The Parable of the Five-Day Week

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what is the best way to mark the new year?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two clubbers were celebrating the new year.

“New Years should always be on a Friday,” one clubber said.

“That’s stupid,” the second clubber said.

“No, it isn’t stupid,” the first clubber said, “The year should always end on the same day as the week ends.  Who invented a year that didn’t have the right number of days and the right number of weeks?”

“The year wasn’t invented,” the second clubber said, “The Earth takes 365 days to orbit the sun.”

“So why isn’t a week five days long?” the first clubber asked, “Then there would be an even number of weeks in a year, right?”

“Then where would you put the weekend?” the second clubber asked.

“You’d still have the weekend,” the first clubber said, “You’d have Monday, Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.”

“Oh, not Monday,” the second clubber said, “I hate Mondays.”

“Okay,” the first clubber said, “Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.”

“We have to have Thursday,” the second clubber said, “Thursday is the start of the weekend. We can ditch Sunday.  Sunday is so depressing.  All I do all Sunday is dread Monday.”

“But there won’t be any Monday,” the first clubber said.

“That’s true,” the second clubber said, “And I do like sleeping in on a Sunday.”

“Yeah, we definitely need Sunday,” the first clubber said, “How do you feel about Tuesday?  We could drop Tuesday.”

“I’m not in love with Tuesday,” the second clubber said, “Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“We need Wednesday,” the first clubber said, “Or else how would we know it was the middle of the week?”

“But Wednesday would be the first day of the week,” the second clubber said, “Thursday would be the middle of the week.”

“That would begin the weekend in the middle of the week!” the first clubber said, “There is no way we're dropping Thursday!”

“So Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday,” the second clubber said.

“And New Years on Friday,” the first clubber said.

“No, Saturday is the end of the week,” the second clubber said, “Sunday is the first day.  Haven’t you ever looked at a calendar?”

“We’re making a new calendar,” the first clubber said, “We can decide what day is the first day and what day is the last day.”

“Saturday is the last day,” the second clubber said.

“Fine, New Years is Saturday,” the first clubber said, “Just not Tuesday.”

“I say we make it Thursday,” the second clubber said.

“That screws up the math,” the first clubber said, “The whole point is to make the math easier.  Why would we go through all the trouble of making a new calendar, so the year begins at the beginning of the week and ends at the end of the week, and then have the end of the year be the middle of the week?”

“New Years Day,” the second clubber said.

“What about New Years Day?” the first clubber asked.

“New Years Day is a holiday,” the second clubber said, “Long weekend, baby!”

The Parable of Two Travelers

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, who put the holidays in the worst travel window possible?  Who works that hard just for a cheap laugh at our expense?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two travelers had just left home.  It was time to go home.

“Why did we book such an early flight?” one traveler asked.

“Security is going to be hellacious in a few hours,” the second traveler said, “We don’t want to be caught in security.  I’ll sleep on the plane.”

“Why do we do this to ourselves every year?” the first traveler asked.

“It’s the holidays,” the second traveler said.

“And that justifies clogging the roads?” the first traveler said, “Clogging the bus terminals, clogging the airports, the planes, the trains, the busses?”

“Who’s clogging?” the second traveler asked.

“We are,” the first traveler said, “You, me, all these other people getting up before sunrise to catch flights home.  There’s traffic, and the sun isn’t even up!  Why do we all have to travel for the holidays?”

“Have you ever spent the holidays alone?” the second traveler asked.

“Sure I have,” the first traveler said, “Lots of times, when I first left home.”

“And how did that work out for you?” the second traveler asked.
“I was lonely,” the first traveler said, “I was homesick.  But I was young.  I had just left home.”

“And how did it feel when you could go home?” the second traveler asked.

“I can’t remember being happier,” the first traveler said.

“And now?” the second traveler asked.

“And now I just want to be home,” the first traveler said, “I just want to be home.”

“Home or home?” the second traveler asked.

“Home,” the first traveler said, “This time of year, I just want to be home.”

“So when you’re home, you wish you could be home,” the second traveler said, “And when you’re home, you just want to be home.”

“That’s what home is,” the first traveler said, “Home is where you travel from, and home is where you travel to.  Home is why you travel.”

“Even if you have to leave home to get there,” the second traveler said.

“Even if you have to leave home to get there,” the first traveler said.

The Parable of the Calendars

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why does time pass so much more quickly as we age?”

