Loyalty

August 7, 2007, 11:15 am; posted by
Filed under Articles, Job  | 1 Comment

Best of Job, January 2006.

I hope to someday have a bouncing little boy, and I hope to name him Loyal. I love that trait. For every fault I have, I calm myself with the fact that I am entirely loyal. There are instances where I am loyal to a fault, but I do believe I shop for my loyalties very carefully, and rarely withhold words of criticism. My loyalty always demands excellence.

Here’s a list of things I am eternally loyal to —

Progressive Auto Insurance
We Tates were always State Farm people, but when I became a man I chose Progressive. While their sterile name and scary white SUVs bring to mind some sort of Eastern bloc, ex-KGB separatist regime, they provide for me the low-cost, high-service marriage that’s so hard for businesses to pull off. They’re like a Payless Shoe Store selling Doc Martens.

Old Spice High Endurance
My brothers and I are firm believers in the idea of “crop rotation.” For every two sticks of High Endurance deodorant, we toss an Adidas or Right Guard “juke” to shock the body. I believe men can build a resistance to deodorant protection, so while I am evangelical about High Endurance, don’t be shocked to see a stick of Brut poking out of my toiletry kit.

Houghton College
Houghton was very intent on me being an individual, both intellectually and spiritually. Upon graduation, my relationship with my smarts was not a relationship with my professors, and my relationship with God was not my relationship with chapel, the guys on my floor, or World Mission Fellowship. Houghton, I strongly, strongly believe, is perfectly content to produce students who do not always recall the Alma Mater with great fondness. Houghton is a mother bird that throws her young out of the nest and trusts they can fly. I love Houghton College and embrace the bad memories now as well.

Tropicana
I got burnt once on a store brand bottle of cranberry juice. It shut my esophagus down and forced me to cough up webs of the stuff in a parking lot in Brattleboro. No good. Tropicana does it right. From orange juice to sweet grapefruit, to even straight-up grape juice, they don’t compromise their quality at all. I’ll buy Equate-brand astrigent or Tylenol or whatever, but when it comes to fluid fruit, I’ll always do it right.

Honey Nut Cheerios
Regular Cheerios just don’t get it done.

Jeep
Granted, this round has had its overwhelming share of problems, but I love the brand. My Cherokee was such a warrior and I rode him so hard. The utilitarian feel and look of the controls appeal to my sensibilities, but their capability is anything but (utilitarian). I heard Jeeps described once as “really clever dogs” and I think that’s a pretty succinct, dead on assessment.

Pepsi
A total no-brainer. While I hardly drink soda anymore, my devotion to this brand is just sick. I will not allow Coca-Cola into my home. I can honestly see this coming up in marriage counseling….right after the whole “naming a boy Loyal” thing, right?

The GOP
All day baby. I’ll always be a voice of dissent when she strays, but you can count me as a son of Lincoln.

The Washington Redskins
When my family arrived in DC from New Mexico all those years ago and saw what an interesting set-up it would be, raising a brood in such a rugged environment, I think my Dad made a faithful calculation to throw the anchor, establish the clan and make the Capital our home, no matter how contrary it ran to his and my mother’s sensisbilities. Part and parcel to this was a rabid following and fandom for the Burgundy and Gold. Should I ever contract Alzheimer’s, the final soldier it will kill (as it waves the flag of my vivid youth) will be the memory of the Super Bowl win over the Denver Broncos.

When “Little” Timmy Smith broke to the outside, pumping his small but resolute legs so faithfully into the end zone, lighting the fuse that blew up our home, I was caught between the jumping legs of my father and brothers, and I did the only thing I could. I ran around the house and turned every light on. I had recently acquired the height needed to flick the switches; it was a skill I had longed for, and was the biggest celebratory gift I could give those dear old Redskins.

I’ve always suspected that to achieve this ‘anchoring’ effect for his kids, my dad had to send silent and deep some loyalty to another football team. He grew up in Southern California and I scan his eyes for any betraying gleam when the screen shows the Oakland Raiders or San Diego Chargers. I can see myself doing the same some day, should the will of the Lord lead me to another location — emptily screaming my lungs out in support of a team I have no passion for, just to give my kids that “anchor” my folks gave us.

But I can also imagine my teenage daughter saying, “My Dad is so weird. Sometimes, on Sunday, he just walks around the house turning on all the lights…”


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