Celebrating the Batter Life (Vol. 4, No. 9)

Living in a small, university town, I often hear that “there is nothing to do here.”  I suspect that has something to do with our imported student population.  Having roots in the metraplexes and megaplexes might certainly contribute to their inability to see how much really goes on around Abilene, Texas. 

In fact it’s my theory that there are actually fewer things to do in the large cities.  But that fact is cleverly masked by driving time.  That’s right.  There’s so much traffic everywhere that it only seems like there’s more to do.  In reality, it seems like there is more to do because it takes so much longer to get around to doing things.

Those of us living in West Texas are tuned into the fast-paced social circus around us.  You’d have to be clueless not to be aware of the big Rattlesnake Round-Up each spring just up the road in Sweetwater.  Head the other direction and you’ve got Brady’s Goat Cook-Off.  Right here in town we have the Western Heritage Classic and dozens of other cutting horse and rodeo contests.  And barely outside the outskirts of our fair city lies Baird – the self-proclaimed antique capital of Texas.

Downtown, we’ve got the Grace Museum with an incredible amount of culture.  It’s got an old VW Beetle that’s been sawed in half and a children’s area and a historical floor.  The Grace has even carried its share of controversy – what with the time they almost displayed some famous art with naked bodies.  Fortunately, word of that leaked to the newspaper and the local population was able to squelch the exhibition.  As to whether or not we set back local civilization some four centuries, I have no opinion.

So, as you can see, Abilene is teeming with activity.  I have lived here 18 years and I honestly have to say that I have had something to do every day I’ve been here.

Take yesterday, for example.  Nancy and I, our son, Justin, and his girlfriend, Alex, made the solemn pilgrimage to the civic center for the annual Kiwanis Pancake Festival.

If you have never had the opportunity to set aside some serious time for contemplation of flap-jacks, I hope that you will come and be with us next year.  As far as the eye can see, tables and chairs are lined up.  Most are filled with individuals from all walks of life.  Pancakes are piled up high.  Link sausages ring the plates.  Butter is spread and syrup is flowing.  It’s an all-day affair with people coming and going.  Everyone is happy – with the exception of the small children left behind when they are unable to free themselves from the syrup residue left on the tables.

The most remarkable feature of the celebration is the total loss of social distinction within the hallowed walls of the exhibit hall.  Everyone gets in the same line.  Everyone gets the same food.  All the seats are the same.  Super Syrup Man (an old guy with a cape and a sawed off syrup jug stuck to his head) says the same corny things to everyone. 

For a few minutes each year, we become lost in a place where everyone belongs.

When you think about it, it’s like a place we’ve all dreamed about.  Pancakes and sausage may not be your idea of heaven.  But I hope to see you in that place where the table has been set and we'll all be welcome.  The seat next to me is open.

Shine On!

copyright 2004 Joe L. Cope