Josh spoke thus:

A businessperson and the businessperson’s associate were looking at their smartphone calendars.

“What day is it?” the businessperson asked the businessperson’s associate.

“I have no idea,” the businessperson’s associate said, “I lost track of what day it was years ago.”

“Maybe I could do some math,” the businessperson said.

“It would have to be some good math,” the businessperson’s associate said, “What would your reference be?”

“What’s the reset value?” the businessperson asked.

“My beginning point is always three fiscal quarters ahead,” the businessperson’s associate said, “If I don’t plan three fiscal quarters ahead, I’m too late.”

“So what’s three fiscal quarters from now?” the businessperson asked.

The businessperson’s associate pushed a number of buttons and did a number of finger swipes and scrolls.

“September,” the businessperson’s associate said, “September 28.”

“Okay,” the businessperson said, “Working back from September 28...”  The businessperson pushed a number of buttons and did a number of finger swipes and scrolls, then said, “Good grief!  Where has the time gone?”

“I know!” the businessperson’s associate said, “Fourth quarter is almost done.”

“I hope Accounts knows what day it is,” the businessperson said.

“Accounts always knows what day it is,” the businessperson’s associate said, “If they didn’t, nobody’d get paid!”

“And we can’t have nobody getting paid!” the businessperson said.

“Amen to getting paid!” the businessperson’s associate said.

“And the holidays are gone by!” the businessperson said.

“Isn’t it curious how they take so long in coming, yet stay for such a short time?” the businessperson’s associate said.

“I started planning for the holidays in March,” the businessperson said.

“You have to these days,” the businessperson’s associate said, “The holidays come up on you so quickly!”

“All that anticipation,” the businessperson said, “And then gone so soon!”

“I hope you had happy holidays,” the businessperson’s associate said.

“I hope you did too,” the businessperson said, “And I hope I did, as well!”

“I hope we both did,” the businessperson’s associate said.

“Well if we didn’t, there’s always next year,” the businessperson said.

“I suppose there is,” the businessperson’s associate said, “Now what was it we were looking for?”

“Lunch,” the businessperson said, “I was wondering whether you wanted to pop out for a bite to eat.”

“Ah yes, lunch,” the businessperson’s associate said.  The businessperson’s associate pushed some buttons, swiped some screens and did some scrolling.

“Well?” the businessperson asked.

“Sorry,” the businessperson’s associate said, “Apparently I’m booked up through March.”

“Just thought I’d check,” the businessperson said, “Well, I’m off, I have a meeting in half an hour.”

“Enjoy your lunch,” the businessperson’s associate said.

“See you in April,” the businessperson said.

The Parable of the Rearview Mirror

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, with entire websites doing nothing but lists, what is the future of year-end lists?”

Josh spoke thus:

A driver was looking in the rearview mirror.

“That was a close one,” the driver said.

“Look where you’re going!” the driver’s passenger said.

The driver looked forward in time to see a slowly moving car directly ahead.  The driver swerved and passed the slowly moving car.

“That was a close one,” the driver said, looking in the rearview mirror at the slowly moving car.

“Get back in your lane!” the driver’s passenger said.

The driver looked forward to see a large van approaching.  The driver swerved the car to get back in the proper lane.

“That was a close one,” the driver said, looking in the rearview mirror at the van.

“Curve!  Curve!  Curve!” the driver’s passenger shouted.

The driver looked forward to see that there was a sharp bend in the road.  The driver braked hard and turned the steering wheel.  The car negotiated the curve with all four tires squealing loudly.

“That was a close one,” the driver said, looking in the rearview mirror at the curve.

“Light!  Light!  Light!” the driver’s passenger shouted.

The driver looked forward to see a traffic light.  The traffic light was amber.  The driver accelerated in an attempt to pass through the intersection before the traffic light turned from amber to red.  The light turned red before the car reached the intersection.  The crossing traffic began to move.  The driver pressed down on the car’s accelerator, and the car sped up.  The car passed through the intersection, barely clearing the intersection before the crossing traffic converged on the car.

“That was close one,” the driver said, looking in the rearview mirror at the traffic light, the intersection and the crossing traffic.

“Stop the car!” the driver’s passenger shouted, “Stop the car!  Stop the car!  Stop the car!”

The driver stopped the car and looked forward to see what the car was about to hit.  There was nothing in front of the car.

