A manager, busy managing someone who is trying to work.

The old mill at Babcock State Park in West Virginia.

I was walking around an enormous department store that day, trying to find a way to escape its twisty mazes of aisles, when I spotted someone.

“Now there’s an enterprising individual,” I thought. The thin young teenager was standing behind a glass jewelry counter, wearing a professional-looking blue suit and sporting a red pin. I walked up to him.

“Happy Holidays,” he replied. “How may I help you?”

“Why, that’s very kind of you,” I replied. “I also hope that whatever undefined holiday you are celebrating but dare not mention is a glorious and happy one.”

“What?” he said, looking confused.

“I need some assistance,” I said crisply, as I gazed into the glass case between us.

“I’d be glad to help! Doing some last-minute holiday shopping?” he asked.

I glanced at my watch. “I’ve still got, what, six whole hours before Christmas,” I said. “That’s plenty of time. Yes, I’m trying to find that mythical perfect Christmas present.”

“We’ve got lots of them here!” the teenager said. “Watches, rings, necklaces, all heavily discounted. What did you have in mind?”

I thought a moment. “I’m looking for a gift that says ‘I don’t actually care, but I’m pretending to because it’s Christmas.'”

“You want what?” he said. He looked at me with a very odd expression on his face.

I nodded. “Of course! This, my friend, is the time of year when we get presents for all the people we don’t care about the rest of the year, in a feeble attempt to make them think they are important to us.”

“It is?” he asked.

“Of course!” I replied. “Why do you think it is so hard to find gifts for people? We have no idea what people already own, or want to own, or desperately need because we don’t actually know them. It’s quite an art to find the perfect present when you don’t even know if the receiver is still alive!”

“You know, you’re right. You do need help,” the teenager said.

“Which is why I’m here!” I replied. “Your services are invaluable to me. Which of your gifts say ‘I care about you’ in a very convincing way, but are so general that pretty much anyone would like them?”

“Gift cards,” he said without hesitation. “You’re looking for gift cards.”

“Of course!” I said, snapping my fingers. “I’d overlooked that entirely. I’ve never met anyone yet that will turn down cash! How good of you to think of it.” I turned to go.

“Hey – wait a minute,” he said.

“You have them here?” I asked.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that – you know, you could try actually caring about people, instead of buying them off with presents.”

“A novel idea,” I said thoughtfully. “Is that better?”

“This season – it’s all about love, you know?” he replied. “God’s love to man, and everything. Why not take this chance and actually show some real love to people? Like Jesus did. I think that’s what it’s all about.”

I smiled. I knew he was an enterprising young man as soon as I laid eyes on him. Few people these days are daring enough to wear a pin that actually mentions the name of the holiday we celebrate this time of year.

“I think you’re quite right, young man. A present is meaningless without a life of love behind it. Merry Christmas.”

And with that, I left.

A professor, enjoying himself.

A soldier, being decorated.

“So what do you think of Santa Claus?” my friend asked me.

I looked at him, confused. Bob and I were walking down an icy dirt road in the middle of January. For a reason I’ve never quite understood my large, bearlike friend enjoys being outside on days when even water cannot assume a liquid form. As for myself, I’ve always been a firm believer in the joys of the great indoors. How he convinced me to venture outside on such a cold day I’ll never understand.

“Santa Claus?” I asked. “Hmmm. Well, for starters, he definitely needs to loose weight. All those extra pounds can’t be good for his heart.”

“C’mon, be serious,” Bob replied. “Is he a good thing or a bad thing?”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“Well, he seems to have more character than Darth Vader, at least,” he replied. “He rewards good kids with presents and bad kids with coal. He appears on Christmas Day to give good gifts to mankind. You’ve got to admit he’s got a lot going for him.”

“All true,” I replied. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Santa is more than just elves and presents and nasal-challenged reindeer. There’s a dark side to Saint Nicholas.”

“I figured,” Bob replied. “What’s the trouble?”

“Well, think about it,” I said. “Have you ever watched any of those TV Christmas specials?”

“Sure,” he replied, as we crunched through the snow. “Some evil force is threatening Christmas, and an enterprising hero has to find a way to save it.”

“How is Christmas put in danger?” I asked. “I mean, after all, how can you possibly threaten a holiday? Is an entire 24-hour period going to be struck from existence, never to be seen again?”

“That’s not a bad plot,” he said thoughtfully. “No, I think generally someone is trying to stop Santa from delivering presents.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Christmas has been equated with Santa Claus delivering presents. That’s all it is for millions of people ” just a day for receiving gifts. Not giving them, even ” just receiving them.”

“But isn’t that what the day is about?” Bob asked. “Not Santa, exactly, but it is the day that Jesus became man. Even the angels said something about good tidings, and giving gifts to men, and stuff.”

“True,” I replied. “Yet, of all those Christmas specials you’ve seen, how many even mention the real meaning of Christmas?”

