See you at the Movies

Jerry Maguire is right there on my TV set and I can't look away.  I have a flood of emotions even now upon my 500th time watching this movie.  I feel the same way when I watch Top Gun or Stand By Me and of course, Forrest Gump. 

Really, like certain songs; specific movies stay with us forever. 

I was just a little kid when I saw E.T. I believed every damn thing about that movie.  That heartbreaking moment when Elliot tells his alien friend to "stay" and ET counters him with "come"; at the time, I couldn't understand why their two worded argument was necessary.  Just fucking go with him, Elliot, I thought to myself at the tender age of ten.  What's so great about earth?  True friends are worth a little long distance trip in a space ship.  I walked out of that movie theatre bawling like a ten year old and I was a little angry. 

Life isn't that complicated when you're a kid and solutions to every damn problem can be found in miliseconds.  In other words, we don't have self-debates and we aren't overanalytical until puberty.

I saw that Nicholas Cage movie, Leaving Las Vegas with an old best friend many years ago.  Ironically not coincidentally, it was one of the last movies I ever saw with him before he left us.  It is a surreal feeling to be sitting next to someone in a movie theatre whose life at that moment resembles the life of the main character in the movie you are watching.  When Nicholas dies at the end of the movie, it literally dawned on me that the man sitting next to me would realize the same fate.  And I was right.

And I deliberate.  Still do.  Because yes, life imitates art. 

Funny thing about that old saying is Redd Foxx who famously faked heart attacks on Sanford and Son died from a heart attack in real life.  Coincidentally, not ironically.

Right now is that scene in Jerry Maguire where that meloncholy Bruce Springsteen song is playing as Dorothy is deliberating whether or not, she should have married Jerry.  I love that scene and that song is perfect for that moment.  On the rare occasions, I hear that song on the radio, the same emotions I get from that scene in the movie flood straight through me.  It's amazing how a song and a movie are forever married and become a parasite that clings to its host.... us.

There's these two 80's movies that might be a little obscure but they were intensely relevant to me back in the days of dollar theatres and renting VHS tapes:  All the Right Moves with Tom Cruise and Some Kind of Wonderful.  I had an opportunity a few months ago to watch them online and I figured they wouldn't hold up well.  Surprisingly, both movies still had a profound effect on me.  I suppose those of us who liked sappy movies when we were younger simply graduate to The Notebook when we are older. 

Speaking of The Notebook, it's movie I liked the first time I saw it.  I despised it the second time and it just might be because it's the cool thing to say... kinda like telling people you hated Friends.  Everyone was at Woodstock and everyone hates Friends.  I think those are two biggest lies people tell.  What is cool to say is that Seinfeld is your favorite show ever.  I admit I love Seinfeld but I will never get over Jerry's fashion choices.  He dressed exactly like Jack Tripper and wore stupid looking sneakers.  Go watch Threes Company and you'll see what I mean. 

My favorite movie of all time is 500 Days of Summer.  It's not something I can sum up in a short paragraph.  Unless you've seen it, it can't be understood.  It's pure unadulterated cinematic story telling of a boy who meets a girl.  And it's as real as a movie can get on this subject. 

Tom is a trained architect but works as a writer for a greeting card company.  In a state of heartbreak, he tells his co-workers, "It's these cards and the movies and the pop songs, they're to blame for all lies and the heartache, everything",

I have deliberated on this quote for a long time.  I've been in Tom's shoes and understand misdirected anger.  But he's wrong.  Movies and music are not only therapeutic but they play an integral part in our lives.  They are bridges that connect our present to our past. 

It's amazing that I can hear Journey's Open Arms on some classic rock radio station today and remember that neurotic phone call I made to KZZP twenty seven years ago and dedicated that song to some doe eyed girl from 7th grade, whom wore skin tight Jordache Jeans, I thought I was going to marry someday. 

It is incredible that I can still watch Some Kind of Wonderful twenty something years later and being able to relive that undeniably most tramatic part of being young called unrequited love then looking back and realizing your friends were right... Someday, you will get the girl.

How beautiful it is to be ripped to shreds on the inside when John Coffey does the dead man's walk to the chair in The Green Mile because we then realize the depth of our own empathy.  And years later watchiing it again, we realize that we haven't lost our heart and we are just as compassionate today as we were 15 years ago when that movie was released.

I can simply just list characters from movies and most people will be able to formulate some significant memory from the moment they first met them.  Take Vada at Thomas Jay's funeral in My Girl or Forrest telling Lt. Dan he's got magic legs.  Man, nothing else builds a bridge to our past like movies do. 

I saw Stand By Me seven times at the local dollar theatre.  The last time I saw it was my first real date alone with a girl.  During the scene at the end when Richard Dreyfuss, as the narrator, tells the fate of each boy, that girl touched my leg.

The first time a girl touches a guy's leg is worthy of being relived over and over again.

Thank you, Stephen King, Rob Reiner and really, all movie makers for that opportunity.

Jerry Mcguire just ended. 

