What I remember about Milton is he was always
the coolest, edgiest minister in the world. Seriously, there was no competing
with him. You thought you were hip until you saw Milton in his high-top
Chuck Taylor's, wearing a batman mask and
cramming an entire hamburger in his mouth, a la John Belushi, while hundreds of
kids pounded on the church camp lunch tables to show their appreciation.
And I don't mean to suggest that he is trendy.
NO! He is Milton. He's been wearing Converse Chuck Taylors since they first came
out in the sixties or whenever. These shoes go in and out of style about every
ten years, but Milton keeps wearing them. Some decades he is hip; others he is
just...Milton.
True story: Milton got married in his Converse
tennis shoes. Tux and tennis. And I don't mean to suggest that the wedding was
some outdoor, silly affair. Church wedding, serious, everyone dressed up, and
Milton in his tennis shoes.
Of course Milton would be the one to move to
Boston with his equally cool wife, decide that ministry was best done by
teaching English to inner city kids, get rid of his cars, let troubled kids live
with them in their cool, 1865 row house, adore schnauzers, make candles by the
beach, and become a serious cook and writer.
The only time I got to Boston I remember Milton
making his own spaghetti noodles one at a time, disdaining those who would buy
their noodles at a store. About every 10th noodle he threw on the floor for his
dog, who was getting a little chubby as I recall.
Milton and I seem to connect every few years,
for whatever reason. And I wish that my commitment to life and truth could be as
courageous as his. But there is only one Milton. Accept no substitutions.
And now
Uncle Milty has a blog. A cooking blog, to
be exact. It's brand new, just a few entries. Knowing Milton, it's going to be
something I won't want to miss.
Milton, you always were the man.
rlp
