A few years ago, my teenage son beat me at chess. Because I’m a horrible chess player, I took the defeat with aplomb. Later the same day, though, he beat me at Scrabble. Now, that just plain hurt. I rarely lose at word games — especially to a kid, no matter how many state championships he’s won on the speech team.
It reminded me of the time I was teaching his older sister a strategy game when she was a young teen. I had purchased the game — Pylos — because it had the Mensa stamp of approval as a thought-provoking challenge. The first time my daughter and I played, each time I used one of my spheres to eclipse hers, I kept encouraging her, “You’ve gotta think three moves ahead.” Suddenly, she came from behind and trounced me. In disbelief, I stared at the pyramid of spheres, crowned by hers. I blubbered, “How did you do that?” She grinned slyly and said, “I was thinking four moves ahead.”
Brad Bull
It was humbling. And exhilarating.
I had lost the games but realized I was achieving my mission as a dad. A key job of parenting is to assist children in building higher on the previous generations’ foundations. Folks used to ask my father why I was taller than he. Dad replied, “He was fed better.”
There is truth to that. My dad grew up quite poor. He was born the youngest son of a widowed mother of nine, coming out of the privations of the Great Depression and entering the privations of World War II.
My father and mother worked hard to provide a better life and education than they had. When I was a college freshman, we and some neighbors were playing the trivia game Stage Two. On each card there were six questions, and the six seemingly disparate answers had something in common. During one card I called out, “Guess at theme! … Former directors of the CIA.”
“I saw in the men’s eyes the sense they were being eclipsed: humbled but affirmed in their rearing of the next generation.”
My dad said, “No way!” My mom looked at the answer, smiled and said, “He’s right.” As I happily grabbed my winning chips, my dad said, “Good gracious!” His best friend looked at me and mumbled in disbelief, “How’d you know that?” I smiled and said, “Debate team.” As they shook their heads and my mom smirked, I saw in the men’s eyes the sense they were being eclipsed: humbled but affirmed in their rearing of the next generation.
We hopefully build not only upon previous generations’ knowledge and economic development but also upon their spiritual and social development. Since they are not perfect, we must also transcend their prejudices.
I remember in first grade in Augusta, Ga., getting a firm lecture from my father for using a word I learned on the bus without knowing it was racial epithet. He commanded, “That is a word of hate, and we do not use that word.” Later, I saw my mother’s disapproving face when one of her older family members used the word to describe the stars of the 1970s TV show Samford and Son. I watched my parents eclipsing their forebears.
For all the progressiveness of a family with “Carter-Mondale ’76” bumper stickers, you don’t grow up in the South — or anywhere — without some prejudices. Well, I suppose those union-shop Yankees up north think they don’t have prejudices — even against obese and divorced people. The rest of us do, and sometimes they are shaped and maintained by our understanding of Scripture.
In 2014, I started teaching at a state university after a stint at two Baptist universities and one secular-in-name-only university. One of my new students, Kandace, was a Black female athlete whose mother and I had been classmates at our Baptist alma mater. One day in class, Kandace said, “I don’t know about this whole nature-nurture thing. There’s a lot of alcoholics in my family, but my mother and I aren’t. It seems like if there were a genetic aspect, my mom and I would be alcoholics, too.” She thought for a moment and then, with a look of curiosity, matter-of-factly said, “But then again, we’re both lesbians. So, there’s that.”
“Just 10 years ago was the first time I heard a person publicly say they were gay or lesbian.”
Just 10 years ago was the first time I heard a person publicly say they were gay or lesbian.
A few days later, with her permission arranged in advance, this happened in class:
I said, “Kandace, when I was a Ph.D. student, I was a teaching assistant in a class where we watched the movie What’s Cooking. As we were leaving class, I snickered to the professor, ‘Julianna Margulies playing the part of a lesbian. What a waste of estrogen.’ My lead professor stopped in her tracks and said, ‘I hope you’re not serious.’ Seeing her anger, I made a face that said, ‘Of course not,’ then lied and said, ‘I was just kidding.’”
I paused, letting my countenance transform to remorse. Then, looking at Kandace but speaking to the whole class, I said, “But I wasn’t kidding.”
With contrition I addressed the descendant of people enslaved by people who claimed biblical authority for their prejudice. “Kandace, you are one of the finest students I have ever had the privilege of teaching. There is nothing about you that is a waste. I am embarrassed that was ever my attitude. I’m sorry, and I ask for your forgiveness.”
In one of the most grace-filled moments of my life, Kandace nodded gently and said, “I forgive you.”
A few weeks ago, Kandace and I were talking by phone about my serving as a job reference. She also reminded me of my promise to perform her wedding if things continue well with her girlfriend. I assured her I would be there with bells on.
I’m writing this while waiting to get on a plane to head to Texas to watch the eclipse. After the experience of the 2017 eclipse, I resolved to see the next U.S. eclipse. The weather forecast isn’t promising for where I’m headed.
However, whether I get an unobstructed view of the eclipse or not, I’m getting to see a dear friend. We went to middle, high school and college together. She was the president of our high school Fellowship of Christian Athletes. She now is pastor to an assisted-living community in Dallas. During various dark nights of my soul, she has spent hours on the phone with me. She has given me frequent and copious feedback on things I’ve written. She and her wife are graciously opening their home for my pilgrimage with my fiancée to mark a new beginning.
“Eclipse” is both a noun and a verb. Our growth into new light requires action. It’s arrogant for us to think our generation has reached the totality of knowledge and faith. I’ve been through the darkness of human prejudice interfering with the direct light of God’s love. The other side is warm and illuminating, but it cannot be the end of the journey. In the ongoing orbits of life, my children will discover ….
Brad Bull was born while his parents were at a Baptist seminary where he started attending a Baptist church. He went to a Baptist college and Baptist seminary. He did a year of residency as a hospital chaplain at Baptist Hospital in Knoxville, Tenn. He served as an associate pastor at four Baptist churches before teaching at two Baptist colleges. He now orbits as a private-practice therapist in Tennessee and Virginia and is a freelance writer and speaker. He can be reached through his website.