Life on the Ledge

The old man nudged me carefully to the edge of the ravine. He held onto me as I looked down to the ledge and saw the dog was still there. The animal was stone silent, barely moving, and still alive. The old man said there was no way to save the scarcely alive dog. His words felt like a sledgehammer crushing what little hope I hung onto. I was not looking to be a nine-year-old hero. I had given up on that fantasy nurtured by reading those Zane Grey Western magazines. This felt like real life and death. I wanted a solution to an impossible situation.

When the dog saw us he began to yelp again, more weakly this time like he knew its fate.

The old man grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “We need to go, let nature take its course! We can’t help this dog.”

That was the hardest decision any kid could make. Walk away and let the dog die, either through exhaustion and lack of food and water. Or falling off the ledge to the crater floor fifty feet below. I remember weeping as the old man nudged me along. I recall still hearing the faint wailing as we walked away until distance made it no longer audible. To this very day, within my spirit, I can still hear the sound of that dog crying out for help. It was a defining moment and a reminder about dealing with life on a ledge.

As an adult, I know there are time when we have to walk away and demonstrate tough love. A good friend’s brother was sleeping in a cardboard box underneath the George Washington Bridge because of addictions. As painful a choice it was, the family all agreed to tough love to encourage the brother to make the right decisions. This situation had a blessed outcome. But it doesn’t always happen that way.

There are times when family members or friends end up on a “ledge” crying out for help. Sometimes it’s from circumstances beyond one’s control. Sometimes, it’s by their own doing. The choices leading to a resolution are not always obvious or within our reach.

When the dog moaned on that ledge, my young mind did not comprehend fully the scope of God’s way with miracles. Today as an adult when facing the impossible I choose to rely on Scriptures like Matthew 19:26 - Jesus looked at them and said, "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Now the final question. Could God have saved the dog I still think about? The circumstances were clearly impossible.

What’s your view on this?

Robert Parlante
September 2016

A Not So Magical Kingdom

I often visited the old man (the junk man) and woman (the book lady) because I liked reading stories in their stash of pulp magazines. Zane Grey’s Western magazine was my favorite. As soon as I finished one story I would begin another and often read the same story over again. I practically had the story memorized, and I would go outside to reenact the plot. Cowboys and rustlers. The beautiful teacher abducted by the evil mine boss. My trusted dog would help me save the day! There was no limit to what my two-sided brain could conjure up on a hot and humid summer day in anthracite coal country.

I also liked to scavenge the areas around the abandoned coal mines searching for treasures left behind after the mines stopped operating. When I brought a stray pulley I had found or stumbled upon a length of rusted metal, the old man acted like I had brought him a million dollars as he added them to his junk collection. I once brought back an empty cobalt-blue glass bottle that glistened like a sapphire gem. It was probably worthless but the old man treated the bottle as priceless, telling me it should be set in a king or queen’s crown. It inspired me to bring back more.

One day, my magical kingdom took a turn for the worse. As a child there was never a time I did not have a dog, and every one of them was named Lassie, male or female. I was obsessed with the movie "Lassie, Come Home" filmed in 1943. Between Zane Grey and Lassie, I had everything I needed to conjure up a life and death story where some nine-year-old hero comes to the rescue.

While on another scavenger hunt, I heard a strange sound coming from the mine area and the surrounding waste heaps. It was a faint wailing that sounded desperate, like a crying baby. When I honed in on the place it was coming from, I walked up to the edge of a cavernous excavation. As I scanned the deep ravine I saw a dog who had fallen off the edge and landed onto a narrow ledge about 50 feet above the crater’s bottom. Had the fall just happened or did it occur days ago? It had to be some time ago, because the dog was skinny and hardly moving.

There was no escape! There was no way for me to reach the desperate dog from the top. There was no way for the dog to jump off the ledge and survive the leap. Who to call? No phones. Certainly no cell phones. I stood frozen looking down at the helpless animal. No matter how much I tried to figure out a rescue, I came up empty. As I considered the likely outcome, I found myself fighting back tears. I sat on the ground and imagined I was stroking the poor dog, hoping it would be a source of comfort.

I decided to walk back to the junk man and see if he could help the dog. He was physically limited but he still returned to the ravine with me. As we approached the ravine, there was stone silence. I was immediately heartbroken. Life was not a story where we could change the ending or soften the hard parts with a happy thought or a redeeming gesture. This time I would not be the hero.

Robert Parlante
September 2016

A Magical Kingdom - Part 3

I tasted my first forkful of pie. Wow! This lemon masterpiece was made from scratch, not some boxed lemon pudding mix. It was the real thing made with fresh lemons. The tangy filling puckered my lips, and I wondered how Anna could achieve such results in her meager kitchen.

As I handed the empty plate back to Anna, the stack of magazines next to the chair caught my eye again. Anna suggested I do some reading. I thought she sounded like a school teacher as she plumbed up the stuffed chair and invited me to sit. She told me some of the magazines would suit a young boy like me. I saw Look and Liberty magazines. They were decades old, smelled damp and felt crumbly. As I grew into adulthood I never forgot those magazines yellowed by time and rubbed thin by calloused fingers thumbing its pages.

We never had magazines around our home as they were considered too expensive. We had radio back then, and that was enough.

