Junior
Stories
Lightly Goes the Good News
Scripture Stories For Reflection
Dressed in red running trunks, a blue Down-On-The-Farm sweatshirt, baseball cap, and sneakers, Junior gazed steadily at himself in the full-length bedroom mirror. He assumed several poses: charming; witty; sexy; business like; bon vivant. Junior sighed. He was compelled to conclude the world was waiting to see him and it was time to strike out on his own. All he needed was to convince his daddy he was making the right decision. But that didn't promise to be easy. Daddy would never understand his need to get away.
After all, Junior had the run of a mansion large enough to hold conventions. He had three squares a day, a sizeable monthly allowance, and, of course, a daddy who doted on him something awful. True, not everything was perfect. Ralph, his older brother, spent all his time working and expected Junior to do the same. But generally Junior had nothing to complain about. Still, he agreed with the figure in the mirror that his time had come to make his move. Then and there he decided the best time to approach Daddy was during Daddy's morning ritual in the chicken coop. Daddy's spirits were always highest when he was gathering and counting eggs.
The next morning Junior showed up at the coop, and seeing Daddy was in a happy, egg plucking mood, he made his move. "Daddy, I want to split!" Looking around briefly, Junior grinned, "I gotta fly the coop, if you know what I mean!" Daddy dropped the large basket of eggs in the chicken poop. He didn't know what Junior meant. "You wanna leave this?" The old man puzzled as he waved his hand around the coop. "What's gotten into you?" he muttered as he knelt down to sort out the broken eggs from those still intact. "Daddy," Junior pleaded. "I gotta go. There's a big world out there, just waitin'!" "Waitin'?" Daddy interrupted. "For what?" "For me, Daddy, for me. An' I can't wait. The world can't wait any longer. All I want from you is what's coming to me as if you had already died." Junior brought his hand to his mouth. "Did I say that?" he gasped. Stunned, the old man dropped the basket a second time. Junior thought it wise to help Daddy in retrieving whatever unbroken eggs might still be left. "Do you understand, Daddy?" By now Junior was kneeling alongside Daddy and dropping eggs like bombs into the basket. "No, I don't." The old man shook his head sadly. "But if you've made up your mind, I'm not going to hold you back. But," choked up with emotion, he interrupted himself and lectured, "stop droppin' those eggs like that in the basket. I wanna have at least enough left for an omelet." Then his face softening, the old man practically whispered, "I'll have the servant give you the money this afternoon." "Thanks, Daddy," Junior smiled as he rose to his feet. "I knew you'd understand." Junior pushed open the coop door, threw his baseball cap into the air and shouted, "I'm on my way. I'm on my way." Yes, he was on his way.
Off to a far country -- twenty miles away. The first thing he did was splurge on expensive snakeskin boots, a Stetson hat, Levis tight as tight could be, and a red kerchief to drape around the collar of a new white silk shirt. Facing the mirror in his Motel 6 room, Junior primped and preened. Cracking his Dentyne gum, he drawled, "I'm ready for the big time." Strutting to the door he felt the perspiration gathering under his arms. "Damn," he whispered as he felt its tell-tale traces on his shirt, "I'm just a little nervous. Maybe I oughta stay in tonight and work crossword puzzles -- like I do at home," he muttered, retreating a step or two. But he stopped, crossed his arms, and told himself he hadn't come this far just to spend time in a motel room. Staring intently at the door, he said, "The world is out there at my feet. I gotta go. I gotta go." Marching to the door, he turned the knob and pushed it open to the evening air.
Out on the street, Junior's eyes grew big as silver dollars. His mouth dropped open an inch or two. "Wowee!" he cried. There they were. Ladies of the night. Sashaying on one side of the street; striking inviting poses on the other. Leaning on street lamps and lounging in second story windows. All shapes and sizes. "Hi, there, hot buns! Want a little fun?" out of the shadows in an alley a seductive voice beckoned. "Gollee!" Junior gasped. "Someone's there waitin' for me." He hesitated a minute, perspiration beading on his forehead. Then, mustering his determination, he said, "I can't deny her." Junior tipped his Stetson forward, flexed his muscles, flung his shoulders back, whistled softly, and stepped into the shadows.
