Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Same Pain, Different Day

Sometimes in life shit happens. I guess it's how we deal with that shit that makes us who we are. 

I'm an asshole.

Actually I'm not an asshole, I'm more of a child. A spoiled brat who wants to quit when they don't get their way. 

When I was a kid my cousin and I decided we would take turns riding our bikes around the school building with our eyes closed, relying on the other to direct us which way to turn. About 2 minutes into my ride I felt a huge thud across my chest, flipped in the air and landed flat on my back. I didn't know what hit me. When I opened my eyes, my cousin was standing over me telling me I'd ran into the monkey bars and flipped over. My body hurt. I thought a car ran over me. My bike landed in the grass 10 yards away. Days later my arms still hurt and my chest felt like someone hit me with a brick. 

This past weekend I called my oldest child by their name. The name their mother and I had given them at birth. I was quickly yelled at by said child and informed that that is no longer their name. 

It hurt me. It felt like the monkey bars all over again, like my eyes had been shut and suddenly I was clotheslined and knocked flat on my back. Three days later it still hurts. And unlike the monkey bars, I'm not sure that this pain will go away. It's not that I'm not supportive, but she was my daughter. My first born, my little girl. And now she's not.

 



Sent from my iPhone

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Vote For Pedro


When I was eight maybe ten, I had some birthday money that was burning a hole in my pocket. I don't remember every detail, who gave me what or how much money I had, but I remember I bought an electric race car track. I remember the box showed several different designs you could make with the tracks and it came with two cars. 
I'm not sure why I was so drawn to this track. I wasn't a big race car fan, even though we had the Indy 500, and at that time NASCAR wasn't popular here. But for some reason I had to have it. I knew what I wanted. 

I remember telling my mom how much I'd play with it and how I just had to have it. It was going to be awesome. And I remember a day or so later telling her how it was boring and the cars came off the track more times than not, and how I'd wished I'd never bought it.  

The truth is we don't know what we want. Not when we're young.  

Today I voted in the Presidential primary election, years ago I voted for the person who I thought could make my life better right now. I'm not the same person I was years ago. I would have rather voted for Pedro. 

I'm sure I've had the conversation or put to paper my thoughts and views on how life is black and white, cut and dry. I don't think that way anymore. I suppose being a parent changes that sort of thinking. I don't have time to go back and read through old posts or call up my old drinking buddies and explain that maybe I was wrong. Hell I'd never admit that anyway. 

My mom ended up returning the race car track. She never told me, I told you so, but we both knew. She told the store it didn't work. Which is true,..... it didn't work for me. It's not always black and white. 



Friday, February 19, 2016

Tracy Chapman and 3rd Grade Fight Clubs...

Give me one reason by Tracy Chapman plays on the radio. It's one of my favorite songs actually. It's one of  those songs that sneaks up on ya, and in a minute somehow makes me want to dance.

For some reason, I imagine my dad dancing to this song. I picture him with his long six foot plus frame on a dance floor, his legs and feet stepping in time as Tracy belts out "baby I've got your number"

Don't ask me why I picture my dad dancing. Maybe it's because this song feels like a song dad's should dance to. Maybe it's because I've danced to this song in front of my kids before.

This morning I woke up with the memories of a third grade fight I was involved in many years ago.Standing in the center of a circle of onlookers. I don't remember why I was in the center, or what I was fighting about, but I remember as things got started the boy across from me began swinging his arms. Not in a, I'm gonna take out any mother fucker who messes with me kind of way, but rather in an eyes closed, standing swimming motion hoping he hits something.

Sometimes our minds make us feel like Ed Norton in fight club.

We close our eyes, swing our arms with all we've got, and hope we hit something.