“What?” the driver asked, “I don’t see anything.  Why am I stopping?”

“Switch,” the driver’s passenger said, “Switch with me.  You’re dangerous.  I want to drive.”

“You?” the driver said, “You can’t drive.  You’re too excitable.  You’ve been yelling like a maniac the whole trip.”

The Parable of the Factory Improvements

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, at what point does increased productivity become counter productive?”

Josh spoke thus:

A factory owner was showing an assembly of factory workers a new line of machinery that had just been delivered.

“And look at this!” the factory owner said.  The factory owner showed the assembly of factory workers a robotic arm that could move with precision within thousandths of an inch.  Never had the company had a robotic arm that could move with precision within thousandths of an inch.  The assembly of factory workers applauded the robotic arm that could move with precision within thousandths of an inch.

“And look at this!” the factory owner said.  The factory owner showed the assembly of factory workers the rotating spindle that could rotate exactly 100 times a second, to ensure that the thread that wound onto the spindle and wound off of the spindle always wound and unwound at the proper rate and never bound or snagged or snapped.  Never had the company had a rotating spindle that could rotate exactly 100 times a second, to ensure that the thread that wound onto the spindle and wound off of the spindle always wound and unwound at the proper rate and never bound or snagged or snapped.  The assembly of factory workers applauded the rotating spindle that could rotate exactly 100 times a second, to ensure that the thread that wound onto the spindle and wound off of the spindle always wound and unwound at the proper rate and never bound or snagged or snapped.

“And look at this!” the factor owner said.  The factory owner showed the assembly of factory workers the mechanical press that could form steel into a perfect shape, with no wasted steel and no chance of injury to any worker.  Never had the company had a mechanical press that could form steel into a perfect shape, with no wasted steel and no chance of injury to any worker.  The assembly of factory workers applauded the mechanical press that could form steel into a perfect shape with no wasted steel and no chance of injury to any worker.  The assembly of factory workers applauded extra loudly for no chance of injury to any worker.

“And the best thing,” the factory owner said, “Is how much money we will save.”

The next thing the factory owner showed the assembly of factory workers was the door.

The assembly of factory workers did not applaud.

The Parable of the Dancer and the Choreographer

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how can there be Boxing Day, when ninety percent of people who participate in Boxing Day have no idea what Boxing Day is?”

Josh spoke thus:

A dancer was trying to see the dance.

“Stop it,” the choreographer told the dancer.

“Stop what?” the dancer asked.

“Stop trying to see the dance,” the choreographer said.

“I want to understand how I fit in,” the dancer said.

“It’s none of your business how you fit in,” the choreographer told the dancer, “How you fit in is my business.  Your business is to do what I tell you.”

“I can do it better if I know how I fit in,” the dancer said.

“You can do it better if you do what I say,” the choreographer said.

“I’m doing what you say,” the dancer said.

“You’re not doing what I say,” the choreographer said, “You’re doing what you think you should do to make what I say fit with what you see as being your part.”

“I work better when I see the whole dance,” the dancer said.

“You work better when you do what I say,” the choreographer said, “Now do what I say.”

The dancer did what the choreographer said.

“There,” the choreographer said, “That’s I want.”

“But it doesn’t mean anything to me,” the dancer said.

“It doesn’t mean anything to you,” the choreographer said, “Because it doesn’t have any meaning.  What you do has no meaning at all.  And what each of them does,” the choreographer pointed to the other dancers, “Also has no meaning at all.  What has meaning is the combination of what they do with what you do.”

“That’s why I want to understand it,” the dancer said, “So I can make it make sense.”

“You can’t make it make sense,” the choreographer said, “Because when you make it make sense, it stands apart from what the others are doing.  And when it stands apart, it doesn’t fit in.  And when it doesn’t fit in, it doesn’t make sense.  And not only does what you’re doing not make sense, but now nothing anybody else does makes sense.  I can’t even imagine the chaos that would occur if suddenly everything everyone did made sense.  There would be no sense at all.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” the dancer said.

“That’s my point,” the choreographer said.

The Parable of the Christmas Lights

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, once the excitement of approaching Christmas is over, how do we retain the Christmas spirit?”

Josh spoke thus:

A neighbor was remembering the holidays.

“What was the best,” the neighbor said, “Was the way everybody on our street used to put up lights.  Number six always had that giant natural fir that they used to put lights on.  One year they might use multicolored lights, the next, only blue, the next, natural white lights that looked like tiny stars.  But that fir was always lit.”

