When the Little Rascals were building a go cart for themselves, Buckwheat
offered a steering wheel. When asked if it was OK with his Dad, he replied “it
OK, he not home.” An answer that many of us used when we were growing up and
doing things we knew may be wrong, but did anyway. And the Little Rascals were
a great influence on us, as these Depression era kids showed ingenuity, respect,
courtesy, and thinking outside of the box in their creativity. In their
playing. And so we did too, but sometimes trouble followed, even if our
intentions were good to start out with. Like when we painted Chucky Adams’
father’s car, we were only 5, we didn’t know it was wrong. Another time we
helped clean up the neighborhood by becoming garbage men, emptying trash cans
into our wagons and then dumping it on Bruce’s patio. It wasn’t OK, and he
wasn’t home. Another time we sold the wreck of Barry’s father’s car for $5, it
had been in accident and towed to his yard, we were just helping. But some also
were just mischievious, as when we sat on one kid’s roof and sprayed cars with a
hose while they passed by. I guess some people just don’t have a sense of
humor. Mix in between all the times we gathered up pop bottles, trying to get
money for the latest club we formed, and lost interest leaving someone’s garage
full of dirty bottles. Fifty cents went a long way when we were kids. But in
all cases we were just kids, trying to have fun, and living out our lives via
the Little Rascals. And in every case, we echoed Buckwheat about our fathers,
“It OK, he not home.”
And as we got older we turned our enterprising efforts to building forts,
and washing cars, shoveling snow, and cutting yards to get money. So all of our
endeavors were not in vain, and without honor. Or was that dishonor? Our minds
were always busy thinking of things to do in this pre-video game world, maybe
the world could use a strong dose of the Little Rascals today to teach us
creativity, respect, and the importance of friends. Where is Buckwheat when we
need him?
But one well intentioned episode brought in the police. Back 50 years ago
we respected the police and kids bigger than us. Jail or getting punched was a
great crime deterrent. In every neighborhood there is one neighbor who is
different, in ours it was Frank. He lived next to Bruce and Barry, was always
on our case, had no sense of humor and was bald. Which back when hair was a
normal male occurrence made him stand out. “Frank is bald” was our joke for
everything, even calling him “ye old Mexican hairless.” But never to his face.
Everyone knew who he was and we laughed a lot at him, he was always on our
case. Skateboarding had just hit Scotch Plains, only 3000 miles from
California, and we all made our own boards, buying a pair of roller skates, and
then finding some old wood at a job site and building two, one for me and one
for you. Being creative and funny at age 10, we would right funny things on
them, and “Frank is bald,” was on each kid’s board. And all was well until one
afternoon riding down the sidewalk on Hetfield Avenue, and not looking as we
crossed the street. A police car turned at the same time, and I collided.
Ending up on the hood. No one was hurt, but the skateboards were confiscated,
our names taken down, a fate worse than death where we lived, and told our
fathers would have to the police station with us to get them back. And no
denying what had happened at the dinner table that night, so we all fessed up,
and Sunday morning after Sunday school my father took me by the police station.
A fate worse than death to us kids, as we knew we were in trouble, now our
fathers would also get a lecture from the police. And the last thing we ever
wanted to do was let our fathers down. Timid and scared, the spankings both
verbal and physical had already been applied, we went in and addressed the
sergeant. And my heart sank low as I recognized the sergeant, it was Frank’s
father. And “Frank is bald” was written in huge letters on my board. All the
lessons about punishment for sin in Sunday school that morning came to my mind,
I figured I was going to jail, maybe my father too. And my father recognized
the name too...and we both looked at the floor. But when the sergeant gave me
the board back, and a small lecture, my Dad just nodded yes, I mumbled “yes
sir,” and we left as quick as possible, not looking back. And holding in
laughter, as both of us got the giggles about “Frank is bald” written on the
skateboard. We laughed all the way home, we had caught the policeman in a
situation where he knew about the writing but couldn’t admit it or do anything
about it. My skateboarding skills may have been questionable, but the writing
on the board was true. And my skateboarding days were over, back to my bike,
the only Sting Ray I would ever own. An experience that would lay groundwork
for my being a father years later. I never skateboarded again, but Frank would
always be bald.
