by Andy Andrews
Immediately, we understood. A glimmer of hope was beginning to reignite.
Jones got down on one knee as he continued. “I’m thinking that the real heroes of the greatest generation must have been the parents and grandparents who produced them for us. Think! Who raised that generation? Whose standard shaped and molded them as children to become the adults whom society still agrees, decades later, is the greatest representation of humanity ever attained?
“But more importantly for you,” Jones said, “more importantly for the future . . . what did they do?”
Jones stood and paced as he thought out loud. “How did they raise those children? What did those parents expect? What did they require? How did they discipline? And when? What did the kids do after school? Or in the summer?”
“So you think there was a standard at that time?” The question came from Kelli.
“Absolutely, Kelli,” Jones replied. “Society, with its multiple standards, has become a game of chance for many parents. The prize is a child who grows into a mature, responsible, productive, happy adult. Think about the possibility that a game of chance like that might produce the greatest generation. You could roll the dice for a thousand years and never come up with results like the parents and grandparents of that time.
“I have no doubt that you and Bart will achieve great results with your children. But the fact remains that your children will not live as adults in a bubble. Your children will live as a part of society whose culture, by any measure, is in a steep decline. They will raise their own families in that society; they will earn their livings there.
“If you people gathered here right now cannot convince others to join you in raising children by a standard that will produce greatness again, your children will be worse off by far than anything you might be experiencing today.
“So was there a standard? Yes, but it was commonly accepted at that time. Your task will be tougher. Remember? There are many standards now, which means it is up to you to make folks listen and persuade them to make a good decision regarding the standard they select.”
For about two beats there existed an air of stunned silence. Then, we all talked at once. It was the “up to you” part of what Jones had said that caught our attention.
“Up to us?” Kelli’s voice rose above the same chorus being sung by us all. “Up to us?” she asked again as we looked her way. “Up to us how? My next-door neighbor won’t listen to me, and you’re talking about ‘up to us’?”
Jones didn’t answer right away, and Polly jumped in. “I understand what Kelli is saying. I’m afraid this might be a little like converting a person to the other side of the political aisle.”
“My husband is a youth minister,” Christy said. “It’s hard to believe, I know, but we see many different standards by which the teenagers have been raised in our own church. My husband has occasionally asked a kid not to wear a certain thing or talk a certain way. Invariably he will hear from the parent, and the message from the parent is usually, ‘It’s a matter of opinion. This is our opinion. Stay out of how I raise my kids.’”
Everyone was nodding, agreeing with those who had spoken.
This was very interesting. It appeared to me that Jones had finally lost a round. Oh well, I thought. Jones, you should have stayed with the hypothetical. Once you crossed into that up-to-you territory, the hypothetical became personal. That’s where you lost. But I should have known better. Jones started up again as if he had not heard any of them.
“Most people live under the misconception that it takes a long time to change,” Jones said. “This is not true. It can take a long time to prepare to change or to decide to change or even to want to change. Change itself, however, happens in a heartbeat.
“True change—the kind of change that lasts—can be dramatic, but it is totally, one hundred percent predictable.”
I looked to my right and left. That last statement had caused eyebrows to rise.
“There are two elements that must be present for a person to change his or her thinking on a matter. It is the thinking, remember, that is our foundation. Okay, two things . . . One, what’s in it for me? The first element that must be present for a person to change is an understanding of how that change benefits him or her. What’s in it for me? Got it?”
We nodded cautiously.
“The second element that must be in place for a person to execute an immediate and lasting change is . . . proof beyond a logical doubt.”
“Logical doubt?” Baker said.
“Beyond a logical doubt,” Jones replied. “This does not have to be mathematical proof or some kind of formula; it only needs to be the kind of proof that makes sense to the person.”
“But how do we prove a standard?” Bart asked.
“An end result must first be agreed upon,” Jones replied. “That’s easier than you think. That list of twenty-one results you created? You’d be hard-pressed to find a parent who would not want his or her child to have those qualities as an adult. Once the end result is agreed upon, the process for producing that end result can begin to be determined. This is true whether one is raising a child, advancing a business, or chasing a national championship.
“The process must be refined and tested. Should a particular choice, habit, or activity become part of the process? That answer will be determined by whether or not that choice, habit, or activity moves us closer to the desired result or further away from the desired result.
“When the process is refined to the point that it is proven beyond a logical doubt to produce the desired result, and that desired result is proven to benefit individuals, a standard can then be agreed upon. At that point it is beginning to be obvious to many people where great results are occurring, and those who are achieving great results can easily explain why it is so.
“Allow me to reiterate, however, that the determination of a specific result one desires in the future and the process that yields that desired result are two totally different components of what is actually necessary to achieve the desired result. Expecting to reach some lofty goal without a process in place to get one there is wishful thinking. Similarly, creating a process that gives everyone something to do without any thought or decision about a specific end result is a complete waste of time and resources.”