"Pow! Wham! Bop!" There was scrambling, then the patter of feet fleeing quickly into the night, and finally a low moan. "Ohhh!" Junior crawled haltingly into the light of a street lamp. Gone were his snakeskin boots, his tight as tight could be Levis, his wallet.
Naked, except for blue shorts with the embroidered monogram J, a Stetson covering his ears, and his red kerchief, Junior staggered barefoot back to his room. "Those ladies pack some wallop," he mused as he examined the raccoon rings forming around his eyes. "Daddy never told me it could get so rough! No matter! Tomorrow there'll be time for fun and games. Meanwhile, I think I'll have me some milk and cookies." Junior ordered out and shortly was munching on Oreos dunked in milk -- a favorite snack of his at home. "Just like bein' at home," he purred. Having eaten his fill, Junior fell back on the bed and drifted off to sleep.
The following afternoon Junior was ready to go again. "The gamblin' halls are waitin' for me," he persuaded his partner in the mirror. He was modeling new tight as tight can be Levis and new ostrich-skin boots he had purchased that morning. "Now I gotta go and strut my stuff." He tipped his Stetson, popped a stick of Dentyne in his mouth, and swaggered towards the door. But then he halted and scanned the room. "I wonder if there's any old comic books around -- like at home." Quickly he answered himself, "What am I talkin' about? I can't stay here. I've gotta show them all a thing or two at the gamblin' hall." Flinging his shoulders back, he turned the knob and opened the door to the world of the gambling halls.
"A shot of your finest brandy. It's what I need to get the juices going," he confided to the bartender at Ben's Big Bucks Gamblin' Palace. "Then you'll see me take the place by storm!" A shot it was and then another and then.... "Who does he belong to?" were the last words Junior heard. And the next thing he knew he was staring at the ceiling from his Motel 6 bed. A milk and cookie man he was; a brandy man he wasn't. "Ohhh," he groaned. "Someone's playin' with my brain." Panicking he felt for his Stetson -- it was there; his kerchief -- there; his monogrammed shorts -- on but backwards; his Levis -- gone; his boots -- gone. His wallet? Why even check? Resigned, he thought, "Tomorrow there'll be fun and games. But not today." So all that day he slept and in the evening he hauled out a pack of cards for solitaire. "Daddy and I used to have so much fun playin' cards," he thought as he looked longingly out into the night. Setting aside the cards he reassured himself. "I'll be all right. What I need is some milk and cookies." Once more he ordered out for his favorite and ended the evening bingeing on milk and Oreos.
Late the next morning he washed and shaved. "Today's the day I'm really goin' to have fun. I just know it," Junior chortled. Bracing his cheeks with Country Spice, he grinned and winked at the mirror. Then he studied himself: Stetson, kerchief, boots, tighter than tight can be Levis purchased an hour earlier. "That's it!" He passed inspection. Tilting his Stetson forward, he strode to the door, turned the knob, paused, and reflected, "Hmmmmm! If I were home today, I'd be going fishing with Daddy." Then he cut the air with his hand. "No, I can't think about that. I'm off to the races! I'm goin' to show them how to bet. It's my lucky day, I'm bound to be a winner." And he opened the door to the world of the race tracks.
Junior placed his bet on Lucky Legs -- a thousand to win! Then he sauntered into the boxes with confidence to spare ... and five minutes later he came running out a loser -- minus leather boots, tighter than tight Levis, and of course his wallet. So certain was he Lucky Legs would win, that he had told the fella sitting next to him, "I'll bet my Levis and my boots and all that's in my wallet that Lucky Legs will win!"
"It's a deal, guy," the fella eagerly shook hands.
Too bad for Lucky Legs. No sooner had she cleared the gate than she stumbled like some drunkard weaving home. And it was off to the glue factory for her. "Hey, guy," the fella elbowed him. "Pay up -- now!" What could Junior do but strip to his shorts, hand the booty over, and Stetson pulled low, gallop out of the stadium. This way and that he scurried. Finally, he hid himself in a clump of bushes until evening and then high-tailed it back to the room in his shorts.