We loved our fathers when we were growing up. They were more than parents,
they coached, played ball with us, fixed our bikes, took us for ice cream, and
were always there when we needed them. If not always present we always knew of
their presence in our lives. But unlike Buckwheat’s answer, many times we
didn’t do things, even if he wasn’t home. We didn’t want to endure another
spanking, another afternoon spent in our room, or another day without our
bikes. We respected our fathers, and many times we behaved because we didn’t
want to bring them dishonor. No kid growing up wanted to embarrass his Dad,
especially in front of the police. Or worse yet, another dad. Or being hit by
them in front of other kids. So we behaved, we had rules we obeyed, we had
honor. We still had fun, and yes, many things I cannot write, but sometimes
somehow they knew, and the price of finding out was enough punishment. Silence
a fate worse than death. Or not being able to watch Chiller Theater. We had
consciences that guided us, and if our parents didn’t catch us, they would.
I find it hard many times to think of Jesus as a kid. We get a lot of
insight into his birth, and of his ministry, but only one story is related about
his growing up years. The story of when his parents couldn’t find him, as he
had wondered away. And when they did find him in the church, his reply was
surprising to me. His words and attitude were expressed, “where else did you
think I would be?” For where else would the son of God want to be than with his
father? In church. But also nothing is said about his brothers and him,
although we know James later in life came to recognize him as Lord. But the
teen years of Jesus growing up are never mentioned, so we can only imagine. His
mother had him as a teen, Joseph was a woodworker, so he may have followed in
his footsteps for hobbies, woodworking. It is mentioned he was a carpenter, a
finishing carpenter, and tradition has him making yokes. A specialized skill,
so he knew something about why we should take his yoke. So rather than thinking
Jesus was some super teen who never sinned, he was probably more like you and
me, except for the sin part. He played with kids, listened to stories, probably
had a pet or two, played games with kids in the neighborhood, and had all the
teen pressures of the day. Yet he was sinless, always doing what his father
asked him to do. “Thy will be done,” he told his disciples, and he set the
example. He never could or would have answered like Buckwheat, for his father
in heaven was always home, and constantly in communication with him. And still
is today. A sobering thought we must remember.
Many times we were punished by our earthly fathers who loved us, only God
forgives. And only in Jesus. It must have been tough for the kids in his
neighborhood after they grew up to find out who he was, and ask him for
forgiveness. “Jesus is the savior, I used to play kickball with him, he wasn’t
very good.” And it can be just as hard today. But Jesus makes it easy, come as
you are. No condemnation in Christ, just repent. And we can only repent when
we know what we did is wrong. Like writing “Frank is bald” on our skateboards.
Somehow our sin found us out, and it wasn’t an isolated sin, it effected our
fathers too. But we learned from it, sometimes only until the next time, and
unlike God who forgives all, our names were still in the policeman’s book. We
were on record here on earth, only Jesus can change that, writing our names in
the Book of Life. Meaning forgiveness, and being reunited with our father in
heaven. And finally someday being at home with him. And the offer is available
to all....
Some suffer in jail for their earthly crimes, but will be free someday in
heaven. Some carry about their sin as a burden, when they can give it to
Jesus. Take his yoke, his spiritual yoke today, and be relieved from the burden
of sin. Be free in Christ, no matter where you are. Eternity is a long time, a
life sentence with God, and when we die we go to him if we are saved. I like
what Pastor Chuck used to say, “I will never die, just change addresses.” And
so we will when we go to heaven. Or to hell, for some will resist the offer.
And turn from a loving heavenly father who wants them to be in heaven with him.
But it is our choice......
Sin is not OK with God, but forgiveness is. Experience it today, maybe for
the first time. Know Jesus personally by name, and know what lies ahead after
death. In him we never die, without him we are dead already. And it is OK to
be a kid in Christ, we are all to come to him as a little child. Who needs his
father, and a big brother to protect them. Jesus saves skateboarders, bikers,
hookers, sinners, and even policemen too. All have sinned and fallen short of
God’s glory, be saved today. All trips to the police don’t end like my
skateboard incident did, and all things done in fun aren’t funny. I look
forward to the day when if asked “is it OK with your Dad?” I can say it is well
with my soul. On earth as it is in heaven. Jesus was a kid once too so he
knows. Now if only a neighbor would get a new refrigerator so we can play
spaceship in the box.....
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com