Things I Learned from R. B. (June 21st, 2020)

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Episode 20

I don’t really enjoy playing chess.

I have an understanding of the game, minus passion.

There are those who are thrilled with the prospects of a match. They refer to it as “the pastime of the royals.”

I don’t quite understand how it gained such a following. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that early on, it was associated with intelligence.

Yes, when I first learned how to play, I was told that I “should be very good at the game” because I was smart.

Well, I don’t know about that, but if interest has any bearing, chess stupefied me. I rarely played it and when I did, I often regretted choosing to do so—because my opponent was often grumpy and unwilling to lose even one piece from the board.

When I discovered that R. B. was an ardent player, I avoided ever mentioning that I, too, knew how to move the pieces. He explained to me that I needed to participate because he believed I would be excellent at it, and then we could play together. For many years I was able to subdue his advances by pleading my “chess virginity.”

Then a young man moved into my household—actually, three young men. Their father was struggling with anger and was beginning to take it out on them, so I was afforded the opportunity to become their godfather and welcome them into a safer haven.

One of the boys was very good at chess.

To preserve his innocence, we shall refer to him as Justin.

Justin was precocious. You see, precocious means whatever any adult wants it to mean. That adult can use it to describe a child he or she either likes or believes to be headed for reform school.

Being precocious, Justin immediately struck up a conversation with R. B. about chess. R. B. felt he had arrived in some sort of circle of heaven—where he could be the teacher and finally have a budding student.

The only difficulty came when Justin beat R. B.

And not just once.

Regularly.

Even though R. B. had studied the board and had even mastered some moves of the champions, Justin always found a way to get through his defenses, steal his queen and leave his king flailing in some corner, surrounded by a bishop and a knight.

At first, R. B. attributed it to “beginner’s luck.” But after many visits and many matches, it became clear to everyone that Justin was a superior prodigy. Everyone, that is, but R. B.

One night, after having lost two games, R. B. was surrounded by Justin, who was prepared to pronounce the “checkmate,” when R. B. brought his fist down hard on the table, knocking over all the pieces, scaring young Justin all the way down to his X-men underwear.

You see, Justin was accustomed to hearing an angry voice. He was well acquainted with a man whose temper was out of control—and he knew it usually meant that he was going to be in trouble.

Sensing Justin’s fear, R. B. tried to turn it into a joke and give the young man a hug, but when Justin nervously pulled away, R. B. was even more angry. He yelled at him. Some curse words flew through the air and young Justin was trapped, with no place to go.

R. B. screamed at him, claiming that it was a draw and they would play again on another night—and then left.

I was not in the house at the time, but when I returned, I immediately noticed the red in the corners of Justin’s eyes. He was reluctant to talk to me. Already in his young life, he had learned it was better to shut up and not have to face painful consequences.

But you see, Justin was also a young man with a good heart that was growing blossoms. He didn’t lie. After about an hour, he told me the whole story. I was infuriated.

He asked me to promise that I wouldn’t say anything to R. B. Justin asked me if he should play chess again with the irate fellow. I told him yes, but to wait a few weeks until I had a chance to do some maneuvers.

Perplexed, he smiled, gave me a hug and went upstairs.

Word of R. B.’s losing streak to Justin spread quickly through our family. The jokes piled up and were nearly ready to break R. B.’s spirit and release his bad temper. I had one plan—what you might call an ace in the hole if we were talking about poker, but since it’s chess, we shall say that I pulled out an extra queen.

One night while he was being teased, I stepped in and said, “Maybe R. B. just had a bad night. We could find out. R. B., why don’t you play me?”

R. B. was nearly beside himself. I had refused so many times, and now here was his opportunity, in front of our family, to redeem himself.

He was so nervous that his hands were shaking as he took his white pieces and set them up on the board. He didn’t need to be nervous. I had decided to play him a good game—but lose.

I figured a victory over me would quell his spirit, and once he had come to his senses, he might apologize to Justin.

