4. Mama’s Nice Little Man

One day we are cocky and noisy, flexing our biceps. We have a new secret weapon that will make the Atomic Bomb look like a firecracker! And we won’t tell anybody, but the enemy, how it is made. Next day, another Big Shot in the Government announces that we couldn’t fight if we wanted to: haven’t the personnel or the materiel. That day, when the enemy growls, we toss him a sirloin steak, and softly wheedle, “Nice doggy! Good doggy! You say your name is Joe? Let’s be pals, Joe! Good old Joe!”

When I began this, all I intended to say was that in some respects Mankind is but little better than the other Animals, even if an ancient king declared that we are “a little lower than the Angels.” True, David, true! Quite a little lower!

It should be borne in mind, too, that Human Evolution has had a better chance to operate in some areas than in others which, of course, demands that the more fortunate Men assume heavier responsibilities; for, “of him, to whom much has been given, shall much be required.”

Sometimes we Americans express an angry impatience with the endless border brawls of feuding nations. Why can’t they forget their old hatreds, and live in peace with one another, as we of the U.S.A. do with the Canadians?

Be calm, brother! It’s much easier to be friendly and sportsmanly along the shores of the St. Lawrence and the Columbia and the Rio Grande, than on the banks of the Danube and the Rhine and the Ganges. It’s much easier to contrive three square meals per day in the Mississippi Valley than in the country through which the Volga flows.

While this long harangue has been in progress, more than two years have passed, and I have been growing taller; but I am still my mama’s nice little man.

It is nearing Christmas, and there are to be “exercises” at our Monroeville church in celebration of the enchanted night when Shepherds and Kings, indifferent to such trivial matters as social caste and protocol, knelt together in a stable.

Mama had consented to plan the program for our Christmas entertainment. There were plenty of poor folks in Monroeville, and Mama spread the word that something would be done for the ragged children of our town; something more substantial than candy and popcorn. She canvassed the merchants for donations. She even had the nerve to approach Mr. Redelsheimer. He reminded her, with his usual courtesy, that he was a Jew.

“Christmas is not a feast day with my people,” he said.

“But you do believe that Jesus was a kind man, who went about doing good; don’t you, Mr. Redelsheimer?”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Redelsheimer, “Jesus was a good man; but he was not a God. There is only one God.”

“Well,” said Mama, “the birthday of a good man is worth a celebration; don’t you think?”

Mr. Redelsheimer grinned and asked her what she wanted him to do. She told him what the church was trying to do for poorly clad children, and he said he would think it over.