Anna told me when you read, you can go anywhere. It took many more years later to understand what that meant, but the journey started in that dusty tumble-down structure. This was a different magic kingdom than the old man’s domain and his grandfather clock. I remembered reading those magazines over and over again for years until I entered high school. I began to feel like a penny with its two sides. One side wanted to be a scientist or an engineer, but now the other side suggested a different life option for me. A writer, a journalist, a novelist. The combination of science and the creative side of the brain d0 not easily coexist in the same person. Yet the two sides coexisted in one couple, the home they lived in, and the eclectic lives they led … like collecting scraps of coal during the day, left behind by the abandoned mines, and reading some issue of Atlantic Monthly from 1935 at night. Both activities sustained their lives.

Now an adult, I am convinced that the Lord knows and proves that he could take anyone’s upbringing and use it for his good purposes. Ephesians 2:10 says “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (NIV)

Whatever life phase one may be in, think of yourself as being prepared for the greater good, a mission, an occupation, a vocation you haven’t yet given a shred of thought towards. We may consider our lives falling short at times. Start dreaming about all the possibilities of a life in Christ. Be open. Above all, be patient. I published my first novel as a senior adult. But God started preparing me when I was nine years old by sending two eccentric people into my life.

So grab a seat, reach for something to read, and let your mind soar! You don’t need an expensive ticket to enter this Magical Kingdom.

P.S. When I returned from engineering school years later to visit family, the two-room building was demolished for business development. The old couple was gone … mysteriously, with no explanation. Maybe they were flying to the moon or growing lemons in California.

Robert Parlante
September 2016

A Magical Kingdom (Part 2)

My feet were frozen in place, and my imagination ran wild! Was the old man some serial killer about to claim another victim?

The man turned around and I remember him saying, “Thanks for picking up the tobacco. That was kind. You must be tired from walking? You know the missus made a lemon meringue pie this morning. Come and have a piece.”

Kind? I did it for money and not some charitable reason. I remember feeling guilty. Throwing in the lemon pie was a dealmaker. It was, and still is, my favorite pie! It felt like someone turned on a heat source and I started to thaw. I followed the man into the house like a puppy dog anticipating an obedience treat. I was no longer afraid.

We walked into a large dusty room, smelling oily, and filled to the brim with what I thought was junk. There were bits and pieces, tools, scrap metal, wheels, and coffee cans filled with nuts and bolts and nails. It was visual overload with virtually no open space to place another item. If anything broke, the man probably had the means to repair anything using his stash of scrap. I began to imagine how to take disparate pieces of stuff, put them together somehow to create something new. It reminded me of the Erector set I received for Christmas.

But one item did stand out above the rest. In the middle of the room was a working grandfather clock with sun and moon dials. It was definitely not a scrap item as the time ticked quietly. When I asked him where the clock came from, he changed the subject. It was another mystery involving the old man who went on to tell me stories about the sun and the moon.

I loved science and math in school, and the room with its tales about the solar system energized that side of my personality. Would I be a scientist someday? Maybe I would figure out a way to get to the moon and back. An hour ago, my imagination ran wild with scary thoughts. Now it ran rampant with everything I could do or be as an adult. I had entered what felt like a magical kingdom of possibilities.

The old man introduced me to his missus in the other room. Her first name was Anna, and she had a welcoming smile. There was a coal-burning stove, a bed with a down comforter, two armchairs, a sink with running water, and a table with four chairs. With no electricity, kerosene lanterns were used. Alongside one arm chair was a stack of magazines, decades old.

On the table were three small pieces of lemon meringue pie …

To Be Continued in the next blog

Robert Parlante

September 2016

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A Magical Kingdom (Part 1)

Before Disney World and its magic kingdom, there was the gray-weathered clapboarded two-room building hidden away near an abandoned anthracite coal mine in Pennsylvania. The dilapidated structure surround by coal debris seemed to have been ever-present as long I could remember. I once peeked inside the place early on through dust-encrusted windows when my nine-year-old friends dared me. One room looked like it was used to service mining-related equipment, while the second room was empty space and was probably used for storage. Unoccupied and coal-dust grime made the place look lifeless and creepy.

Even as an adult today, I could not recall how the old building became occupied by the old man and woman who took over the place. They just showed up and became squatters. As a kid, I remember being warned to stay away from the place. There were rumors of their checkered past, unexplained mysteries and stories of two people on the run for speculated reasons. No one seemed to know how they got their food or money or where they came from. I wondered who even owns the building? Who would ever give them permission to occupy the place?

One day, by happenchance I met the old man walking along a dirt road. My first instinct was to run! He beckoned me with an offer. He’d give me a quarter if I would walk to the next town about two miles away and buy him a can of Prince Albert tobacco in the can. I reluctantly accepted the deal.

Hours later I returned. When I approached the place, I had a game-plan. I’d place the can of tobacco and his change (less 25 cents) at the front entrance, yell out and run! As I slipped the tobacco near the door I heard footsteps.

As I turned to run, I bumped into the old man walking back from his outhouse. He smiled, still his yellowy teeth frightened me. “Did ya get the tobacco?” was all he said.

I stuttered back then. I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth.

“Come in the house.” The old man turned away and headed for the front door.

My feet would not move. I envisioned being sacrificed on some demon-worship altar like I saw in the movie serials...

(To Be Continued in my next blog)

Robert Parlante
September 2016