Christy raised her hand. “Again, with my husband,” she said. “He works with so many teenagers. Brady is in the high schools all the time, and we have had long discussions about what he sees. Occasionally he will suggest or even require a change in the way a kid dresses or a particular piece of jewelry worn. One of the things he hears from parents is that this or that is a cultural thing. They say, ‘We do this because it’s part of our culture.’ How in the world do you change something so ingrained?”
Jones nodded. “Good question. That culture, remember—any culture—is a result of the thinking that created it. Good thinking to great results yields a good culture. Bad thinking usually creates the opposite. We must remember to ask parents the question, ‘What result do you want for your children when they become adults?’ It is also a good question for a teenager.
“Many different groups of younger people wear specific clothes and wear them in a specific manner in order to be recognized as belonging to something in one form or another. But it is important to trace a culture’s trajectory. What results are produced by twenty-five-year-old adults who participated as teenagers in a culture that accepted facial piercings as part of a normal appearance? Are those twenty-five-year-olds hired at the same rate as twenty-five-year-old adults who were immersed in a teenage culture promoting khaki pants, button-down shirts, and carefully groomed hair?
“What are the differences in their relationship results? What are the differences in their incomes at age thirty? What are the results being achieved by their own children?”
We were quiet as Jones stopped and seemed to be gauging the group’s reaction. “Look,” he finally said, “the example I just gave you is obviously a bit extr
eme. However, it is no less true. Everything a person does—whether parent or child—has consequences. One can easily follow dress, behavior, and habits to the result they produce.
“The bottom line on the declaration, ‘This is part of our culture,’ is this: At its best, this is a choice made with little or no critical thinking about future results. At its worst, it is merely an excuse to do what one wants to do. It is selfish, leaderless, pack behavior with unconsidered consequences that ultimately destroy families, neighborhoods, cities, and before you know it, generations.
“Always remember that your family has a culture, your team has a culture, and your town and your state have cultures too. Dallas has a culture, and it is a different culture than the one you will find in Fort Worth. America has a culture. Every culture is nothing more than a result of the thinking that produced it. A culture is chosen by its people, either by deliberate decisions or acquiescence to how everyone feels at the time.
“The culture you live in today is the culture you have allowed. That is true of your family, and it is true of your country.
“Never forget that you will shape the culture in which you exist, or the culture you allow will determine how and—maybe someday—if you are allowed to exist.”
No one said a word. Polly took my hand. Jones didn’t smile or frown. He looked at the sky for a time and leaned back against the pier railing. Personally, I didn’t know if I wanted to stand up and cheer or crawl away and be sick. It all seemed so overwhelming. How, I wondered, can we possibly begin to turn our cities? Where could we begin moving toward another golden age, another greatest generation? I looked at the others. Were they asking themselves the same questions?
“Start at home,” Jones said simply. I was not surprised that he answered my thoughts again. “Start with yourselves, with your families, with your children. The results you produce will be obvious and coveted by good folks everywhere. Those results will lead you and many of your friends to a process. That process will be refined by even greater results, and those results, proven in the lives of thousands—then tens of thousands—will yield a standard. Having been misunderstood and lost once upon a difficult time, that standard will be polished and protected and held up for all to see.
“Then you will see people of all colors and creeds come together in friendship and abundance. And it all will have started,” Jones said with a smile, “with you.
“Anything else before we depart?” the old man asked.
“Are we meeting next week?” Christy responded.
Jones smiled. “I’m honored you seem to want to, but no, I don’t think so. It is not my place to carry you all the way to a destination. I simply shine a bit of light on the path from time to time. But I’ll be around. I always am.”
We lingered for a time and exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Jones stayed for hugs and handshakes. I hugged but didn’t question him about a “next time.” I knew better, and of course, the question had already been asked. I had heard it answered that evening, I had heard it answered before, and he didn’t need to tell me again. I could hear the old man’s voice in my head anytime I wanted, for his answer was safely tucked away inside my heart.
“I’ll be around. I always am.”
That’s what the man said. It felt good to know that it was true.
Seventeen
It was 2:51 a.m. when Christy rounded the curve on County Road 49. Less than an hour ago, Jones had called and asked her to pick him up on the north side of the bridge.
“Okay . . . ,” Christy had said, buying time to think. “Jones, are you hurt? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m at the Magnolia Springs River Bridge on County Road 49. I need you to come right away. And I need you to bring your little bus. Don’t drive too fast. Be careful. Just come on. Brady will understand, and he will take care of the kids.”
The headlights illuminated Jones’s snow-white hair, and she spotted him immediately. He was sitting on the north end of the bridge, on the west-side guardrail. Fog, not yet high enough from the river to be a problem on the road, bumped softly under him as if he were seated on a cloud. To her photographer’s eye, it was a fascinating sight, but another one in a long list, she thought, that would be gone in a minute or two and lost forever.