"What'll I do? What'll I do?" he panicked as he paced the floor. "I've nothing left -- not even a pair of pants." Sinking on the bed he scanned the want ads. His eyes fell on a small ad tucked at the bottom of page twenty-one. "Fodder Feeder Wanted. No talent needed. No experience needed." And in very fine print ... "Just a very strong stomach." Junior had no time for small print. "Hmmmm. Fodder Feeder? Sounds pretty good to me. Besides, I've gotta go. I've nothing left." As he lifted his head, he caught sight of the pathetic-looking figure in the mirror. That was all he needed to spur him on. Having plopped on his Stetson, shoulders slumping, he slunk to the door, and asked sadly, "I wonder if Daddy misses me?" Then he opened the door to the world of the fodder feeder.
"This isn't what I had in mind when I answered that ad," Junior grumbled on the second day of fodder feeding. He was ankle deep in pig crap. "Why didn't they say a 'pig fodder feeder'? I call that false advertising." Arms filled with corn cobs, Junior looked the picture of despair as he threw cobs one by one to (or at) the pigs. They in contrast were squealing with delight. "Doesn't take much to make them happy," he grumbled as he stood forlornly in his shorts 'n Stetson. "Fodder feeder indeed! Big success I am! No clothes. Nothin' to eat. And ..." he paused, tears forming in his eyes, "I miss Daddy." Junior wept quietly for a couple of minutes.
"What am I doing here? I want to go home. Yes, home. But how can I? After all I've done. Still, I've got to. What'll I do? What'll I do?" Tapping a cob against his furrowed brow, Junior thought and thought. "I know," he exclaimed, lifting the cob high in the air. "Maybe Daddy will take me back. I'll just tell him, 'Daddy, I've messed things up. I've done you wrong. Please take me back. I'll do anything ... help out in the chicken coop, clean the cow barns, anything!' " Reflecting on his words, Junior stood there a minute and carefully rehearsed what he wanted to say. Then he flung the last cob to a startled pig in the corner of the pen and cried, "That's it! I'm leaving."
Walking home in his shorts 'n Stetson, he spied the old man in the distance. Junior quickened his pace and cried out. "Daddy, Daddy, I've messed things up right good. Please, please take me back. I've done you wrong. I've...." "It's okay; it's okay. No need to say anything," Daddy broke in as he hobbled down the path with outstretched arms to embrace Junior. However, Junior had memorized his message and there was no stopping him. "I'll do anything -- clean the cow barns, clean the chicken coop...." "No! No!" Daddy put his hands over his ears. His anxiety level shot up. He was overjoyed to see Junior; but the one favor he wouldn't grant was having Junior work with him in the chicken coop. "You're home. That's all that counts." By this time the servants had joined Junior and Daddy, their arms around one another. Daddy said to the servants: "Quick! Bring out the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet. Take the fatted calf and kill it. Let us eat and celebrate because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life. He was lost and is found." Then the celebration began. Junior was home to stay.
Reflection
Junior thinks the world is waiting for him and he fantasizes himself living out different roles in that world. We laugh at his posturing and wonder how he could be so foolish as to think the world is breathlessly waiting his appearance. The truth is Junior is living out the myth we are all called to live, namely, the myth of the hero.
All of us need to know we are called to do something and be someone. Attractive fantasies of the future energize us to overcome whatever obstacles might prevent us from realizing our dreams. One of the obstacles is leaving home. This can be too overwhelming for some people. The secure, known world of the home appears preferable to the unknown, uncertain world a person has to explore in order to live out the dream or vision. And unless that person feels strong enough to do this successfully, he or she will not even take the first step out of the nest.
Junior's fantasies lead him to explore different worlds. Invariably he is unsuccessful in doing what he sets out to accomplish. Of course many heroes do achieve their goals; they are successful in slaying dragons or rescuing maidens. In this regard they are unlike Junior. But ultimately all heroes have to die and be reborn. Die to what? To the sense of self-sufficiency. No one is able to go through life without experiencing failure of one kind or another. And when this happens the hero dies to the self-perception of invincibility. Pictured variously as going into the tomb, the belly of the whale, the desert experience, the night sea journey, etc., this dying leads to a rebirth or a new perspective on life. What is this new perspective?