Everybody was shocked when R. B. won.

And right after the game, he turned to me and said, “Would it be alright if I talked to Justin?”

Now, I suppose the story needs to end with me telling you that R. B. apologized to the boy and they lived happily ever after. But that’s a Hollywood ending—we lived in Nashville.

R. B. continued to play Justin and Justin grew up and became more tolerant of R. B.’s idiosyncrasies. Yet R. B. never hit his fist on the table again—but did manage to color the air every once in a while with his language.

I suppose I should have stepped in and stopped the tournaments, but R. B. needed to learn how to be civil to young ones and the young one needed to learn how to survive an R. B.—even when you know you can checkmate him every time.

 

Fun Must Be Done… January 7, 2013

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As I emerged from the sanctuary yesterday morning at Hope Lutheran Church in Port St. Lucie, Florida, I noticed a young man sitting behind a table in the lobby, busy working his phone, punching buttons furiously, almost to the point of breaking a sweat.

Now, there was a time in my life that I would have been upset that this eleven-year-old specimen of humanity was perched outside of the hearing of my show, involved in his social media. But yesterday, what crossed my mind was, “How can I come up with an app for his phone using my philosophy that will be interesting enough to this young fellow that he will savor it with the same intensity he is presently using with his preoccupation?”

We spend too much time trying to turn people into grown-ups, hoping they will share our misery and therefore, lighten the human load. I told you–it’s all about becoming like little children, and it is no different when we approach work.

Here are the three things I know about children–and since I’m trying to become one this year, it would be a good idea for me to study these carefully: (1) Children need purpose. (2) Children find purpose in work. (3) Work must be fun.

Here is the interesting fact: we never outgrow those three principles. We just attempt to ignore them by masking them with a frown.

I need purpose. In other words, I need at least two reasons for doing anything. If you give me just one, I will end up grumpy. But if there are two reasons to stop off at the shopping center to get something, then it has the potential to be an adventure instead of an inconvenience. Don’t tell me to love my neighbor as myself–I will act like I’m some sort of noble knight on a quest for the king. Explain to me that humanity is out there, ready to make my life easier. They make my purpose more purposeful. Intelligently teach me that people have the capacity for lightening my load.

We find our purpose in our work. If you are miserable on your job, you are not only losing precious moments of human enjoyment, but more than likely–through stress, apathy and complaining–you are shortening your life. Nothing is worth that.

My job was created by me to answer a calling I felt in my heart, and is constantly being retooled to be simpler and more enjoyable all the time. I will not do any work unless you can show me a way to accomplish it with fun.

Feel free to call that “childish” as you grumble your way through your daily activities. But know this–there is always a more pleasant way to accomplish any task that leaves us feeling satisfied and tired instead of exasperated and exhausted.

Here is my suggestion: link all the aspirations of what you do with your heart’s desire.

For instance, my heart’s desire is to be creative and bless as many people as I can while living comfortably. I have conjured a lifestyle that affords me that privilege. It’s why I am deliriously happy.

Now, instead of saying, “It must be nice…” start duplicating that in your own life. Don’t change your flat tire until you realize that after it’s changed, your vehicle will roll again and you can go out and reward yourself with a lovely treat.

Link your work with your heart’s desire to establish your purpose, and then find a way to make it fun.

It’s what children do. You don’t have to buy them toys–give them four rocks, six sticks a broken cardboard box and five minutes. They will create a fort and begin to launch into a fantasy of frivolity.

I want to be that child. Don’t tell me how difficult it is to be an adult–I will laugh at you. In my heart, I will mock your silliness, hoping that you will outgrow the notion that life is meant to be arduous and difficult.

• We are children.
• Children need purpose.
• Purpose is found in work
• And work must be fun.

Without this, Congress makes passing a bill to bless our country with financial gain and prosperity look as if they’re climbing Mt. Everest with a broken leg.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity