Why? Why Clarence? Why/

Why Clarence?  Why?

Why do I continue to write my books and blogs and even attempt to keep up with Facebook?  When not all that many people, or friends bother to read them, or buy my books? 

Sigh … Why?  I’m not complaining, now.  No, really I’m not.  I realize that everyone is busy and I am asking them to take a step to one side, or the other, and spend a few minutes with me.  An old guy, who’s probably not all that remarkable or good looking.  Certainly no movie star or celebrity.

Some could easily say that I’m not that good a writer to bother with.  Sure, that’s a possibility, I have to admit.  This blog is certainly not going to be a biography justifying reasons why anyone should pay any attention to my efforts.  I have been remarkably lucky in everything that is valuable to me.  Great kids, wonderful wife.  My parents lived long productive lives.  Every artistic endeavor, and most other adventures, I’ve set out to accomplish, I accomplished.

I’ve traveled extensively and won a number of awards for Art and teaching and that kind of stuff.  I have not been particularly lucky at getting much recognition for the awards (recognition) or having a large number of people pay much attention to me.  Something most people would assume is something an artist would want – a lot attention that is.

So, why Clarence?  Why?

Ah, there is this little guy, deep inside, that doesn’t care.  Just doesn’t care about being recognized.  In fact I am uncomfortable with being in any kind of spotlight.  The very few times it has happened, I get all, “Aw … aw shucks … uh, thanks …”.  “Shuckidoodles …”  And I start thanking other people and shuffling around – anything to get that spotlight off of me.

Even though often, truthfully, somebody has been standing on my neck, doing their best to keep me from being me and/or accomplishing anything.  At the same time I have had some wise and wonderful teachers and friends who sincerely encouraged and helped me.  From those friends and teachers, I have learned kindness begets kindness, and have tried to use that as my modus operandi.

But I do Art because I have to.  I write because I have to.  I breathe and I do Art and write.  When I stop breathing, I will stop doing Art and writing.

Why Clarence?  Why?

My grandfather was born in the 1870’s, when nobody recorded births, especially out in rural, rural farm country.  Half the time they didn’t even bother to name a child until they got past their sixth or seventh birthday.  The baby and child mortality rate was still pretty high.  Why name a child until it became obvious it was going to actually live?

Often one, or both, of a child’s parents didn’t live all that long.  Farming men at that time were known to literally work themselves to death before they were middle-aged.  Many farming women died in childbirth or also from simply working until they dropped.

What happens when a child does make it to the start of school age?  Assuming a school was available out in backwoodsy type places.  And, their parents had died?  What name does the kid get?  Who’s going to give that child his or her name? 

Very often the local church stepped in a took care of such matters.  The church fathers assigned families take in orphaned nephews and nieces or grandchildren.  The kid was simply given the name of his or her mother or father, depending on the gender, of course.

I realize that, today, the name Clarence is not exactly in vogue.  Clarence is regarded as a kind a hick name.  Not at all cool.  Not like Brad or Lance or Jimmy-Ray-Bob.  It has taken me many years, but that little guy inside that simply doesn’t care about being in the limelight, has surfaced and decided he also simply doesn’t care about what people think of the name Clarence.

My grandfather got stuck with it because his parents had both died before he had the chance to put in a vote on his name.  So his Aunt, who had taken him in, just gave him the same name his father had.  No middle name.  No Junior business.  I get the image that when she took him to little local one-room school and the teacher asked, “Well, what is his name?”  My great-great-aunt said, “His father’s name was Clarence.”  So that’s what the teacher wrote in the attendance book.  Then he misspelled “Pedersen” as “Peterson”.

My great-great-aunt’s last name was Smith (not really), so she didn’t care; assuming she could read.  It is very likely she couldn’t.  It wasn’t unusual for many farming girls in those days. Often young girls didn't get to go to school.  (Deplorable, I must say.  But that’s the way it was.)

My grandfather was a great man and father and grandfather, so I got tagged with his name in the middle of my name.  And after all these years I have finally become adjusted to that fact and even a little proud of it.

So that’s why.