A person comes to recognize his or her neediness and reaches out to be helped, e.g., Junior reaches out to his daddy and Jesus relies on his Father. We all hope to gain insight from our mythic journey as we move through life: born to be heroes; heroes undergoing death; heroes reborn. The prodigal came back to life all right but not as the boy who left home. The hero was reborn.
After all, Junior had the run of a mansion large enough to hold conventions. He had three squares a day, a sizeable monthly allowance, and, of course, a daddy who doted on him something awful. True, not everything was perfect. Ralph, his older brother, spent all his time working and expected Junior to do the same. But generally Junior had nothing to complain about. Still, he agreed with the figure in the mirror that his time had come to make his move. Then and there he decided the best time to approach Daddy was during Daddy's morning ritual in the chicken coop. Daddy's spirits were always highest when he was gathering and counting eggs.
The next morning Junior showed up at the coop, and seeing Daddy was in a happy, egg plucking mood, he made his move. "Daddy, I want to split!" Looking around briefly, Junior grinned, "I gotta fly the coop, if you know what I mean!" Daddy dropped the large basket of eggs in the chicken poop. He didn't know what Junior meant. "You wanna leave this?" The old man puzzled as he waved his hand around the coop. "What's gotten into you?" he muttered as he knelt down to sort out the broken eggs from those still intact. "Daddy," Junior pleaded. "I gotta go. There's a big world out there, just waitin'!" "Waitin'?" Daddy interrupted. "For what?" "For me, Daddy, for me. An' I can't wait. The world can't wait any longer. All I want from you is what's coming to me as if you had already died." Junior brought his hand to his mouth. "Did I say that?" he gasped. Stunned, the old man dropped the basket a second time. Junior thought it wise to help Daddy in retrieving whatever unbroken eggs might still be left. "Do you understand, Daddy?" By now Junior was kneeling alongside Daddy and dropping eggs like bombs into the basket. "No, I don't." The old man shook his head sadly. "But if you've made up your mind, I'm not going to hold you back. But," choked up with emotion, he interrupted himself and lectured, "stop droppin' those eggs like that in the basket. I wanna have at least enough left for an omelet." Then his face softening, the old man practically whispered, "I'll have the servant give you the money this afternoon." "Thanks, Daddy," Junior smiled as he rose to his feet. "I knew you'd understand." Junior pushed open the coop door, threw his baseball cap into the air and shouted, "I'm on my way. I'm on my way." Yes, he was on his way.
Off to a far country -- twenty miles away. The first thing he did was splurge on expensive snakeskin boots, a Stetson hat, Levis tight as tight could be, and a red kerchief to drape around the collar of a new white silk shirt. Facing the mirror in his Motel 6 room, Junior primped and preened. Cracking his Dentyne gum, he drawled, "I'm ready for the big time." Strutting to the door he felt the perspiration gathering under his arms. "Damn," he whispered as he felt its tell-tale traces on his shirt, "I'm just a little nervous. Maybe I oughta stay in tonight and work crossword puzzles -- like I do at home," he muttered, retreating a step or two. But he stopped, crossed his arms, and told himself he hadn't come this far just to spend time in a motel room. Staring intently at the door, he said, "The world is out there at my feet. I gotta go. I gotta go." Marching to the door, he turned the knob and pushed it open to the evening air.
Out on the street, Junior's eyes grew big as silver dollars. His mouth dropped open an inch or two. "Wowee!" he cried. There they were. Ladies of the night. Sashaying on one side of the street; striking inviting poses on the other. Leaning on street lamps and lounging in second story windows. All shapes and sizes. "Hi, there, hot buns! Want a little fun?" out of the shadows in an alley a seductive voice beckoned. "Gollee!" Junior gasped. "Someone's there waitin' for me." He hesitated a minute, perspiration beading on his forehead. Then, mustering his determination, he said, "I can't deny her." Junior tipped his Stetson forward, flexed his muscles, flung his shoulders back, whistled softly, and stepped into the shadows.
"Pow! Wham! Bop!" There was scrambling, then the patter of feet fleeing quickly into the night, and finally a low moan. "Ohhh!" Junior crawled haltingly into the light of a street lamp. Gone were his snakeskin boots, his tight as tight could be Levis, his wallet.
