SENSITIZE 4
Every morning, Mr. Cring takes a personal moment with his audience.
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Cracked 5 … March 27th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3624)
Other Meanings for the Phrase “March Madness”
A. A growing anger over Nor’easter snow storms
B. The frustration felt by raw recruits during basic training
C. Hearing too much John Phillips Sousa in a five-day span
D. Religious leaders killing off a loving messenger of healing
E. A decision to trudge along with the depressed masses toward insanity
Cracked 5 … January 23rd, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3561)
Special Sporting Events Which Once Again Have Been Rejected for the 2018 Winter Olympics
A. International Snowball Hats
B. Nordic Poleless Skiing
C. Ladies Figure Slush Skating
D. Three-Man Bob Slobbering
E. Frisball (deflated basketballs are tossed through the air to the goal to score points)
Ask Jonathots … August 6th, 2015
Jonathots Daily Blog
(2654)
I’m worried about my best friend. We are both sixteen and have played on our school football and basketball teams for years. So this past year my bud has been changing. He’s avoiding me and other friends, too, and says that he’s not going to play next year. I really think something is wrong, but when I ask him about it he just shrugs me off. What should I do? It’s his life, but I want to intervene.
Two words: best friend.
If he considers you to be his best friend, the question you have to ask yourself is, “Why isn’t he sharing with me?”
Don’t ask the question to make yourself feel bad. Understand that if you are his best friend and he’s not sharing with you, there are only two logical reasons:
- What’s going on in his life is too embarrassing to share with anyone else.
- He doesn’t think anyone would understand–including you.
Then ask one more question.
Which one of these two possibilities can you address?
You cannot eliminate his embarrassment, but you certainly can express to him–through your actions and your own personal confessions–that you can be trusted and that he can share without fear.
When I can’t get friends to open up to me, I take them to the side and admit something personally with them. Just letting them know that I trust them and that I have problems is often the catalyst that will open their hearts to consider unburdening themselves.
As long as people view you as an unknown, they will avoid you.
You can’t take the embarrassment out of an embarrassing situation, but you can confess some of your weaknesses in private with your best friend–letting him know that there’s no shame in a struggle.
The only real darkness in life is to continue to struggle in shame.
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Cracked 5… February 24, 2015
Jonathots Daily Blog
(2513)
Reasons Basketball Will Never Be as Popular as Football
A. In basketball, if you knock somebody down, it’s called a foul. In football, it’s proclaimed a “great hit.”
B. It’s too easy to bounce the ball. No pointy ends and over-inflated.
C. Basketball = sissy short pants.
D. No rain, sleet, gusts, mud, ice, wind chill, hurricanes or sunstroke.
E. Too Tall … like the Jones guy.
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Untotaled: Stepping 34 (March 19th, 1967) Water Buffalo … October 4, 2014
Jonathots Daily Blog
(2370)
(Transcript)
Jack Forrest was my friend.
He was one of those adolescent chums who I was sure would always be my next-door neighbor, as we borrowed lawn and garden tools from each other and swapped spares in the neighborhood bowling league.
We played football together until I quit early in the season–and sure enough, he also abandoned the sport in reverence and defiance. So I think he was a little confused when I returned to play basketball.
It was not an easy choice for me, either. I never wore shorts and because I was so large, the little tank-top jersey they provided was too tight and made my promising pecs appear to be burgeoning breasts.
But by the same token I was athletic. I was good enough to be a starter. So one afternoon, the Olentangy freshman basketball team came over to play us and Jack attended the game.
I was hoping to do well in this particular competition because I had secured the starting forward position, and I wanted to impress the coach. When I walked onto the court in all of my chubby glory, a young student from the Olentangy campus yelled out, “Hey, look! A water buffalo!”
There were some titters from the opposing faithful.
Even though I shouldn’t have, I looked around to see who was taunting me. There was this guy with a smirk on his face sitting right behind my buddy, Jack.
The coach whispered in my ear an exhortation to put it out of my mind and the game began.
But I didn’t put it out of my mind–especially when this fellow continued to call me a water buffalo and once even generated a “M-o-o-o-o!” in my direction. Honestly, the thing that crossed my mind was that I didn’t think the buffalo species “mooed.”