“I think the blue was always my favorite,” the other neighbor said.

“And number 19,” the first neighbor said, “They had that giant inflatable Santa in the lawn.  In the ice storm, Santa burst under the weight of the ice, and the next day, there was Santa on the lawn again.  Or maybe I should say, on the ice rink.  How they ever got that Santa out there without breaking their necks slipping on the ice, I’ll never know.”

“Or where they got another Santa in the middle of an ice storm,” the other neighbor said.

“Number 38,” the first neighbor continued, “Number 38 had those icicle lights.  They hung them on the eaves, they hung them on the window sills.  They even hung them on their cars when they parked their cars in the driveway.”

“During the ice storm, I never knew where the lights began and the ice ended,” the other neighbor said.

“I was amazed by the blinking lights in the windows of number 15,” the first neighbor said, “They were always timed somehow, so it looked like the red was jumping from one window to the next.”

“And the colors traced around the windows, as well,” the second neighbor said, “When they’d gotten around one window, they jumped to the next.”

“The house on the corner had those wreathes and candles in the windows,” the first neighbor said, “A sort of old-country look.  Just a single candle in each window.”

“Those electric candles that flicker like real flames,” the second neighbor said, “Understated and elegant.”

“And then everyone else did whatever came into their heads to do,” the first neighbor said, “No pattern, just color and lights and holidays.”

“There wasn’t a house that didn’t have lights,” the second neighbor said.

“Man I wish it was like that now,” the first neighbor said.

“It is like that now,” the second neighbor said, “We just described the holidays this year.”

“I know,” the first neighbor said, “But this year is over.  People will be taking their lights down.  Or at least not lighting them anymore.”

“It will be just as good next year,” the second neighbor said.

“I can’t wait for Christmas,” the first neighbor said.

The Parable of the Kings

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how much of Christmas is fable and how much history?”

Josh spoke thus:

A spectator looked at the three kings and wondered, “What are the chances of these three kings all appearing at once?  Who will these three kings help the most?”

There was a soldier the three kings could help.  The soldier had had a bad year.  The soldier had gone into dept.  A soldier’s wages were never an easy way out of debt.  Would the three kings help the soldier with the soldier’s debt?

There was a trader the three kings could help.  The trader had gambled on a new shipment of goods’ arriving the previous week.  The shipment’s late arrival--if the shipment was to arrive at all--had shorted the trader, and now the trader had no capital with which to rebuild.  The shipment might come in, yes, but the goods, arriving late, would be of far less value.  Some might be damaged--a late shipment was often a damaged shipment.  Had the shipment been hijacked?  Might the three kings help the trader with the trader’s late shipment?

There was a local magistrate the three kings could help.  The local magistrate had been tested by the recent political climate.  The local magistrate had needed to grease a great many palms to keep the wheels of government turning.  The local magistrate may also have greased the palms of a number of underlings and a number of superiors--but this was just rumor.  What were not rumor were the poor condition of the local magistrate’s coat, the frays in the local magistrate’s cuffs, the rings of exhaustion under the local magistrate’s eyes.  Could the three kings help the local magistrate with the local magistrate’s influence?

There was an artisan the three kings could help, suspicious as the artisan would likely be off the three kings.  The artisan kept the artisan’s own company, as a rule, and the artisan kept the artisan’ own counsel.  “If it’s not in my hands, I don’t trust it,” the artisan was known to repeat.  The artisan was, as a rule, too focused on craft to be distracted by other things.    Could the three kings help the artisan despite the artisan’s suspicions?

The dealer turned over the last card on the table.

“King,” the dealer said.

“What are the chances of all four kings appearing at once?” the spectator wondered.

The Parable of the Regent and the Winter Night

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, are the pardons in Russia mere political theater?  If so, can we have more theater?”

Josh spoke thus:

A regent stood on a palace balcony.  The night was still but the air was active with falling snow.

The regent reached out a hand, palm up, and allowed the snow to fall on the regent’s outstretched woolen glove.  In the cold night each snow flake that landed on the glove remained momentarily before the heat from the regent’s hand melted the ice.  The regent studied each flake as it lay on the regent’s glove.  The regent watched each flake fade, evaporating in the winter air.  The regent closed a fist and reopened the glove, revealing no snow captured.  The snow on the palm of the glove evaporated when the regent closed a fist just as it had when the regent left the glove hand open.