Naked, except for blue shorts with the embroidered monogram J, a Stetson covering his ears, and his red kerchief, Junior staggered barefoot back to his room. "Those ladies pack some wallop," he mused as he examined the raccoon rings forming around his eyes. "Daddy never told me it could get so rough! No matter! Tomorrow there'll be time for fun and games. Meanwhile, I think I'll have me some milk and cookies." Junior ordered out and shortly was munching on Oreos dunked in milk -- a favorite snack of his at home. "Just like bein' at home," he purred. Having eaten his fill, Junior fell back on the bed and drifted off to sleep.
The following afternoon Junior was ready to go again. "The gamblin' halls are waitin' for me," he persuaded his partner in the mirror. He was modeling new tight as tight can be Levis and new ostrich-skin boots he had purchased that morning. "Now I gotta go and strut my stuff." He tipped his Stetson, popped a stick of Dentyne in his mouth, and swaggered towards the door. But then he halted and scanned the room. "I wonder if there's any old comic books around -- like at home." Quickly he answered himself, "What am I talkin' about? I can't stay here. I've gotta show them all a thing or two at the gamblin' hall." Flinging his shoulders back, he turned the knob and opened the door to the world of the gambling halls.
"A shot of your finest brandy. It's what I need to get the juices going," he confided to the bartender at Ben's Big Bucks Gamblin' Palace. "Then you'll see me take the place by storm!" A shot it was and then another and then.... "Who does he belong to?" were the last words Junior heard. And the next thing he knew he was staring at the ceiling from his Motel 6 bed. A milk and cookie man he was; a brandy man he wasn't. "Ohhh," he groaned. "Someone's playin' with my brain." Panicking he felt for his Stetson -- it was there; his kerchief -- there; his monogrammed shorts -- on but backwards; his Levis -- gone; his boots -- gone. His wallet? Why even check? Resigned, he thought, "Tomorrow there'll be fun and games. But not today." So all that day he slept and in the evening he hauled out a pack of cards for solitaire. "Daddy and I used to have so much fun playin' cards," he thought as he looked longingly out into the night. Setting aside the cards he reassured himself. "I'll be all right. What I need is some milk and cookies." Once more he ordered out for his favorite and ended the evening bingeing on milk and Oreos.
Late the next morning he washed and shaved. "Today's the day I'm really goin' to have fun. I just know it," Junior chortled. Bracing his cheeks with Country Spice, he grinned and winked at the mirror. Then he studied himself: Stetson, kerchief, boots, tighter than tight can be Levis purchased an hour earlier. "That's it!" He passed inspection. Tilting his Stetson forward, he strode to the door, turned the knob, paused, and reflected, "Hmmmmm! If I were home today, I'd be going fishing with Daddy." Then he cut the air with his hand. "No, I can't think about that. I'm off to the races! I'm goin' to show them how to bet. It's my lucky day, I'm bound to be a winner." And he opened the door to the world of the race tracks.
Junior placed his bet on Lucky Legs -- a thousand to win! Then he sauntered into the boxes with confidence to spare ... and five minutes later he came running out a loser -- minus leather boots, tighter than tight Levis, and of course his wallet. So certain was he Lucky Legs would win, that he had told the fella sitting next to him, "I'll bet my Levis and my boots and all that's in my wallet that Lucky Legs will win!"
"It's a deal, guy," the fella eagerly shook hands.
Too bad for Lucky Legs. No sooner had she cleared the gate than she stumbled like some drunkard weaving home. And it was off to the glue factory for her. "Hey, guy," the fella elbowed him. "Pay up -- now!" What could Junior do but strip to his shorts, hand the booty over, and Stetson pulled low, gallop out of the stadium. This way and that he scurried. Finally, he hid himself in a clump of bushes until evening and then high-tailed it back to the room in his shorts.