But being a kid, the insults affected me. I dribbled a ball off my foot, missed an easy lay-up and fouled the opposing team a couple of times in frustration. I found myself peering over at that screamer instead of paying attention to the game.
Jack just sat there quietly in front of him without moving a muscle.
All at once, when the fellow yelled out his most recent insult, Jack stood up, turned around and punched the kid in the nose. He didn’t knock him out, but the guy did bleed. Jack didn’t care. He just turned around, sat back down and watched the game.
It was amazing.
- No one stopped the action.
- No teacher jumped in and sent Jack off in hand-cuffs with the police.
- And the fellow who had done all the yelling stopped his taunts, never filing a lawsuit.
- Matter of fact, no one ever even talked to Jack about what he did, assuming it was a rite of passage between two young, emerging studs.
I finished the game free of interference and actually scored a couple of baskets.
After it was over, I thanked Jack for his assistance, but said it wasn’t necessary.
Jack replied, “I didn’t do it for you. His squawking made my ears hurt.”
I smiled–because I knew he did do it for me.
He was loyal. And even though loyalty can be misguided, it’s a pretty powerful thing to carry around … on your way to acquiring good sense.
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The Sermon on the Mount in music and story. Click the mountain!
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Untotaled: Stepping 31 (December 18th, 1966) One Last Time … September 13, 2014
Jonathots Daily Blog
(2351)
(Transcript)
My home was just two blocks from school, so when the bell rang, dismissing classes for the holidays, I hung around. I was in no hurry to make the trek to my house.
It was my birthday and I was vexed by a bit of melancholy.
Maybe it was the reality of turning fifteen and still not loved by any girl, and kind of shoveled to the side by a family that had more pressing concerns.
I borrowed a basketball from the boys locker room and shot some hoops. I was temporarily invigorated by the fact that I set a new personal record for free throws–eight in a row.
When the janitor came into the gymnasium, he frowned. I realized he was going to ask me to leave, so I redeposited the ball back into the slot where it belonged, grabbed my books and headed towards my abode.
Darkness was already beginning to fall on the little central Ohio community. Clouds were clumped in the sky like folded dirty towels, haphazardly stacked on the shelf, precariously threatening to tumble on the floor in the linen closet.
It was gonna snow.
It didn’t take me long to get home, although I shuffled my feet most of the way. I had never seen that little stretch of road so vacant. Everyone had settled inside, lit their fires and were preparing to endure the forecasted six inches of the white stuff.
Strangely enough, when I got home there was no one there. The house was warm, dark and certainly well-suited to my threatening depression. I left the lights off and turned on our old television set.
There was Clara Jo’s Toy Shop. I never watched it–too “baby,” too silly, too girly, too stupid. But today I was in no mood to rise from my chair, turn the dial and find something else.
All at once, she introduced Santa Claus, to come out and talk to the kids. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head, and I realized, “Oh, yeah. It’s Christmas time.”
I cried.
I don’t know exactly why–but as I watched the man on TV pretending to be the saint from the North Pole, I suddenly wanted to believe again.
After all these years of growing up, knowing that the tales spoken of the northern elf were probably not true, I desired him in my life.
I was so lonely. I tried to play the piano, but each song just made me weep. Then I fell silent–so still that I could hear the howling wind foretelling the coming storm. The window panes in the dining room were already fogging over, promising frost.
With some tears in my eyes, I spoke out loud to the television set. “Santa Claus, all I want for Christmas is to still believe in Santa Claus.”
I cried again.
For a minute, it looked like I was going to be inconsolable. Then suddenly, it just stopped. I sniffed and peered at the television set.
I thought to myself that the family would soon be here. I was frightened that they had all forgotten it was my birthday. I didn’t think I had the heart to endure it.
Suddenly Clara Jo began to sing, in her off-key alto pitch, “Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus…”
I allowed my mind to wander to Christmases years before. It was December 18th, 1966 and I was fifteen.
And as a chill went down my spine, I thought to myself, “There goes Santa Claus.”
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
The Sermon on the Mount in music and story. Click the mountain!
Click here to get info on the “Gospel According to Common Sense” Tour
Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling SpiriTed in 2014.
Click here to listen to Spirited music
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