Uniformity

I said I wasn't going to do it, but I had to. It's too good not to talk about. I could hardly keep my composure. Tonight was the 2 year anniversary of my joining the Usher Board at my church and it was as though no time had passed at all. Of course, it wouldn't be fair to say that nothing has changed. We're on our 3rd president now. I'm no longer the youngest usher by 20 years. In fact, there are two recent additions that are in their early 20s. But you know what they say: The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Perhaps I've been too myopic in my characterization of things. Things change all the time. The sick list changes every week. There's always some new cause for which we might take up an offering. We've gone from having a committee that cooks food for special events to having a caterer. Throughout all of this flux, however, there has remained but one constant. So as to not hold you in suspense any longer, I'll come out with it. That one constant has taken on a life of its own. It grows more and more with each passing month and has perhaps gone well past a point where it is manageable anymore. At this point, we can only hope to contain it, because it is surely far beyond control. Okay, I'll get to it already. Without further adieu, the one constant has been item numero uno on each meeting agenda since I have been attending meetings: Ladies Uniforms.

Now, before you start to laugh or dismiss this as trivial, hear me out on this. I'm certain that you will come to appreciate the magnitude of the situation at hand. Each meeting the Sister assigned to head up the committee to "usher" in a new set of uniforms for the female members stands up to report on her findings on the matter at hand and each time she is first met with mild indifference, some mumbled sniveling, and finally passionate pleas for or against what she has presented them. About once ever 3 or 4 meetings, she actually gets far enough down this road to show up with a picture, a fabric sample, or sometimes even a whole suit. During these proceedings, the male members try to become invisible, employing that same reflex that many have mastered from years of spouses or mates asking questions like "Do I look fat in this?" or "Do you think I would look good with short hair?" or "Don't you think my friend Sharon is attractive? Why can't she find a good man?" We count the seconds until we can move on to the next agenda item, each one seeming to span an eternity, and just that much longer than the one preceding it. It's so agonizing that sometimes we want to cry, but we can't. We're not allowed. It's even in our theme song:

We are the soldiers, In the Army
We have to fight, although we want to cry

We want to laugh, but we know better. This is serious business, especially on a board that not only enjoys a significant female majority but also that, until 3 weeks ago, has had female leadership for the last 37 years straight. We could be made to stand post at the door for the whole service, all of our requests for relief falling upon deaf ears (or eyes, as it were, since we communicate with a sort of sign language during Services). We could be made to take the collection up the 3 flights of stairs to the finance department repeatedly. We could be banished to the choir stand. (well, actually, that might not be that bad). All in all, its better for all involved if we just shut up and ride it out. That next item on the agenda will get its day in the sun at some point. Someday.

The problem is all about consensus, and although I'm loathe to generalize, I'm going to do so anyway for the sake of an attempt at an explanation. There are some 40+ women on this board, each with their own styles and tastes, with different upbringings and spanning several age brackets. To expect that they would be able to agree completely upon something as important as their appearance for 2-5 hours every Sunday would be about as naive as expecting that Tiger Woods will hit a hole-in-one every time he steps up to the tee. Like I said, this is serious business. One false move in an area like appearance can lead to a glut of gossip and a superfluity of shame.

On the flip-side of this, the male members made this same decision during a 5 minute meeting that took place in the choir room, after the second offering of a service and never revisited the issue. One guy brought in a suit and some tie choices,there were nods of approval, and the next thing you knew, we were all being measured and soon thereafter receiving a multitude of compliments about our new look. In fact, the suits were so popular that even the Pastor got one. But then again, we arrive at a consensus pretty easily. Not convinced? Try this more secular example on for size. Find me 10 random men of any race, socio-economic group, or age bracket , line them up side by side in front of a stage. Have Halle Berry walk out to the center of that stage. To a man, you will get universal agreement that she is indeed beautiful, along with the Pavlovian responses of salivating and eyes widening. On this same stage, you could march Brad Pitt or Denzel Washington out there in front of 10 women and you'd get 10 different opinions about what is wrong with each of these men. Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus. But I digress. We were talking about uniforms. New uniforms or the lack thereof for the female members of the usher board.

