Porter on Theology and Pumpkins

My family and I were recently bestowing some graven images upon a few pumpkins, a celebratory ritual for an upcoming holiday rooted in spirituality. As my 5-year-old son, Porter was preparing to reveal his manically-faced orange head unto me, he said, “Daddy, you’re gonna be scared!”

“I don’t know about that," I responded, "pumpkins aren’t very scary."

He became very enthused, “Uh, Dad. That’s what pumpkins ARE FOR . . . to be SCARY!”

I briefly thought about what a great opportunity for teaching this had suddenly become and replied, “Really? Don’t you think that perhaps God made pumpkins as a food source for his people and other creatures giving them seeds to they could continue growing other pumpkins?”

“Well, of course he did, Dad!” Porter propounded with the confident air of a postgraduate student in his 25th year, “But he also made them to SCARE people!”

The Man in Black OR Red Man Walking?

I very frequently see an elderly gentleman walking up and down the road in the town where I live. I see him so frequently, in fact, that I’ve wondered if he ever does anything but walk back in forth on this particular mile stretch of road, all day long.

I first took note of him years ago. Every single time I’ve ever seen him, regardless of the temperature or season he has been donning the following ensemble: black pants, black boots, black vest, a non-black shirt and a black cowboy hat. He has a quality about him; very rugged and mysterious.

If you met a character that looked like him in a movie he would be sage-like and stoic with a Buddhist Monks peace about him; and in a brief encounter he would reveal insightful things to you about your life without ever having met you before. But in real life he would probably either apprehend you with an unbreakable chain of spouting about his pains and ailments else he would immediately wave his hand and write you off calling you a pansy for wearing tennis shoes in public or something.

Now, I also have to provide an explanation of my town’s annual celebration, Red Flannel Day. We are the Red Flannel Capitol of the World. I suspect it’s because there is no competition for that particular office; No one else wants it. I think maybe that when the town counsel got together in 1903 to decide what they should go for in terms of being the World’s Capitol of something, there was one bright guy who acknowledged that “We as a town suck so bad we should pick something no one else wants so there will be no danger of ever losing the title”, and suggested Flannel.

Then his even brighter counter-part said something like, “That’s Brilliant, my Boy! Say, why don’t we narrow it down to RED Flannel just to be safe?! Huh? All in favor say, “I”.

Then an array of Is erupted from the room under a thunderous enthusiasm; and every man with a gleam in his eye was thinking, “Yep, our town may suck but we suck with a brilliant strategy; Red Flannel indeed!! Here, here!”

To this day there are red union suits affixed to every street lamp on the main drag. There is actually a law that if you’re caught in city limits on Red Flannel Day without a pronounced red garment you can be put in jail. Now in reality, the town police are dressed as Keystone Cops, and they lock you in a jail that is brought outside into the city courtyard for this special day. They put people in there for 10 or 15 minutes; and sometimes the tasteful dresser can pay $2 to get out early. Nonetheless, it is a law.

So anyway, I am driving down the road on Red Flannel Day and I see The Man in Black; but my world is turned sideways as I realize that he’s not in black but has a frighteningly bright red cardigan sweater on in place of the black vest. He was wearing the obligatory red garment. I thought it funny to be sure, yet heart-warming that this man apparently so attached to his wardrobe, was eager to take part with his community in the silly gimmick of a town celebration. I thought it endearing that he was adaptable and challenged my misjudgments about his character. And that was that.

Then yesterday, the third day after the festival, I saw him again. HE WAS STILL WEARING THE RED SWEATER! Really.

I’m not sure where to go from here. My potential speculations are endless. Yet nothing really makes sense. Did the color in his life make him so much happier that he continued with it? Did his Crush neighbor lady compliment him on the sweater? I would say maybe it was laziness, that he didn’t bother to change in three days, but that can’t be it because he walks more in a day than I do in a week. Perhaps he fell into a rut of not getting around to buying new clothes very often, then when the town’s rules forced him to unleash the sassy red sweater he felt brand new and couldn’t get enough.

I can’t say. I don’t feel confident with any of these explanations. This time, I need some help here. Who’s got a theory?