Useless Complaining
As a general rule, we all find things to complain about. Some are serious but most are useless as a Dolly Parton training bra. There are three kinds of lumps: lumps in your oatmeal; lumps in your throat and lumps in your breast. That puts it in perspective.
Remember as young parents how we complained about our kids leaving dirty dishes in the sink or an empty pizza box on the kitchen table? Now that most of us are empty nesters, was it really that important? By the way, I plead guilty your Honor.
Now that wrinkles, love handles and no hairatall are talking topics at cocktail parties, the days of useless complaining are hopefully in our rearview mirror. That doesn’t mean they aren’t still stored in our memory bank.
We complained about:
Legos left on the floor that would make a Pentecostal preacher speak in Sand Mountain tongues when he stepped on one barefooted. Or the milk jug left on the kitchen counter overnight. Letting Junior borrow the car for his dream date and conveniently forgetting to refill the gas tank. We noticed it when the gas gauge hit “W” for walk, about 3 miles from the nearest gas pump. We think aloud: “When I was his age, I would never return a car on empty.” Those days are long gone. Complaining was useless.
The noisy teenagers laughing and cutting up while the “old folks” were trying to get to sleep? The house now sounds like a funeral home at midnight. We lie awake and reminisce about laughter and silliness that we once complained about. Now, we stare at the last few pieces of fried chicken thinking about the days when the boys would fight over that last drumstick.
We complained about Momma’s annoying phone calls when she would ask the same question over and over. How many times did she have to be reminded that Cousin Matilda would back the buzzards off a gut wagon in spite of her reminder that every pot has a lid that fits it. We wouldn’t fix her up with our worst enemy. It took us years to realize she just wanted to hear our voices filled with family happiness. What would we give to accept that annoying phone call and listen to her ramblings today and give us the “death report” from back home? We ask ourselves: “are we like that also?” According to Jim Croce and “Cat’s in the Cradle,” we are all guilty.
We complain about a lumpy mattress and a stain on the bedspread. Not to mention the pillow that has more rolls in it than the Michelin Man. Until, we think about Red, who is homeless and sleeping under the brush behind McGuires Pub. Our shower isn’t hot enough and the towels are too rough. Do you think the homeless “dock rat” would complain IF he had the luxury of any kind of shower?
The same is true about our food complaints. We send back restaurant steaks that are overcooked and gumbo that is cold because we feel entitled. Each time our parents talked about millions of Chinese starving when we complained, it now makes more sense. We complain because our cars aren’t fancy or modern enough. Yesterday in a three-block area in Fort Walton Beach, I saw two different individuals in wheelchairs. One gentleman in a Vietnam vet cap had no legs and a lady with only one leg was pushing an old Winn Dixie cart full of discarded clothes and a sleeping bag. Do you think either would complain about an old, dented Chevy that would run?
To put things in perspective, follow former Bama football star, KERRY GOODE and his battle with ALS disease. I have known the entire Goode family from their days at Hazelwood High in Town Creek. The disease has taken everything from him but his vision, sense of humor and positive outlook on life. Kerry types his stories on a computer, using his eyes to control the keyboard. He never complains even though he has every right to do so. If his stories don’t crank your tractor, your battery has been stolen.
Every July when we all gather on the 3rd weekend on Underwood Mountain for the St. Jude Trail Ride and witness some of the warriors who have been through those hallowed walls, we open our wallets then close our eyes and pray to God for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? Complaining about little aches and pains or the boo-boos that our grandkids must overcome. Think how quickly those St. Jude parents would give all their worldly goods to swap places with our complaints. That’s why we will raise over half a million dollars for St. Jude in Memphis. Failure to do so isn’t an option!
I once complaining about having no shoes until I met a man with no feet.
That’s useless complaining.