Coincidentally, not ironically. 

No Good Deed

Self absorbed princess, late for the ball.  Are you too ambitious for the fall?  Come a little closer, stick your fangs into me. I'm a little suspicious of your vanity.  When the clock strikes twelve, you know where I'll be.  Back in our castle hoping you notice me.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Magic mirror on the wall.  Who's the fairest one of all?  Superstitious sycophant tends to be obedient.  Here's the apple, take a bite.  Delicious poison mends the appetite.  Taste it, savor it, swallow it down.  Self absorbed princess won't give up her crown.

No good deed goes unpunished.  . 

Oh Captain, my Captain, it was an auspicious start.  You're not to blame for your caprecious heart.  The waves were angry and the gods, they wept.  Captain, my captain, they screamed as he slept.   Stop it, sink it, laugh as they drown.  The relentless captain will never be found.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Nihilistic martyr nailed to a cross, who knew faith would be your albatross?  Pray now, seek now, your redemption draweth nigh.  Fatalistic martyr, time to say goodbye. 

Good Sam was a good man with a slight chip on his shoulder.  He warned you, you scorned him before he grew older.  Now Good Sam is a dead man and nobody mourned him.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Self absorbed princess, late for the ball.  Magic mirror tells lies to us all.

No good deed goes unpunished.

How I met My Mother: Better late than Never

When I was a kid, I adored my mother.  She could do no wrong.  She was a lot of things to me; none of which she is today to me. 

I was an 80's kid, a latchkey kid... A kid that played outside with other kids with no parents around... A kid that went trick or treating without an adult; without a candy surgeon to look for razor blades.  I was the kid mom took to bars as she waited tables... the kid, all the single ladies shared a dance with in those bars.  I was the kid that collected aluminum cans to help mom pay the bills.  I was Jesse James and Superman with a love for Reagan and Alex P. Keeton.  I was a good kid albeit, a little mischievous with the pardoxical need to be the center of attention while having a distinct discomfort when I was in the spotlight.

Growing up, I knew nothing about my mom.  I remember a few of her boyfriends; like the drug addicted guy that jumped on the hood of our Pontiac as she tried to escape his abuse.  Or the deputy of Eager, Arizona who put a gun to her head in front of me and threatened to kill her.  Or the guy who once took me fishing and then came to the conclusion, that he wanted a woman without the baggage.  

But this really isn't even about me because I had an extraordianry childhood and I turned out just fine.  Relatively, speaking.

Ten years ago, mom was trying to buy a house... her first house since the one I grew up in.  She called me one afternoon at work with the exciting news.  But there was a slight problem... she was a few thousand dollars short of the closing costs.

That night, a friend and I walked into the local casino.  I sat down at some slot machine, threw a $100 into it.  Two minutes later, I hit the jackpot... $5000.  As we were leaving, I walked past this older woman sobbing at a slot machine.  Upon closer inspection, I recognized her.  It was my mom. She had just blown most of her money she was going to use to buy that house.

Interestingly, I never knew she liked to gamble.  But like I said, I never have really known anything about her.
I knew she was compulsive and had an addictive personality because, well, I do.  Like mother like son, I suppose.

I'm not the guy that thanks God when my favorite sports team wins and I really don't want to give Him credit for  my $5000 jackpot that night.  I don't think God enables bad habits through some meaningless word called luck.  Let's just say, mom bought that house she always wanted due to a fortunate coincidence.

Ironically, a few years later, she lost that house to the same bad habit that enabled her to buy it.

I look at my mom now through a different set of eyes than those I had as a kid.  I think we all do. I don't see Super Woman or that carefree crazy woman that worked 12 hour shifts at local bars and partied immediately after.  I don't even see that joy filled person I always wanted to please as a kid.

She's just a shell of who she once was.

Family dynamics fascinate me.  This idea that family members stop speaking to other family members confuse me as much as the heartbreaking tales of sons and daughters wallowing in the loss of their now dead parents. 

I can't relate to either.

Parents aren't perfect and as they age and as we age, it seems, we get to know and understand them even less.. I liked the world much better from the set of eyes I had as a kid.  And I loved living in the belief that my mother could do no wrong. 

One thing is for certain and this should be enough for all of us, we didn't choose who are parents are but they damned sure did choose us.  And that is and will always be enough for me.

It was a cold and rainy December, just two weeks before Christmas, when mom handed the bank a $5000 check and bought her dream house.  She cried.  She hugged me.  It was probably the second time in my life I had ever seen her cry and it was my first hug from her since I was a kid.

And that was the day, I finally met the mother I remembered as a kid.

Untold Stories: Epilogue

In some strange and subtle way, I feel like an alcoholic attempting to successfully complete the 12 step program.  Specifically, I feel like I've been stuck on Step Nine for a few years now as I have stumbled my way through the pages of Social Networks looking for old friends, mentors, acquaintances, crushes and you.. 