The regent exhaled into the night.  Warm vapor froze in wisps of icy mist.  Snow slipped through the suspended breath, snatched the breath as it fell and lay the breath down on the frozen ground.

The regent raised the glove, exhaled and snatched.  Breath and snow disappeared within the fisted glove.  The regent opened the glove revealing neither breath nor snow.

The regent looked up into the falling snow.  The regent raised two gloves to the sky.  Snowflake after snowflake disappeared upon contact with each glove.  The regent’s breath jetted upward, froze and vanished among the falling snow.

The regent returned to the royal chambers.

“You’re right,” the regent said to the priest waiting there.

The priest handed the regent a gold coin and a silver coin.

The silver was too heavy for the regent to hold.  The regent dropped the coin to the floor.  The coin rang out as it struck the stone.  The gold coin paired with the silver as the regent dropped it.

The priest handed the regent a handful of cloth and a handful of straw.  These too tumbled to the floor, too heavy for the regent to hold.

“Too much,” the regent said to the priest.

“Say it then,” the priest said to the regent.

The regent turned to the waiting executioner.

“Clemency,” the regent said to the executioner.  The executioner lay the executioner’s ax on the floor and left.

The Parable of the Empty Theater

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, as the Christmas season reaches is climax, is it normal to dread the season’s end?”

Josh spoke thus:

A theater owner stood looking at the theater’s empty seats.

“There is nothing sadder than empty seats,” the theater owner said, “When those seats are full, when all the people are sharing that experience, that is the one experience that makes me happiest of all.”

“I agree,” the lead actor said, “When I’m standing up on that stage, and I look out at the audience, and I see them laughing, or I see them crying, or I see them just watching, it’s a mystical experience.”

“Even for me,” a member of the chorus said, “When I’m dancing, when I’m singing, sometimes when I’m standing in the wings, I’ll look out beyond that proscenium, past the stage, past the orchestra, into the faces of the crowd, and I’m amazed.  Six nights a week, matinées Wednesdays and Saturdays, I’m amazed.”

“I can feel them behind me when I’m conducting,” the conductor of the pit orchestra said, “The music from the orchestra passes through me and I can feel the audience absorbing the music, as a physical thing.  And I can feel their physical reaction, their energy returning to the orchestra, passing through me, through the orchestra and beyond, onto the stage.”

“I know what you mean,” an ingenue said, “There is an energy comes from an audience, as much as there’s an energy comes from the stage.  All those living beings, all those separate existences, one existence, joined by their shared experience.”

“It’s symbiotic,” a member of the woodwinds said, “It’s a connection between performer and audience member.”

“It’s communal,” the lead actress said, “It’s among us as performers, it’s among the musicians, it’s among the audience, and it’s among the melange of us all, performers, musicians, audience.”

“It’s spiritual, really,” the owner of the theater said, “Which is why it’s so sad when it’s over.  Not long ago, you were up on that stage, you were in that orchestra pit, and the audience were in their seats.”

“A sold-out house,” the lead actor said.

“A sold-out house,” the owner of the theater said, “And now that sold out house is emptied out.  All that energy, all that commonality, all that shared rapture, it’s gone, it’s spent.  It’s empty.”

“I guess this is how God feels every Sunday, after Mass,” one of the actors said.  The company all laughed.  The company all looked at the empty seats.  One by one the company stopped laughing.  The company went home.

The Parable of the Watermill

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, now the days will be getting longer, how shall I fill them?"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Josh spoke thus:

A workman was fixing a watermill.  A passerby stopped to watch.

“A watermill, eh?” the passerby said, “Is that some sort of artisanal thing?  Like locally sourced coffee beans and unleaded flour?”

“It’s so there’s a watermill,” the workman said.

“Everything old is new again, eh?” the passerby said, “Like solar sundials and retro umbrellas.”

The workman removed a wedge from the watermill.  The watermill began to turn.

“You could put that on a postcard, eh?” the passerby said, “Like a pastoral thing.  Like Wordspeare.”

“You mean Shakespeare?” the workman asked.

“Yeah, like Shakespeare,” the passerby said, “‘God Bless us, merry gentlemen,’ and all that.  Does that thing work?”

“Of course it works,” the workman said, “Look at it.”

“I mean does it make electricity,” the passerby said.

