Perspective

History has never been my subject.  Yes, I learned all the important dates and the kings and queens of England in their proper order, but only for the test after which all was promptly forgotten.  I did enjoy the aspects that dealt with individuals and their cultures and their reasonings, and also perhaps, the grand overview, the broad sweep, but the drudgery of this fact and that fact, and oh, don’t forget this fact, bored me to tears.  What I really wanted was a chance to look at all sides of events and issues.  I remember checking a historical fiction book out of my high school library which dealt with the American Revolution from the British point of view. Thoroughly enjoyable, and as I learned about the events of that time from a different perspective, I was motivated to learn and retain more about what had happened.

As human beings, shaped by the fall into sin of Adam, we are fallible.  We are limited in our perceptions.  Our perspective can be very narrow.  However, there are the other sides, other perspectives, which do not change the truth, but give insight into the thoughts, emotions and reactions of other people ranging from the differences of male and female thought processes, of the rural/city divide, the range of politics from liberal to conservative, the vast differences between the nations and cultures of the world.  It can be outside our comfort zone to try to step into another’s shoes in any of these situations and we can never fully understand all the factors that may have shaped another’s point of view, but it can be invaluable to gain even a small insight into them.

The overarching comfort is that God’s perspective is infallible, omniscient, eternal.  And because he is omniscient and omnipotent, we can rest fully on him for wisdom and strength.

The end of one of my eras

When today’s younger generations think of the 1960’s, the youth of their parents or grandparents, the images of “sex, drugs and rock’n’ roll” are pretty pervasive.  For some, those were the reality, but for a large portion of the young people growing up during that era, their lives were fairly prosaic.  Yes, the times they were a changin’, but the greater impact had not been felt.

I graduated from Apple Valley High School in Southern California in 1970.  But while San Francisco (and surrounding areas) was a hotbed of hippies coming of age, our small corner of the high desert was quite behind the times.  Drugs were mostly consumed at rich kids parties, the ones left unsupervised for weekends at a time.  Rock music was played on the school buses, but bands often still wore suit coats and ties.  Girls still wore skirts and dresses to school, though hemlines were shorter, to be sure.  Jeans were still working gear and not fashion statements.  Rioting was occurring elsewhere, but respect for teachers and authority still pervaded our school atmosphere.

Our high school was new my tenth grade year.  It had been built as a grouping of separate buildings around an open quadrangle.  The overhangs were deep to accommodate outdoor lockers – not much rain in the desert.  Ninth grade was included with seventh and eighth grades at the local junior high and the twelfth graders chose to stay at with their classmates at the previous high school for their senior year, so for that first year, there were only tenth and eleventh grades.  Our class was just over 200 students, not too large, not too small.  We had the usual assortment of teachers, ranging from the history teacher who had pretty much already checked out to the English teacher who expected and got great things from his students.  The students were also predictably varied--the jocks, the nerds, the in crowd, the outsiders, the average ones.  I played the bassoon in concert, marching and jazz bands (great fun), took part in speech tournaments (results meh), played on the tennis team (I was terrible), got good grades, had friends of all sorts, and generally made it through unscathed.

But all good things must come to an end.  Graduation was held on the football field with a podium facing rows of chairs and the chairs facing the bleachers where family and friends would sit on  a very sunny June afternoon.  Speeches were made, diplomas were handed out and congratulations given.  Our days at public school were over.

However, that wasn’t quite the end.  The highlight for most of us came that evening when we boarded big yellow school buses with our dates, or our friends, and headed 2 hours over the Cajon Pass on Route 66 to Disneyland.  After closing, the whole park became a playground for the graduating seniors from several schools for the entire night, chaperoned of course – and with a dress code.  The Matterhorn, the Pirates of the Caribbean, the Haunted House, all the rides were open without the usual long lines.  Different artists and bands were playing the various venues, Jackie DeShannon being the only one I can remember.  Restaurants were open; we ate at the one inside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.  The hundreds of lights illuminated the park throughout the night and  made it magical.  Good memories.

Heading east the next morning as the sky was brightening, we were indeed leaving our years of public education behind and looking ahead to the dawn of our future.