I have to admit that for a second, I thought that today might be the day. I felt like Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting when he pulls up to the hovel that Matt Damon was calling home, only to find that he finally had moved on. Could this really be it? Was this issue really about to be put to bed? Wait a minute? Was this issue really going to be over and done with. Oh no! Maybe I should revise the first sentence in this paragraph, replacing the word 'thought' with 'feared'. I feared that today might be that day. What would replace it on the agenda at the next meeting, and at all the meetings after that? Maybe, secretly, I look forward to this agenda item being there. It gives me solace. It brings me comfort to know that there will be some heated discussion about the ladies uniforms each meeting. Like Chicago Cubs fans find comfort in the Curse of the Billy Goat during each run at the playoffs or each calamitous season where the playoffs are not remotely a possibility, it brings me comfort to know that they will never resolve this issue. Certain things must be at odds. They just must. Why? Just because. Israel and the Palestinians must be at odds over a small strip of land about the size of a NASCAR race track. Why? Because. Because that's just the way it has always been. Niner Fans must be at odds with Raider fans, and no you can't like both teams, even though they hardly ever play against each other. That's just the way it is. We take comfort in that. It is absolutely imperative that there be traffic in I-880 during rush hour and in both directions. Why? Because this is not Cedar Rapids, Iowa? No, just because. That's just the way it is. It's firm. It gives us stability. Hot dogs will always be welcome at baseball games no matter how health conscious we become. Apple Pie will always go with Americans and Chevrolet. Fries should always go with that shake. Again, I digress.

I was saying that it was looking like today was going to be that day. The Sister in charge of the committee brought in a suit and had a price and had dates and deadlines for the transactions to be completed. There wasn't alot of discussion. The sniveling was minimal. I think we all got a little antsy as a result. Even the men. Against my better judgment, I spoke up and suggested that they arrange for the clothier to make a visit to the church to take everyone's measurements like the men had done, naively thinking that this helpful suggestion might be met with some appreciation. Instead it served to fan the flame that had been flickering ever so faintly as though it were about to be extinguished altogether. The fanning brought to life the chief detractors that had been relatively quiet to that point. My stupid comment got them started. It brought them back to their senses. They had almost forgotten that, just on general principal, they were supposed to be opposed to whatever article of clothing was being suggested. It was all over after that. Some of the ladies stood to voice their displeasure with not only the fabric's apparent lack of durability (as if it needed to be as durable as the Carharrt outdoor wear worn by construction workers), but also the almost certain difficulty that would be realized when trying to find an accompanying pair of shoes. They came back to life in a big way. The window of opportunity for resolution of this issue had closed just as quickly as it had opened up on this night. Vanished. Poof! Like a thief in the night.

I should have known better than to interfere with grown folks business. It was foolish of me to say anything at all. I should've kept my mouth shut. Maybe it was a subconscious action. Maybe I had no choice in the matter at all. Maybe, deep down inside, I couldn't face the notion of this not being a hotly contested agenda item at each meeting. I didn't want to be like a Boston Red Sox fan, devoid of the ability to identify with the 86 years of heartbreaking losses and near championship misses after the Sox stunned the mighty Yankees and then swept the Cardinals en route to their breaking of the Bambino's Curse. What do those people do now? There's comfort in suffering. Winning is not all it's cracked up to be. It's too much pressure. There is no excuse to be made for a winner. What's the fun in that.

I wasn't able to stay until the completion of the meeting, but I was there long enough to see the issue of the ladies' uniforms tabled once again. I can relax again. All is right with the world. Add one other item to that very short list of life's certainties: Death, Taxes, My Jumpshot (well, again, not lately, but...) and that the ladies of my usher board will never decide on nor ever obtain new uniforms. Check back with me in 2010.