus. And we can
be on a first name basis with the God of the Universe! Even if your name is
Roy, and He knows each Roy by name! And maybe His answers will make more sense
since now you allow them to be personal. One to one. Intimate, just like
talking with an old friend who knows you, and all about you, and loves you
anyway. Call Him Dad, thank Jesus, and let the Spirit guide your words, and
when you can’t find them, He will intercede where words fail. That’s prayer,
that’s Jesus. Stop and try it now.
Or end like I did one day with Vinny. I messed up some things he had
sorted out on his work bench, and I heard he was mad. He was mad at Roy. So
going back to apologize, and not finding him there, I decided to leave a note,
saying it was me who had messed up is bench, and I was sorry. I was just
starting my car, when the thought hit me I had signed the note Mike. He would
never know who Mike was, so I went back, wrote another, and signed it Roy.
He’ll know which one, and never have to wonder who Mike is. Just School, and
just Jesus. The way things ought to be. No further intros needed, visit like
old friends today. Before time slips away and you wonder what happened. No one
ever thought the Dodgers would leave Brooklyn, today Ebbets Field is a housing
project, the projects as they are referred to. Be yourself in Jesus, it is hard
enough being yourself anyway, why not let God make your day better? And if He
asks “who sent you?” Tell Him Roy, He’ll know who. Just school. Now you do
too.
love with compassion to Roys everywhere,
Mike aka Roy
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