THE IMMERSION OF DEION

I've been baptised twice. My wife, too. Our kids only once. Probably like Deion Sanders.

In Pisa, Italy, we had a too cool guide. He spoke several languages and would converse to other visitors to the Leaning Tower, Cathedral, and Baptistery in their languages. To be hospitable? To show his linguistic masteries? Who knows?

He periodically would bash neighboring Florence. A long time rival, I suppose. But when he made fun of their baptising by full immersion, he rankled me. Actually, he had bugged me earlier by his cosmopolitan act. He said in Florence, Italy, the one who professed faith in Jesus was dunked under the water three times. We only do it once in the US. But he added, "In Pisa, we think that's unnecessary. It's enough to sprinkle."

Maybe it is, maybe not. Some say baptism is not necessary at all to reach Heaven. But I don't need a fluent tour guide to criticize my religion. I almost asked, but restrained, "And how was Jesus baptized by his cousin John the Baptist? Was He only sprinkled?"

But then I would have been no better than he, criticizing another's religion. Don't get me wrong. I have strong religious beliefs and I certainly don't think all will go to Heaven whomever they worship. The way I read the Bible, there is only one way according to John 14:6 and that is through following God's own Son, Jesus Christ.

I'm not saying that no others will be in the kingdom, but the one sure fire way is through Jesus. And do I think those from Pisa will be there? I sure do as well as those from Florence.

TIME PASSAGES

I never purchased a copy. I saw the cover of this month's Playboy, and sure enough, the cover girl is a former student of mine. Or as our son said, "She's been in our basement."

Crista was a Speechie in high school. A member of the Speech and Acting Team. Come to think of it, and this is the first time I have ever thought of it, I guess I was, too. Only then we didn't call it that. We didn't call it anything back then.

How I got into it was in a Speech class I took as an elective so I didn't have to take any more math or science. I wound up on the stage crew and built my own window for the school's production of Anne Frank. I helped out moving backstage stuff and sat concert-goer-like for a Variety Show musical number about "Bondowah: Living in the Bondowah Jail."

I was in two other productions: The Mouse That Roared, our school contest play and It's Coming, a vehicle (they like to say that in the theatre) co-produced by a couple of students, one who later made a career out of acting.

But you wanted to hear about Crista. As a Speechie, she was funny, kind of a Jenny McCarthy without the looks back then. She was smart, pleasant, but I felt as if she was reaching to find who she was. As an actress in Madmen and other (I'm temped to use vehicles again) stuff, I guess she has.

Since we don't get any of the movie channels, I haven't seen her in Madmen. I guess I've gone from Speechie to Jock Watch because we get almost all the sports channels. And I haven't seen the 8-page pictorial of Crista. So those of you with prurient interests, you will have to purchase the mag to find out. She looked pretty on the cover though.

Congrats, Crista. Remember all the success you have, came from your humble beginnings in my classroom and in our basement on Olive Street.

POOLSIDE

"I can feel your eyes."

A nod.

"You started studying me. When I loosened by strap to put on lotion. Your eyes surveyed. You looked me up and down, didn't you?"

A smile and a nod.

"You committed me to memory. From my thighs to my painted toenails. You didn't know I knew. I could feel you. Your eyes were hotter than the sun, partially obscured by the white clouds. Wispy but enough to deflect glare."

Now, only a puzzled look.

"But not enough to deflect your glare. Or gaze? Which is it?"

A shrug.

"C'mon. Tell me what you see in me. What do you want? Me? What's behind those Foster Grants?"

"No speaka Engles," is all he answered.

EXCUSE ME SIR, I'M SURE YOU MUST KNOW YOU ARE FULL OF IT

So, let me see if I have this right. Former Illinois Governor Rod Blago is guilty of lying to the FBI. That's all? That's all?

What in the heck is going on in this country? I heard the tapes. At least enough of them to know he was guilty of a whole lot of other stuff, namely bribery, than lying to the FBI. And if he was lying to the FBI then what was that about? His honesty? His guilt free-ness? If he was innocent, then why lie?

I've known a lot of liars and they never went on trial. Well, at least most of them avoided the questions under oath ("I did not have sex with that woman.")

If that's all the Blagoman was guilty of, then I say wave that as well. Or throw in jail a whole lot of other citizens.

I don't know. It's getting scary out there. Very scary.

LEGACY

I like the old George Carlin story where he tells what he does with the little sewing kits that they sometimes include in hotel rooms. He says he sews the towels together. One time, he adds, he sewed a button on a lampshade. Why? He likes to leave his mark.

Animals, too, like, in fact it's almost required of them to mark their territory. They smell, they hike a leg, and Zorro-like they have established neighborhood.

Our marks, our legacies are established by plaques, statues, street names, scholarships and awards. Perhaps our most lasting are our offspring. And their offspring. The avalanche continues, but often fades with the passing of time.

Just recently, a former pastor of ours called (we weren't home) and said he was traveling through MTV and decided to drive through and look around at our hometown. He wound up at Ryan's Steakhouse and asked if any of the workers knew us. Zero. Nine years is a long time to be gone from a community.

So we left no identifying marks when we moved. Well, one son and 4 grandchildren. They'll have to do. But, you know what? That's the way I like it. In fact, that's the way I love it.

THAT GUY BETTER BE AN OFFICIAL

Or one more reason why I never wanted to wrestle.

Well, of course, I wrestled. But not organized.

One guy would say something, would cheat at a game, would dare steal or steal a glance at your girl, and it was on. Sometimes in front of a crowd, but that was optional.

No organized wrestling at our school. In fact it was 10-12 years after I had graduated before MTV High offered the sport. I only saw one wrestling match but I didn't even get to see the friend of our son's wrestle because the guy in his weight class (weight class? in my 'hood it didn't matter; you just fought whoever ticked you off. You didn't ask him is weight or have him spit in a cup until you were the same size.) You just wrestled.

And you certainly didn't have some other guy, some older guy get close enough to have his head where it didn't belong. Oh, yes, those were the days.



Even co-ed wrestling is allowed now in schools. The Wimpy Kid Diary proves that's a bad idea. I just never wanted to date a girl who could whip me. So why take the chance?

Some people talk about how bad it is for the Daddy Coach of grade school baseball. How about the refs at wrestling matches. Take that sport out of the schools and return it to the neighborhoods I say.

Oh, I know I'm quitting now: I'm sound too curmudgeonly.