Our church has a men’s prayer breakfast on the last Saturday of each month. Last Saturday, I remembered to go.
It’s somewhat of a struggle to get up and out of bed for breakfast on a Saturday morning. I rarely get to sleep before 2 or 3 a.m. these days, and that would include this past Friday night/Saturday morning. I have a standing instruction when I receive a notice about our last-Saturday-of-the-month get-togethers: I’ll show up if I can get up.
So there I was, dining on some pancakes Saturday morning and sharing a round table with five other guys — Jim, Jim, Denny, Gary, Ken, and me.
There was the usual goofballery we have when a bunch of guys get together. We gave each other a hard time about losing hair while everyone noted that I had more than the rest of them. It is also true that I was the youngest of the group.
So it is true: If you want to think you’re young, choose older friends.
Breakfast started at 8 a.m. and I wandered in right on time (for once). We had a prayer for the meal and dug in.
At these monthly gatherings, we shoot the breeze for a while and then read a few verses of Scripture. After we consider some prayer requests, we share a time where we all pray aloud around the circle and then go home. Our standard time of departure is between 9 and 9:15 a.m.
Not last Saturday. We shuffled out the door at about 9:30 a.m.
Why so late? That’s easy. It took us a while to remember stuff.
I was an interested observer for much of the conversation. While I’ve been a part of this congregation for almost 14 years now, many of the people the other guys were trying to remember predated me. I had no clue as to who most of them were. The conversation was lively until they tried to remember a name, or a date, or an event, and then it slowed down until somebody, anybody — and yes, sometimes even me — figured out who or what was eluding us.
Had our collective memories been nominally functional, or if we’d had some younger guys present who would have been a little sharper on the uptake, we could have left by 8:45 a.m. Instead, we struggled and stammered until we got everything all figured out. It was really quite remarkable.
I have a cell phone that I set down when I’m going to the bathroom or checking on the laundry or getting the blankets ready tor sleeping. It’s quite common for me to ask my wife to call my phone because I have no idea where it is. This is true even though I had the thing in my hand a moment before it came up missing. It didn’t get up and walk away; I forgot where I put it.
Steve Martin, in one of his earliest stand-up comedy routine, used to wonder why we didn’t use the best excuse in the book when we didn’t do something: I forgot. That’s a good excuse, he said, whether it’s true or not. Who’s going to really determine whether you forgot or not?
Saturday morning, I joined my five friends in being able to say, “I forgot.” (Actually, in my case, I may not even have known in the first place.)
Having put this column to bed, I’m going to pick up my cell phone, if I can find it, and go home.
The last Saturday morning of May will be Memorial Day weekend. It’s entirely possible that all six of us, and the other guys who would often be there, will be traveling that day. So we’re not going to have breakfast together.
I won’t go, if I can remember that we’re not meeting.
daves@news-banner.com