“I think the Charlie Brown one touches on it,” Bob replied. “I’m pretty sure the kid with the blanket quotes from Luke.”

“Ok,” I said. “So you’ve got one that briefly mentions Christ. Out of how many?”

“A lot,” my friend admitted.

“Why do you think the world celebrates Christmas?” I asked. “Do you really think they’re praising God for offering His Son as a sacrifice for the sins of mankind?”

“Probably not,” he said. “But, thanks to Santa Claus, at least they are celebrating Christmas.”

“They’re celebrating something,” I said, “but I don’t think it’s Christmas. Maybe credit-card-debt day. But not Christmas.”

“It’s better than nothing,” he replied.

“But stop and think,” I said. “If there was no Santa Claus, or reindeer, or dancing snowmen, if there was only Christ and a manger in Bethlehem, isn’t it possible that people would actually celebrate Christmas, instead of Santa Claus Day?”

My friend thought a moment. “I just don’t know. They may not celebrate it at all,” he said.

“At least those who did would be rejoicing over something that’s real,” I replied.

A college student, attempting to become wiser.

A chemistry teacher, attempting to impart knowledge to a group of college students.

After an absence of several months I once again found myself in my professor’s studio, staring dismally at a shapeless lump of clay. The unappealing red mud was sitting untouched on the wooden table in front of me; after sitting there for half an hour I had still not found the strength to do anything with it.

While I sat there my professor walked up and decided to disturb my blissful inactivity. He surveyed my handiwork and shook his head.

“You are wasting time!” he said briskly. “Now – to work! You have much to do.”

“I know, I know,” I said.

“That is good! I had begun to wonder. Perhaps, I thought, you had mistaken this for a doctor’s waiting room. Your expression – it is one of pain, no? Perhaps you think I will remove your kidneys?”

I shook my head. “I just don’t know why I’m here, professor. I mean, what’s the point?”

He sighed. “We have been over this many times, no? Surely we do not need to repeat ourselves. You always come here, no?”

“Yeah, I do. It just seems like such a waste of time! Surely there’s something better I can be doing. I just can’t seem to motivate myself today.”

“I see,” he replied, as he turned his gaze from me to the untouched clay sitting on the table. “So – perhaps you are right. Sculpting – it will not change the world, no?”

“Exactly! It won’t. I’ve made a lot of sculptures in the past few years, professor, and I’ve become convinced that there has got to be something better to do with my time than make these – things.”

“You may be right,” the professor replied. He looked at me and nodded his head thoughtfully. “You have a good point, no? Perhaps you should be the one to remove people’s kidneys. Or you could fight fires. Or develop new medicines, yes?”

“Something like that. I was actually thinking more about going home and watching TV. It’s a lot easier than sculpting!”

“I am sure that would save many lives!” the professor remarked. “Think of all the mighty works of art that have been created by TV watchers! Or – even better – think of all the wonders this world could have accomplished if only more people watched TV! What tragedy! Yes, I can see that you have chosen the better path.”

I looked sourly at my professor. “It’s not all about work, you know. A person needs some time to recuperate. It’s a rough world out there! Have you seen the way people drive these days?”

He looked at me keenly. “Yes, I can see how overworked you truly are, my student. This past half-hour – how you have labored! The giant stack of artwork that you failed to create towers overhead. But I must end this discussion,” he said. My professor turned and began walking toward the door.

“Hey!” I said. “Where are you going?”

“To join the massive legion of media consumers!” he replied without turning his head. He reached his hand toward the doorknob. “The world – it must be saved, no?”

“Wait! How am I supposed to finish this without you?”

He opened the door, and then turned to look at me. “You must first begin, before you can finish. Let me know when you have gotten that far.”

And with that, he was gone.

An angry union on strike, protesting in the streets.

A white cat, laying claim to a chair.

I knew there was a problem the minute I turned on the shower faucet and nothing came out. It only took me an hour and a half to figure out that the problem was not on my end – some thoughtful soul, unmindful of my personal hygiene, had taken the great liberty of disconnecting my water supply.

This was actually not a good day to have an unscheduled drought. I had an important meeting that afternoon that I could not afford to miss, and I could hardly show up for work in my natural, uncultivated earthiness. Being late and missing the meeting altogether wasn’t an attractive option either.

I really did not want to call the water company, but short of digging a well in my backyard with my bare hands and a spoon I had no other options. So I called them, and after being told for forty-five minutes that my call was important I was, by a freak chance, connected to a real, live, human being.

“Hello, my name is Beatrice,” a pleasant voice said on the other end. “Thank you for waiting. How may I help you today?”

“Yes, my water has been turned off,” I replied. “I’d like to know why.”

“Can I have your account number, please?” Beatrice asked.

I gave it. A few minutes later the operator spoke up. “Your water has not been turned off,” she replied.

“It most certainly has! Nothing is coming out of any faucets in my entire house, and as best I can tell the pipes leading into my house are dry. Someone has definitely turned off my water.”