“It’s not that kind of mill,” the workman said.

“It’s not like those new windmills?” the passerby said, “Those things are huge.  Don Juan and Pancho Sanchez better not charge those windmills!”

“The mill turns a gear that spins a shaft that turns another gear that grinds grain,” the workman said.

“Grinds flour!” the passerby said, “Grist to the mill, eh?”

“That’s the idea,” the workman said.

“A millstone passing through the eye of a camel, eh?” the passerby said, “The wheel of life.  The Wheel of Fortune.  James Bond and martinis and Russian roulette.  You could make a clock.”

“I’m not sure it would be a very accurate clock,” the workman said, “The water flows slowly sometimes and faster at other times.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?” the passerby said, “Ups and downs.  Winters and summers.  The wheels of the bus turn round, and all that.”

“The world runs on digital time  now,” the workman said, “Clocks are more accurate.”

“Oh, I don’t believe in accurate,” the passerby said, “I believe in going with the flow.  Sometimes the flow is faster, sometimes the flow is slower.  Life’s not accurate.  I’m not accurate.”

“So I noticed,” the workman said.

The Parable of the Commuter

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what is the meaning of the longest night?”

Josh spoke thus:

In constant motion, constantly in need of rest, a commuter stood as the equinox turned.

“Sit down,” the commuter’s companion said, “Pacing back and forth won’t make the train go faster.”

“We need to get home,” the commuter said.

“We’ll get home,” the commuter’s companion said, “Sit down.”

“What shall we do when we get home?” the commuter asked.

“Maybe we’ll sit down,” the commuter’s companion said.

“We’ve got movies to catch up on,” the commuter said, “I’ve got a book I need to read.”

“You’ve got to slow down,” the commuter’s companion said.

“The train’s got to speed up,” the commuter said, “What do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t really care,” the commuter’s companion said, “As long as we can sit to eat it.  Sit down.”

“Has the train stopped?” the commuter asked.

The train had stopped.

“Why has the train stopped?” the commuter asked, “We’ll never get home.”

“We’re at a station,” the commuter’s companion said, “The train stopped at a station.”

The commuter sat down.

“Why won’t the train go?” the commuter asked.  The train started again.  The commuter stood up.

“You’re not making the train move, you know,” the commuter’s companion said, “Sit down.”

“Should I go to the gym?” the commuter asked, “I haven’t gone to the gym in a long time.”

“You’ve been too busy,” the commuter’s companion said, “You need to slow down.  You need to sit down.  No, you really need to sit down.  Please sit down.”

The commuter sat down.  The commuter took out a phone.

“Put the phone away,” the commuter’s companion said.

The commuter put the phone away.

“Lean against me,” the commuter’s companion said.

The commuter leaned against the commuter’s companion.

“Close your eyes,” the commuter’s companion said.

The commuter’s companion put a hand over the commuter’s eyes.

“Sleep,” the commuter’s companion said.

The commuter slept.  The train stopped and started, stopped and started, stopped and started.  The commuter awoke suddenly and stood.

“What if we miss our stop?” the commuter asked.

“Relax,” the commuter’s companion said, “The train will come back the other way after it reaches the terminus.”

“You mean we missed our stop?” the commuter asked.

“I mean I let you sleep through our stop,” the commuter’s companion said, “Sit.”

“We can change trains and come back,” the commuter said.

“We can not change trains and still come back,” the commuter’s companion said, “Sit.”

The commuter sat.

“Close your eyes,” the commuter’s companion said.

“And you’ll wake me when we get back to our stop?” the commuter asked.

The commuter’s companion smiled and replied, “Maybe.”

The Parable of the Stander on Corners

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how much information can the marketing people glean from us before they have too much information, just like us?”

Josh spoke thus:

A stander on corners kept track of passersby.

The stander on corners was not buying.  The stander on corners was not selling.  The stander on corners was counting.

Index finger raised in a crooked point, crooked wrists piercing soiled cuffs, the stander on corners counted.  This one pointed to, plucked almost, by the stander on corners.  This one counted.  That one pointed to, hooked almost, by the stander on corners.  That one counted.

“Are you a busker?” a child asked the stander on corners.  The child handed the stander on corners a coin.  The stander on corners smiled at the child and pocketed the coin.  The stander on corners tapped the child with the crooked counting finger.  The child counted.

