I hadn't stepped more than two feet into the Memorial Ward Chapel before Bret Bassett came up to me and introduced himself. He asked me my name, welcomed me to the ward and laughed at my jokes. Forty years later, Bret is still one of my closest friends and that laugh hasn't changed.
I was invited to a pool party at his subdivision and a follow-up party at his house that next Wednesday. At the party, Bret made sure that I was introduced to everyone. All of the time I was in his company, he made me feel like I was his closest and dearest friend. I kept thinking of the words that Christ used to describe Nathanael, "Behold, a man without guile". (later on I discovered a little guile here and there...but not much)
The first time I ate dinner with the Bassetts, I discovered a few things. First, if you weren't quick, you'd starve before you got anything to eat in that household. All of the food was placed atop a large Lazy Susan that sat at the round kitchen table. Nobody ever asked for anything to be passed, they just spun the Lazy Susan until the food item they wanted was in front of them.
I have heard people opine that the smallest increment of time known to man is called, 'A New York Minute'. It is the interval of time between the light in front of you turning green and the cab driver behind you honking his horn. However, I have discovered an infinitesimally shorter increment of time..it is the period of time between 'Amen' being said over the food at the Bassett home and the Lazy Susan starting to spin.
I wasn't quite sure what was on the menu because that Lazy Susan spun so fast that all I saw was a blur...an amalgam of foods whipping by too fast for the eye to lock onto so the mind could register. (I thought I smelled chicken) It was Brett's brother Bruce who showed me how to get fed. You simply stuck your arm into the middle of the Lazy Susan and scooped whatever dish came by off and onto the table. Once I'd seen it done a couple of times and was assured that I wouldn't lose a limb in the process, I copied Bruce's example. The timing required to accomplish this feat is something akin to the timing required for double dutch jump rope.
The second thing I learned from visiting The Bassett home was that all of Bret's brothers and sisters had, in varying degrees, the very same ability to make a stranger feel like you were family. It didn't take long to discover that this remarkable talent was due to the example set by the matriarch of The Bassett Clan, Sister Bassett.
Sister Bassett was the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove. Those ice-blue eyes of hers would look straight into yours in a way that said, "I'll brook no nonsense from you, young man" with a generous twinkle that also said, "but you're fun to have around". Even when those eye's flashed in anger, you could still detect a hint of that twinkle lurking around the edges.
I think it was because I loved the dichotomy of those angry eyes with a hint of twinkle so much that I made it my life's mission to be the thorn in Sister Bassett's side. I never left the field of verbal battle with Sister Bassett unbloodied, or even close to victorious. (but to this day, I haven't given up)
Once her youngest son, Sid, did something that caused Sister Bassett to reach out and swat his behind. I chided her by saying that the prophet, David O. McKay's children said that the worst thing he ever did to them was to say, "I wish my children would be good". Usually, a zinger like that will catch my opponent off guard long enough for me to prepare another one before they answer back...but not Sister Bassett. She shot back at me with, "I've read a lot of wonderful things about President McKay. I've never read anything about his kids though"
Score:Janice 1; Tom 0
We had an ongoing argument over my failure to attend BYU Education Week. I refused to go on the grounds that they charged an entrance fee and The Book of Mormon says that paying people to preach to you was priest crafts
This one came out a tie.
I never paid for a haircut my entire time in high school. If my hair got too long, Sister Bassett would get out her clippers and barber's cloth, set me in a chair in the kitchen, place the cloth around my shoulders and cut my hair. It was during these times of captivity that she imparted her wisdom to me. If I showed any reticence about accepting that wisdom or wanting to argue with her, I was told to be quiet and listen. Usually these demands for silence were punctuated by short tugs to a lock of hair on the back of my head.
Sister Bassett's favorite form of punishment was to sentence the guilty to a week of doing the dinner dishes. Over the years I had seen each of the Bassett children take their turn several times with this punishment. The seriousness of infraction required for the issuance this ultimate sentence waned proportionate to the days of the week. Meaning, if it was Sunday and nobody was cued up to do dishes for the next week, you watched yourself.
I thought that this punishment was reserved only for her children and paid for my folly one week by stepping over the line while teasing the youngest sister, Liz. I was roundly chastised and told that I was expected in the Bassett home every night at seven o'clock for a week so that I could do the dishes. All of the Bassett children cheered...mainly because, if I was doing the dishes, they didn't have to.
Explaining to my parents why I had to leave our dinner table and drive over to the Bassett's to do the dishes was a little awkward, especially when I didn't do dishes in our home. My dad asked me what would happen if I just ignored Sister Bassett's demand. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it...and when I did...it scared me a little.
Sister Bassett became like a second mom to me. She's been in the hospital and, as I write these words, she is about to undergo surgery on her heart. There is a definite chance that she will not make it through the surgery...but how I hope and pray she does.
I went to visit her in the hospital on Monday and all of her children there greeted me like a long lost sibling. We all chatted while Sister Bassett slept, when she opened her eyes and saw me, the first thing I did was offer her a sip of my Dr. Pepper.
"You know I don't drink that", She said.
"Are you judging me?" I asked. "Is this the kind of thing that you want to be doing while getting ready to see Jesus?...judge others?"
I was rewarded with a huge twinkle out of those eyes that hadn't seemed to age a bit over the last 4 decades (score one for Tom)
When it came time to go, I went over and kissed her forehead, she said, "I love you forever and have since the first time you came into our home."
I've been keeping up with her progress by reading the blog her kids set up. I also read the comments of the people she's touched over the years....people who I don't know but feel the same way about her that I do. It made me think, for a moment, that I wasn't that special to her after all....but then I quickly realized that we all are.