"What'll I do? What'll I do?" he panicked as he paced the floor. "I've nothing left -- not even a pair of pants." Sinking on the bed he scanned the want ads. His eyes fell on a small ad tucked at the bottom of page twenty-one. "Fodder Feeder Wanted. No talent needed. No experience needed." And in very fine print ... "Just a very strong stomach." Junior had no time for small print. "Hmmmm. Fodder Feeder? Sounds pretty good to me. Besides, I've gotta go. I've nothing left." As he lifted his head, he caught sight of the pathetic-looking figure in the mirror. That was all he needed to spur him on. Having plopped on his Stetson, shoulders slumping, he slunk to the door, and asked sadly, "I wonder if Daddy misses me?" Then he opened the door to the world of the fodder feeder.
"This isn't what I had in mind when I answered that ad," Junior grumbled on the second day of fodder feeding. He was ankle deep in pig crap. "Why didn't they say a 'pig fodder feeder'? I call that false advertising." Arms filled with corn cobs, Junior looked the picture of despair as he threw cobs one by one to (or at) the pigs. They in contrast were squealing with delight. "Doesn't take much to make them happy," he grumbled as he stood forlornly in his shorts 'n Stetson. "Fodder feeder indeed! Big success I am! No clothes. Nothin' to eat. And ..." he paused, tears forming in his eyes, "I miss Daddy." Junior wept quietly for a couple of minutes.
"What am I doing here? I want to go home. Yes, home. But how can I? After all I've done. Still, I've got to. What'll I do? What'll I do?" Tapping a cob against his furrowed brow, Junior thought and thought. "I know," he exclaimed, lifting the cob high in the air. "Maybe Daddy will take me back. I'll just tell him, 'Daddy, I've messed things up. I've done you wrong. Please take me back. I'll do anything ... help out in the chicken coop, clean the cow barns, anything!' " Reflecting on his words, Junior stood there a minute and carefully rehearsed what he wanted to say. Then he flung the last cob to a startled pig in the corner of the pen and cried, "That's it! I'm leaving."
Walking home in his shorts 'n Stetson, he spied the old man in the distance. Junior quickened his pace and cried out. "Daddy, Daddy, I've messed things up right good. Please, please take me back. I've done you wrong. I've...." "It's okay; it's okay. No need to say anything," Daddy broke in as he hobbled down the path with outstretched arms to embrace Junior. However, Junior had memorized his message and there was no stopping him. "I'll do anything -- clean the cow barns, clean the chicken coop...." "No! No!" Daddy put his hands over his ears. His anxiety level shot up. He was overjoyed to see Junior; but the one favor he wouldn't grant was having Junior work with him in the chicken coop. "You're home. That's all that counts." By this time the servants had joined Junior and Daddy, their arms around one another. Daddy said to the servants: "Quick! Bring out the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet. Take the fatted calf and kill it. Let us eat and celebrate because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life. He was lost and is found." Then the celebration began. Junior was home to stay.
Reflection
Junior thinks the world is waiting for him and he fantasizes himself living out different roles in that world. We laugh at his posturing and wonder how he could be so foolish as to think the world is breathlessly waiting his appearance. The truth is Junior is living out the myth we are all called to live, namely, the myth of the hero.
All of us need to know we are called to do something and be someone. Attractive fantasies of the future energize us to overcome whatever obstacles might prevent us from realizing our dreams. One of the obstacles is leaving home. This can be too overwhelming for some people. The secure, known world of the home appears preferable to the unknown, uncertain world a person has to explore in order to live out the dream or vision. And unless that person feels strong enough to do this successfully, he or she will not even take the first step out of the nest.
Junior's fantasies lead him to explore different worlds. Invariably he is unsuccessful in doing what he sets out to accomplish. Of course many heroes do achieve their goals; they are successful in slaying dragons or rescuing maidens. In this regard they are unlike Junior. But ultimately all heroes have to die and be reborn. Die to what? To the sense of self-sufficiency. No one is able to go through life without experiencing failure of one kind or another. And when this happens the hero dies to the self-perception of invincibility. Pictured variously as going into the tomb, the belly of the whale, the desert experience, the night sea journey, etc., this dying leads to a rebirth or a new perspective on life. What is this new perspective?
A person comes to recognize his or her neediness and reaches out to be helped, e.g., Junior reaches out to his daddy and Jesus relies on his Father. We all hope to gain insight from our mythic journey as we move through life: born to be heroes; heroes undergoing death; heroes reborn. The prodigal came back to life all right but not as the boy who left home. The hero was reborn.