Christy was frustrated by scenes like this because she did not own the camera that would allow her to shoot natural light as it appeared in her mind. She and Brady had a game they would play when she saw something incredible that everyone else overlooked completely. Christy would say, “I’d have that camera right now if it weren’t for one tiny detail.”
Brady would respond, “No money?”
“Yep, that’s the detail,” Christy would finish as they both laughed.
As Christy downshifted, she saw someone else with Jones. No, she decided, there were two people. As she drew closer, the weak, slightly yellow headlight beams illuminated those people, who had by now turned toward her, and Christy was surprised to see Sealy and Baker. Christy was baffled by the appearance of the other couple. I thought he needed help.
As she pulled the little bus onto the bridge, Christy’s naturally enthusiastic nature began to wake up. No matter the time, she could not resist beeping the horn. Just as she always did, Christy gave the steering wheel two quick jabs, and the curious little vehicle responded. She did not notice Baker’s scowl at having been almost scared into the water. Christy jumped out and said, “Is that horn cute or what? It sounds just like the Road Runner. Remember? In the cartoon?”
Yes, they remembered. Yes, it was cute. It is also three o’clock in the morning, Sealy thought and then wondered, What in the world are we doing? I didn’t even do things like this in college.
Jones had called and awakened the Larsons only half an hour ago. They were already so grateful to him that neither of them even questioned his strange request for a meeting. They found flashlights as the old man had instructed, piled in one of the cars, and had come straight to the bridge. Jones showed Baker where to park, and the only thing he said was that Christy would arrive shortly and that they would all be back home “before too long.”
“Everybody in,” Jones said and clapped his hands. “Come on, now. Christy, let’s turn this Road Runner around. We are headed back the way you came.”
Sealy and Baker piled in through the side door. Christy climbed back into the driver’s seat and waited for Jones to hop in the other side. He had briefly disappeared down the embankment and under the edge of the bridge. Arriving back at the bus, Jones rapped his knuckles on the side door that had already been shut. When Baker opened it, Jones shoved something big into his hands.
“Throw that in the back, please,” Jones said, and Baker did, noticing that whatever it was felt awfully rough, but it was springy and about the size of a full garbage bag. “And these, too, please,” Jones added. “You might need to run them under your legs and feet to get them to fit.” Christy heard groans from Baker and laughter from Sealy as three long sticks were loaded in the dark. Baker couldn’t really see what they were. Lighter and a bit longer maybe, he thought, but about as big around as a pool cue.
“Last thing,” Jones said, and Baker took the object and placed it behind him. It was a medium-sized, canvas duffel. Its surface was smooth, and the handle was a single strap. This thing, Baker thought, is as old as Jones. He had also noticed it was rather light. In fact, Baker thought the duffel was empty. Until something inside clanked.
When they were on their way, by the time Christy had gotten back to Highway 98 and taken a left, Jones had already answered their most urgent questions. The answers were: (1) “Not going to tell you,” (2) “About thirty minutes,” and (3) “Onions.”
The third answer was in response to giggles from the ladies when Baker had asked, “What’s that smell?”
The big springy item Baker had thrown in the back, Jones explained, was an extra-large onion sack filled with more extra-large onion sacks. When they asked why in the world anyone might
need onion sacks at three o’clock in the morning, Jones referred them back to answer number one.
“Since we’re thirty minutes away from wherever we are going,” Baker said, “do you mind if we ask some questions? We’ve been talking at the apartment and are curious about a few things.”
“Sure,” Jones replied. “I don’t mind.”
“I’m first!” Sealy shouted, prompting laughter from Christy since it was so out of character for Sealy to react that way.
“Please talk more about your reference to proper thinking,” Sealy began. “Do you mind? It seems to be at the root of everything important, and Baker and I have the girls—teenagers, you know—and we feel like we need to explain the whole correct-thinking concept to them.”
“I will,” Jones said. “And you’re right. The more you explain the concept, the clearer it will become to all of you. And at that point the implementation and agreement in your family about behaviors—ultimately a standard—based on great thinking will lead to harmony and higher levels of achievement.”
“Will you do another class?” Sealy asked bluntly.
Jones chuckled appreciatively. “Sealy, I’m honored that you have found value in our time together, but a large part of the reason for ending the class is to enable you to learn and grow at a much faster rate than you have been doing lately.”
“Wait. I know this is Sealy’s question,” Christy said, “but what does that mean? I have grown and learned more in the past two weeks than . . . well, than ever.”
Baker agreed, but Jones did not back down. “Many times a person comes to rely on a specific teacher or class they’ve come to enjoy or appreciate. That often slows their progress, though few ever recognize the negative aspects of falling in love with something that works.”
“How can there be a negative aspect of doing what you find that works?” Baker asked.
“Well,” Jones said, “think of it like this: When a kid goes on his first Easter egg hunt, an adult has to take him by the hand. At this particular activity the adult is a skilled and knowledgeable instructor and teaches the grateful child exactly what to look for and how colored eggs are hidden.