It's not that I have a need to make amends with anyone.  It's not even about seeing how certain people's lives turned out or looking for something to make me feel better about my own.  Really, it would be easy to say it's the curiosity factor or a boredom activity but the truth is I miss certain people, I miss how it once was, I miss the intensity of being younger, the wide eyed optimism I once had.  And truth is I miss feeling alive. 

Recently, I sent Pastor Davidson a message here on Facebook.  I reintroduced myself, mentioned my mom and then quickly shared with him something memorable he once did for me. 

When I was 12, mom and I were standing in the foyer after Sunday evening service and for 30 minutes, Pastor Davidson and her were talking.  I was hungry.  I wanted to leave.  So, I did what all self-centered 12 year old kids do... I tugged at mom's shirt and rudely kept interrupting their conversation.  She would look at me with anger and push me to the side.  After this repeated cycle of me nagging and her pushing my face out of the way, Pastor Davidson grabbed a $5 bill out of his pocket and kindly told my mom to go buy me McDonalds.   That was a lot of money to me; moreso, that was a lot of money to my mom.

I retold this short anecdote to my old Pastor because after all these years, it is still cemented in my mind.  I suppose true acts of kindness are like that; especially when we don't deserve it.

Pastor Davidson wrote me back.  It was a short but kind message in which he thanked me for reaching out to him.  It was obvious by the terseness of his message he had no recollection of who I am or that specific moment from thirty years ago.

I suppose asking an 80 year old man who has preached in front of tens of thousands of people in his lifetime to remember a bratty 12 year old might be too much to ask.  And I suppose this egocentric man should not have been shocked that he didn't remember me.  And really, I guess the lesson to be learned is that genuinely kind people don't ever remember kind things they do.  It just comes naturally for them. 

I mention my recent encounter with Pastor Davidson because well, the moral of that story explains why all these Untold Stories I have been telling have come to a surprise to you.  Allowing you to view yourself through my eyes from an innocent period of our lives, I am certain, has been quite bitter sweet and uncomfortably uplifting. At least, I hope the uplifting part is true.

I don't remember the first time I met you like I do with Pastor Davidson but I do remember the last time we spoke.  I was drunk.  A friend and I were housesitting.  I was laying on a waterbed staring at the ceiling with the cordless phone glued to my ear as I clung to every breathy word you spoke.  My last words were Talk to you soon.  I knew it wasn't true.

What never began was over.  That lightning quick moment you existed in my life was now just the sun breaking through the rain clouds and a new life with a future of endless possibilities was about to begin for you.  Someone else would be taking you to prom.  Someone else was going to win your heart and your family's approval.  It was meant to be someone not me.

And I was okay with that.  And then, I let you go.

I've got so many stories I will never get to share with you and I am sure you've got plenty more than me.

Untold Stories: The Secret

My marriage to Alice only lasted one week.  Normally, this would be one of those time periods not even worth mentioning because in the grand scheme of life, this one week of matrimony bliss was more of an experiment that went awkwardly wrong.

I say, normally, I wouldn't mention this time period BUT then again, my perspective on life has changed.  And I owe it all to you.

Every single event, every self-described inconsequential moment, every second of our lives, matters.  Every single person from that nurse who held us in her arms that moment we emerged into this world of possibilities to the kid who threw rocks at us at recess to every single teacher, preacher, stranger, friend and random passerby that has entered our lives, they all matter.  Each and every person and moment in our lives molds us into who we are and whom we become. 

Life is about observation, be it, intentional or subconscious.

Life is about experiences, be it, pleasurable or painstakingly unbearable or just the mundane. 

Life is about loss and turning that loss into something tangible.

What life is not is a cliche. 

Alice and I got married at 12:15 under a glorious September sky.  My friend, Chris, performed the ceremony.  I'll be honest, every girl at that wedding hated Alice and wished they were her.  I was a good looking third grader.

On the school bus home, Alice and I had our first kiss.  Those old TV sitcom images with fireworks going off when a boy kisses a girl are not even close to the truth.  For a third grade boy, it was more of a formality than some relationship milestone.  At that age, girls like to kiss.  Boys like dirt.

When our marriage ended a week later,due to some recess incident where she wanted to hold hands and I wanted some alone time, I figured I had a lifetime ahead of me to find a better Alice.

And I did.  And I have.

After church one night at some youth group event, we were at a park.  You and I were on the swing set.  Just you and I under a beautiful September night sky isolated from all of our peers.  I was in heaven. 

You were talking.  I wasn't listening.  I was too terrified to focus on anything except the denim skirt you were wearing and your carefully styled larger than life bangs..  You were beautiful to me and I wanted to be your boyfriend so badly.

Some secrets should never become secrets.  Looking back now, I know this to be true.

Alice may have been my first wife but you were my first crush.  Better yet, the first girl I fell in love with.

When you left, when we lost contact, all I wanted for you was a bright future and a happy life.  That's how I knew I loved you. 

All secrets should be told.  Some are best, years later.  This is one of those times.


I've got so many stories I will never get to share with you and I am sure you've got plenty more than me.