“Let me check something,” she replied. I heard a few keystrokes in the background, and then a stifled yawn. A few moments later she spoke up again. “It looks like your neighbor has not paid their water bill in quite some time,” she began.

“How terrible,” I said. “A true travesty of justice!”

“A worker was dispatched yesterday to turn off their water,” she continued.

“That seems like a good countermove,” I agreed. “No payment – no service.”

“From what I can tell,” Beatrice continued, “it would appear that the house number in the shutoff order was miskeyed. The actual work order instructed our agent to turn off your water instead of your neighbor’s.”

“How wonderful! I’m sure that’s going to be very effective in convincing my neighbor to start paying his bill. When can you send someone to reconnect it?”

“Oh, we can send someone out today, but you must first pay the reconnect fee.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “Excuse me?”

“It’s right here in the manual. ‘In the event of a disconnection, the customer must pay a $200 reconnect fee before their water may be reconnected.'” she read aloud.

“But this isn’t my fault!” I protested. “I have been paying my bills! It’s my barbaric neighbors that have failed to live up to their contractual obligations!”

“It’s company policy, sir. There are no exceptions.”

I could feel my blood pressure rising. “But I’m not at fault here! You can’t charge me $200 to fix a problem that you caused!”

“The policy has no exceptions, sir,” Beatrice said coldly. “Your water has been disconnected. You must pay the fee to have it reconnected. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Who do you think you are? You can’t just turn my water off just because you feel like it! I have my rights!”

“Our policy dictates that we can terminate your service at any time,” she said. “The company does not need a reason. If you wish to continue your service you can call us back and pay the fee.”

“And what if I’m not interested in your crummy service?”

“We are the only water provider in your area,” Beatrice replied.

“I can always dig a well,” I pointed out.

“County zoning ordinances prohibit digging wells. Doing so would deplete the water table and violate local environmental policies. Have a nice day.” And with that, I was disconnected.

The water company had me in a real bind. There was only one thing to do, and I did it: I sold my house and moved to a different state – one of freedom and tranquility, where a man is allowed to govern his own water supply in peace. As for my neighbors, well, I don’t think the water company ever managed to successfully disconnect their water supply. Last I heard, the people that purchased my house were looking at property in my haven of liberty. Apparently, freedom and good hygiene can be contagious.

Walking in a winter wonderland.

The Marshall University Thundering Herd football team (early 1970’s). We are Marshall!

“Give it up, Jack,” I said. “You’re wasting your time!”

“There has to be something I can do,” my friend replied.

“Not in this case,” I said. “I think he’s hopeless.”

“There is always hope,” he insisted. The two of us stared at the man that Jack had been debating with for the past half hour. While his opponent chose to remain silent, Jack was animated, as always; his thin frame made him seem twice as tall as he actually was. This time, though, I was convinced that Jack’s energy was not going to help him.

“Look,” Jack said at last. “I know my arguments are sound; I probably just need to communicate them a little better.”

I shook my head. “You’ve been communicating for the past hour, Jack, and haven’t made a bit of progress. If I were you I’d call it a day and go home. You can’t win them all.”

“It’s got to be possible,” Jack replied. “It’s got to be! I mean, we both speak the same language, right? His IQ is quite high; why, he’s got a Ph.D. in neurobiology, for crying out loud. I’ve read the scientific papers he’s written and they are clearly the product of a brilliant mind. All I need to do is change my approach – just put things in a way he can understand.”

“That’s the whole problem right there,” I said. “I just don’t think he can understand no matter what you do. It takes more to change an opinion than a good, convincing argument – a lot more, actually. Especially in this case! I don’t think you realize what you’re up against.”

“But there’s got to be a way!” Jack replied. “I refuse to believe it’s hopeless. You can’t go around thinking you’re defeated before you even start!”

“Sometimes that’s the case,” I said. “You’re not God, Jack. Some things are just beyond your ability. Optimism is a waste of time if what you believe is wrong.”

“But it’s all just a matter of understanding!” he replied, gesturing toward the doctor. “If I can get him to understand where I’m coming from I’m sure he will change. It’s all very logical!”

“I don’t think you can force understanding, Jack,” I said. “Even if you can – which I doubt – you can’t force belief. People will believe whatever they want to, and in some cases no amount of reasoning will help. You don’t seem to have any idea why people hold their opinions. It’s rarely because of the facts, Jack.”

“I just think you’re wrong,” Jack said. “You don’t realize the power of my arguments!”

“We’re talking about our friend here, not me,” I said. “I’m already on your side. I just don’t think that you’re going to have any impact on Dr. Roberts. This is one of those situations that require divine intervention, Jack. You’re not up to it.”

“And why is that?” Jack asked.

“Because Dr. Roberts is dead,” I replied. “Look at him – he’s a skeleton! I bet he’s been dead for at least twenty years now.”

“There’s always hope,” Jack insisted.

“Let me know how that turns out for you,” I said, as I turned to leave.