“Are you a beggar?” a young professional asked the stander on corners.  The young professional handed the stander on corners a folded bill of imperceptible denomination.  The stander on corners winked at the young professional and pocketed the folded bill.  The stander on corners tapped the young professional with the crooked counting finger.  The young professional counted.

“Are you collecting for charity?” an aging priest asked the stander on corners.  The aging priest handed the stander on corners a testament.  The stander on corners nodded to the aging priest and pocketed the testament.  The stander on corners tapped the aging priest with the crooked counting finger.  The aging priest counted.

Many more people didn’t speak to the stander on corners.  Many more people didn’t hand anything to the stander on corners.  But many more people were counted.  Many more had the crooked finger commemorate their passage, assert their existence.

The new day approached rapidly, the holiday crowd thinning as most reached their destinations.  The stander on corners stood, counting until the end of the day.  One straggler more.  Two more.  Three, four, a palmful of coins and bills, a pocketful of flyers, notes and reminders.  

The old day passed, the new day began.  The stander on corners counted until a fellow stander on corners approached.

“What’s your number?” the fellow stander on corners asked.  The stander on corners told the fellow stander on corners the stander on corners’ number.  The fellow stander on corners thanked the stander on corners.  The fellow stander on corners pointed to a passerby and counted the passerby with a fully extended index finger and an energetic tic.

“Happy Holidays,” the stander on corners said to the fellow stander on corners, and the stander on corners walked away.

“Happy Holidays to you,” the fellow stander on corners said, being sure to give the stander on corners an energetic pointing to.

The Parable of the Two Surprises

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how is a left-wing witch hunt any less intolerable than a right-wing witch hunt?”

Josh spoke thus:

A younger sibling approached an older sibling who was reading a magazine.

“Do you want to hear something awesome?” the younger sibling asked the older sibling.

The older sibling was wearing ear buds and didn’t hear the younger sibling’s question.  The younger sibling tapped the older sibling on the shoulder.

“Wanna know something awesome?” the younger sibling asked the older sibling.

The older sibling continued reading the magazine and waved at the younger sibling to go away.  The younger sibling tapped the older sibling again, this time quite hard.

“It’s awesome!” the younger sibling said.

“What?” the older sibling asked, removing the ear buds.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” the younger sibling said.

“You’re not supposed to tell me what?” the older sibling asked.

“I can’t say,” the younger sibling said.  The older sibling frowned and moved to replace the ear buds.

“It’s awesome though!” the younger sibling said.  The older sibling let the ear buds drop.

“What’s awesome?” the older sibling asked.

“I can’t say,” the younger sibling said, “I can only say it’s awesome.”

“Is it a secret?” the older sibling said, “Because you’re not supposed to tell secrets.”

“It’s a surprise,” the younger sibling said, “It’s for Christmas.”

“You didn’t find presents did you?” the older sibling asked.

“Find what presents?” the younger sibling said, “Santa didn’t come yet.”

“Oh yeah,” the older sibling said, “Man, are you in for a surprise.”

“What?” the younger sibling asked, “Is it a bigger surprise than my surprise?”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” the older sibling said.

“My surprise is really big!” the younger sibling said.

“Mine’s pretty big too,” the older sibling said.

“What’s yours?” the younger sibling said.

“What’s yours first?” the older sibling said.”

“Grandma is coming for Christmas!” the younger sibling said.

“Grandma comes every Christmas,” the older sibling said, “That’s not a surprise.”

The younger sibling did not reply.

“That wasn’t the surprise was it?” the older sibling asked.  The younger sibling remained silent.  “You didn’t have a surprise, did you?” the older sibling asked, “You just came in to bug me.”

“What was your surprise?” the younger sibling asked quietly.

“I was going to tell you who wasn’t coming for Christmas,” the older sibling said, “But I’m going to let it stay a surprise.”

“I like surprises!” the younger sibling said.

“Go tell Mom I know the surprise of who’s not coming for Christmas, but I’m not telling you,” the older sibling said.

The younger sibling rushed to tell their mother about the surprise of who wasn’t coming for Christmas. A few moments later, the younger sibling returned.

“Mom says to tell you that nobody’s not coming for Christmas,” the younger sibling said, “Who’s nobody?”

“No one,” the older sibling said, “I don’t have a surprise either.”

“Can I see your magazine?” the younger sibling asked.

“Stop bugging me,” the older sibling said, tossing the younger sibling the magazine.