Saturday, November 1, 2014

Widget WEvival
A parable by
Ken Cagle
There was a man named Damien who discovered one day he needed a change.  After a life of unfulfilled purpose and no direction, he discovered the widget factory.  Making the widget, a great tool for all who were willing to buy, was the direction Damien always needed.  Damien was so moved that he changed his name to Christian (His friends begin to call him Chris).
After sometime passed, Chris begin to discover ways to make the widget better and passed his suggestions on to those above him.  The upper management always seemed to appreciate the suggestions and was often quick to implement Chris’ ideas.  Even though he never received any recognition for the input he offered, Chris was just happy to be a part of the widget team and wanted to be helpful.
One day, while reading the widget manual, Chris discovered that there were serious issues with the current widget model and began to rethink the widget, and how it was compared to how it should be.  After many days of research and study, Chris took his suggestion for revising the widget to his supervisors.
To his appall, his suggestions were completely rejected by all of his management team.  He was warned to stop questioning everything and just keep quite because he was stirring up trouble.  All logic and reasoning seemed to be thrown out and Chris was devastated.
In a short time, Chris was so distraught that he began to search for other widget makers that might embrace his discoveries.  Chris was amazed to find that there were widget makers out there who had already discovered the information he had found, and were making a better widget.  Chris immediately applied for and was offered a position with these better widget makers.
Chris returned to notify his previous employers of his decision and things soon got out of control.  Instead of gathering his belongings and leaving quietly, it was just a short time until his last day turned into an apocalypse.  Much yelling and ugly words were exchanged before Chris stormed out, effectively burning the bridge behind him as he exited.
Upon joining the new widget makers, Chris felt led to change his name again as the old name smelled of the last widget factory.  So Chris felt impressed to call himself Jacob (His new friends called him Jake).
In a few weeks, Jake discovered that these new widget makers had an idea he had never thought of before.  Why not take this better widget to those who are using a faultier version of the widget, so they can embrace a better way.  This was ingenious; Jake could see how this was helping the other people in so many ways.
Jake put on his “I Have A Better Widget” shirt and rushed out to tell others.  With his chin held high and a look of righteousness all over his face, Jake stood outside the old widget factory and waited for the others to exit after a long day of work.
To his shock and dismay, all he approached seemed to be angry and hurt even directing that pain towards Jake and were accusatorial in their replies.
Jake walked away, shaking his head in disbelief that they couldn’t see how much better the new widget was and how wrong they were in holding on to the old widget. He would NEVER be that way.
The End.

Saturday, January 18, 2014


I am lying on the top of an old beat up Beetle.

I am staring at the sky as the stars begin to appear.

I have left the house and slipped out without being noticed.

I am tired of the people, tired of the crying and tired of everyone talking about my dad.

I just want my dad back again.


My brother is not around, he is three years older than me and he can fend for himself.

My mom is inside the house being consoled by all the people who have showed up.

I don’t remember having this many people at our house before.


As I look at the stars through my tears, I think of a life without my dad.

He will never see me graduate from school.

He will never see me get married.

He will never see his grandchildren.


I will never laugh again.

My dad was the one who made me laugh.

He always had a joke.

He never failed to see the funny side of things.

How can I ever laugh again?


Why did I want to go swimming so badly?

Why didn’t I just jump in the canal and make him happy?

Why did he want so badly to see me happy that he took that dangerous risk?


How can a boy live without a dad?


The only home I have ever known is surrounded by his things.

It sits adjacent to the salvage yard he often worked in.

It’s right next to the wrecker company he drove for, and often took us with him on calls.

There are oil and paint stains on the concrete driveway that are like medals pinned to his chest.

I am lying next to the fence that I crashed into when he taught me to ride a bike.

The desert that surrounds us will always remind me of his sand buggies and motor bikes.

His life is woven into mine with memories that are now haunting.


How will my mom take care of us?

How can she provide the things dad worked three jobs to provide for us?

Where is God?


I suddenly realize, I am no longer a kid.

This horrible tragedy has aged me and I can never go back.

I don’t want to play with toys ever again.

I don’t want to act like a child.

I just want my dad back.


I don’t remember going to bed that night.

I don’t remember how I even got to sleep.

My memories stop at that moment, on the roof of that car and do not start again until his funeral.

Now I have been given the answers to most of my questions.

I did graduate.  I got married.  I am father to a wonderful son.  I know where my Heavenly Father is and He takes care of me…

but I will always have these memories.

Roy Leman Cagle with text