Last night, I was sound asleep. I mean I was dog-tired. Yet, I awoke to the sound of a man singing:
I'm Popeye the sailor man
I live in a garbage can
Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
I pulled back the drapes to see Junior outside my window taking a leak on the forsythia bush. I remembered that I had just picked up a new CB antenna down at the Flying J, and it was in the kitchen. It was about eight feet long and nearly a half-inch thick. It would be just about perfect for beating some sense into that fool.
It was then that I had a little debate with the Inner Stevie Joe. Different folks have different names for this inner voice. It's sometimes called the God within, conscience, prudence, the Force, unwritten law, superego, Ditka, etc. Or, maybe it's a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. In any case, deep down inside, most folks know right from wrong. It's just that the little devil keeps telling them how they can get away with doing wrong.
Junior had me pretty pissed. The idea of knocking him around sounded so satisfying. The little devil told me that he would never remember it and would figure that Jimmy socked him one for wandering into Juanita's yard again. Yet, the Inner Stevie Joe told me that it would be wrong, even if it felt good.
I figure that this is the definition of character: doing what is right even when you don't have to. If your action is driven by your sense of right and wrong rather than fear of some punishment for doing wrong, this is character. So, since I'm nothing but full of character, I decided to let Junior be. That's what my pal JC would do.
In the morning, I awoke to find Junior passed out right next to that forsythia bush. Being a Christian fellow, I let him sleep. I did, however, apply a little bit of Mrs. Stevie Joe's lipstick and rouge just to give him a little color. He was looking a bit pale.
Uh oh. Here he comes, and he's still wearing the morning's artwork. Gotta go.
Keep the faith,
Stevie Joe Parker