Elsewhere, I exhort Kids and Teens: "You ARE THE DECISIONS YOU MAKE, THE ROLES YOU PLAY!"

One of the great blessings of my life occurred when I was 7 years old. At the College Hill Presbyterian Church in Tulsa, OK, I learned that even I -- or, in the jargon of sitcom writers, "even little old ME" -- could play the Role of a STEWARD. This PATTERNED my life, sustained me in my "darkest hours", gave me incentive and purpose, down to the present work. I'll explain.

As noted elsewhere, I was born the son of a Southern Methodist minister. But Dad left this when I was 4 and went back to his real love, gardening in parks. Mother returned to her trade as a dressmaker. Neither went to church by the time I was 6, and did not send me to church.

Our house -- in the same block of Reed Park, where Dad was Caretaker -- was a block away from College Hill Presbyterian Church. I passed it every day, shopping locally for the family, or taking a street car to shop for Mom's dressmaking needs.

When I was 7, I met a boy my own age in the Minister's front yard, Bobby Nichols, grandson of The Reverend William Nichols. We became good friends. I learned that, on Sunday morning, Bobby attended his grandfather's Bible Class, and then went to the Morning Service. He invited me to go and I thoroughly enjoyed it. (Later, I resisted any attempt to attend Sunday School, which may have provided the model for "progressive education".) Then Bobby told me that he was joining the church and invited me to do so.

As I'll shortly explain, I knew Mom would not approve, so I told the lie that I had my parent's permission to join this church.

By the time I got home that Sunday morning, Mom had learned about it from a customer and was waiting for me with a switch from the peach tree. She switched my legs until they bled "for humiliating" her.

You may have heard that some Southerners use the compounded word "damnyankees". My mother compounded three words: "richpresbyteriansnobs". I didn't understand that well, until I heard a joke about it years later, which I'll pause to tell in explanation of Mother's attitude.

A poor widow with 5 children moved in a neighborhood. The Methodist minister visited her and invited the family to his church. The mother pleaded that she was to busy, and that she couldn't send the children because they didn't "have the proper clothes". The minister assured her that the ladies of his church could supply this, and left with the widow's promise that -- if the clothes came -- she'd send the childen to church.

The next Sunday, the children were not in his church, yet he knew that the clothes had been delivered and accepted. He visited the mother on Monday to enquire as to what happened.

The widow explained, "Well, Preacher, when I got the children dressed up, they looked so fine that I sent them to the Presbyterian Church!"

Inspired, I did a lot of reading about the Presbyterian heritage. About the meaning of the Biblical name, "presbyter", for a governing by presbyters or elected elders over whom there is no higher authority.

I learned that Scot Presbyterians had a part in the changing of history. When Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658) took control of Parliament, raised an Army, supervised the beheading of King Charles, and set out to control all Britain, only the Presbyterian Cavalry stood in his way. They defeated Cromwell, and secured a promise that he would curb his efforts. When they returned to Scotland, Cromwell broke his promise, bided his time, and in surprise attack defeated the Presbyternian "Knights". Cromwell peopled North Ireland with Englishmen, which created the present "troubles". And Cromwell set up a Puritan government for Britain, which spread to the New England Colonies.

Many of our "founding fathers" -- Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, etc. -- were all descended from families who fled Cromwell to the New World. How different history would be if the Presbyterian Knights had "contained" Cromwell!

I learned about John Witherspoon, the only minister to sign the "Declaration of Independence" (see the 1972 film, 1776); also Chaplain of The Revolutionary Army.

I called myself "an Edinburgh Catholic", and I learned that the Presbyterian Church, alone, interpreted separation of Church and State to mean that churches should pay taxes. If churches paid taxes on their vast land holdings and businesses, there would be no National Debt.

I learned that the Head of the Presbyterian Church is merely called "The Stated Clerk". Thomas Jefferson may have taken this as a model for "his university", the University of Virginia. Jefferson founded it, planned its buidings and its roads and campuses, and arranged that it not have a President, but be governed by Secretary elected by the faculty. (This was changed, later on.)

But the most important thing I learned was that the Presbyterian tradition encouraged all members and visitors to believe that they could and should be stewards. Not just of their money, to aid the church, but of everything they own, talents and ideas and creations and all.

But it wasn't easy being a Presbyterian. My mother constantly gave me guff about it, but could not stop it because her Presbyterian customers might ask about my absence. Later, when we moved to Springfield, MO, the Presbyterian elders there would not let me attend Service alone -- thinking this would motivate me to bring my parents. But that was "out of the question". So I cannot number the Sunday mornings when I stubbornly sat on the steps of a Presbyterian Church -- in sunshine or rain or snow -- listening to what I could hear, outside, of the Service.

You should understand that this secretly saved me from my mother's domination. (To be fair, she was manic-depressive, and later put on lithium for life.) Mom repeatedly said to me something which later she told my wife and my children. "When Sonny was a baby, I prayed to God that he would be sickly, or crippled, or a little idiot -- so that he would never leave me!" In this family role, my mother did not consider me as a son, but as a kind of animal pet.

Elsewhere, I note that, until I was 18, I lived in fear of my mother's threat: "I can go before a judge and have you declared 'incorrigible' and locked up in Juvenile Jail!" My "incorrigibility"" principally consisted of: (1) I went to the (Snob) Presbyterian Church; (2) I constantly read books,and (except for "Conduct") and got all A's in school ("The invention of The Devil!"); (3) I loved music (another "Devil's invention") and played a trumpet in The Boy Scout Band. INCORRIGIBLE!

When our first son, Tim, was born, I sent Mom a telgram, and received one back. "God has punished you by giving you a son. Now you will know the grief of having him disobey you and leave you." I wrote her that God did not "give" a son, but placed a child in my Stewardship, until he was able to exercise his own Stewardship. But she never replied to this.

I hope, later on, to create a website, advocating "A Stewarship Society", so that others may realize the blessing I have enjoyed in trying to play this Role.