Sunbonnet Soliloquy
By Jewell Ellen Smith
The Main Thing
Some
people have the idea that Father Time is an imaginary person. Not so.
That is, he seems real to me.
Oh
sure, he has a long white beard that sweeps the ground and carries a scythe so
old anybody can tell he has used it for a thousand years. But, except for these two things, Father
Time is much like any other elderly or venerable man.
He
even makes mistakes.
New
Year’s Eve night -- it must have been about 11:45 p.m. -- he set his helicopter
down in that open stretch of pasture right by our house, not too far from Shell
Field. And he thought he had landed at
Ft. Rucker.
“This
is Ft. Rucker, Alabama, isn’t it?” he asked as he climbed down.
“Oh
no, Sir!” I told him. “You must have
seen the lights of Shell Field. Ft.
Rucker proper is due east of here, a good twelve or fifteen miles.”
“What
a stupid mistake for me to make! It’s
obvious I need more training in night flying.”
He laughed and then muttered under his breath something about how absurd
it is that those who make clocks and calendars insist that the New Year always
begin at the stroke of midnight instead of at the stroke of high noon.
“High
noon would be much more practical,” he said aloud.
Then
Father Time stepped closer and looked at me carefully.
“My
dear, haven’t I seen you before?”
“Oh
yes, Sir! Last year on New Year’s Eve,
when you brought the little New Year to Ft. Rucker and carried away the Old
Year. By the flagpole, remember?”
“Sure,
I remember. Well, my dear, I’m back on
the same annual assignment. I’ve got
Baby 1985 strapped here in the co-pilot’s seat. And I’m going to pick up old, worn-out 1984 and take him
away. Far away.”
“Sir,
may I take a peek at Baby 1985?”
“Of
course! Be quiet, though. He’s asleep.” Father Time stood back so I could see. “There he is!”
It was
evident he was very proud of his sleeping passenger.
‘‘What
a fat, pretty little fellow!” I cried.
“It’s a cold night, though, Father Time. Shouldn’t he be wearing something besides a diaper and that
ribbon across his tummy?”
“He
will be alright.” And Father Time
started climbing back into his helicopter.
“Well, my dear, I must get on over to the Ft. Rucker flagpole. Mustn’t keep the Old Year waiting. You say I should fly due east?”
“Yes,
Sir. But Sir, before you go, would you
please give me some advice on how to spend the coming twelve months?”
“Ah,
you flatter me. I don’t claim to be
wise. But I will tell you this: ‘Always
pay attention to the Main Thing’.”
“Yes,
Sir. I sure will. But how will I know what is the Main
Thing?’’
“Here,
read this.” And he hurriedly reached into his briefcase and pulled out a crisp,
neatly folded slip of paper and handed it down to me. “It’s a Yiddish poem.
Bye-bye, my dear!”
The
moonlight was so bright I could read the poem, even without my glasses. It said:
If
your outlook on things has changed--
this is not the main thing.
If you
feel like laughing at old dreams--
this is not the main thing.
If you
recall errors of which you are now ashamed--
this is not the main thing.
Even
if you know that what you re doing now you’ll regret some other time--
this is not the main thing.
But
beware lightheartedly to conclude from this--
that there is no such thing as--
the main thing.
This
is the main thing.
A Yiddish Poem
What
happened the next morning was a bit odd, difficult to explain. When (husband) Smitty and I were
getting ready to go to the New Year’s Day reception at Ft. Rucker, I decided to
carry a purse that hadn’t been used in months.
And when I shook out the old grocery lists, chapel (church)
bulletins, and other things still in the bottom of it, a crisp, neatly folded
paper fell out. On it was typed:
“THE
MAIN THING, a Yiddish Poem.” At the
bottom was a note from Chaplain Ben Stallings, saying he was glad to send me a
copy of this Yiddish classic.
As I
said, this was odd. Must have been just
a coincidence.
But
now Father Time did deliver 1985 to Ft. Rucker and take away 1984.
The
reason I know for sure is that at the reception everybody was saying to
everybody else “Happy New Year! Happy
New Year!”
To you, I say: “Happy New Year! And do remember to pay attention to the Main
Thing.”
(Published January 1985. Click your browser’s “Back” button to
return.)