Father's Day

"It's never gonna be how it was" she said.

My eyes glued to the obituary she found almost a decade ago.   "You know, honey, that void is real".  

She likes me better in the dark.  She loves me when the lights are turned on. 

I tell her how empty I feel.  Emptier than I ever have.  "It's a sign of the times" she explains.

If I could just go back and make that phone call.   Said goodbye like a gentleman.  Wished you the best.  Told you I pray to the God you don't believe in that He will bring you peace.  Maybe, joy.  And love from someone better than me.  If I could, I would. 

Fathers Day is for the daughters.  Ones like you. 

My eyes glued to the obituary you found almost a decade ago.  I'm not even mentioned.  That void is real.  Tangible.  Bottomless.  You'll never have to fuck your way to the top.  Happy Fathers Day, honey.

I'm never gonna drink again, he said.
I'm never gonna fuck again, she said.
I'll never be loved again like that, I said.
I'll never marry, he said.
I'll never be understood, she said.
I'll never learn, I said.
I'll never reach my potential, he said.
I'll never see that face again, she said.
I'll never make promises again, I said.

I can't stand seeing you with someone else.  I hate a man I've never met.  And he's not even my father.  Yet, I'm torn between wanting you happy and hoping you're alone so you come back to me.  

I'll never lie to you, she said.
I'll never give up, he said.
I'll never abandon you, I said.

That void is real, honey.  Tangible.  Bottomless.  Keep fucking your way to the top.

Happy Father Day, love. 

Elephant Tea Party

Anorexic beauty queen elephant's in the room.  Inauthentic royalty between elegance and gloom.   When your appetite gets serious, the curious will turn to you.  Wait for me I wait for you in our duplicitous cocoon.   Somebody feed the elephant starving in the room.

Take a hit, pass it on.  Elephant sees no wrong.  Kumbaya, sing along, Savior's coming soon.  Domestic goddess finds love in a vacuum.

Slavery is peace of mind elephant froze in time.  Bravery is not the climb or leading from behind.  Fall down, get back up.  History will be unkind.   Nobody sees the elephant, the intelligent are blind.



Lonely in your company introverted to extreme.   Pour me a cup of tea light some nicotine.  Elephant needs a stimulant metaphorically obscene.  When dystopia seems heavenly and beauty queen intervenes chemically, whats a man to do? I turn around turn to you, what do I have to lose?  If quicksand didn't cling to shoes, I'd probably sink with you. 

Goodbye, sadistic soulmate, ego in distress.  My pugilistic surrogate, best friend and mistress.  Come on, taste my tears from our wasted years then tell me what to do.  Elephant out of its element and this experiment is through.  We cannot breathe yet we won't leave, whats a man to do? 

Somebody kill the elephant standing in the room.

The Adventure Dog

First dog I ever owned was a gray Australian Shepherd mixed breed named Smoky.  I named him after the Burt Reynolds movie.  

Smoky was my adventure dog.  Well, adventure in 2nd grade terms. 
I was living in small town, USA.  We had four seasons.  White Christmases.  A 4th of July parade down Main Street.  Two churches and one medical clinic in town.  It was an idyllic place for a young boy like me.

I spent my summer days hiking up to the Indian ruins where I searched for pottery and arrowheads.  Armed with a steak knife and the overly energetic Smoky by my side, I always felt safe during those treks deep into the forest. 

My memories of Smoky are dim.   I recall he enjoyed chasing cars, going on adventures with me and oddly, he preferred being kept in the yard as opposed to an inside dog.  Mostly, I remember my love for that dog and his loyalty towards me.
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When 5th grade was approaching, mom told me we were moving back to the city.  Back to the life I knew the first seven years of my life.   Mom needed a good paying job and another fresh start.  She needed to escape the drama and abuse she encountered in Small Town, USA.  

It's funny thinking of my mom when she was in her early thirties.  She partied a lot and dated so many men.  A LOT OF MEN.

Never good men, though.  

At the time, I didn't realize that every decision she made, she made them with my best interests at heart.   I viewed the constant chaos and ever changing life decisions as being irresponsible aimed at making me miserable.   I don't recall resenting her but I do remember using these constant life changes to manipulate her.  

You cant afford to buy me a new bike?   You just took me out of school away from all my friends to move to the big city so you could make more money?

And then mom would buy me that bike.  Just like that.  Years later, I learned it was her 3rd part time job that paid for that bike.
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We arrived back into the city, back into the house I grew up in.  It was relatively a modest house stuck in a HUD neighborhood with a nice backyard for Smoky.   The neighbors were just about all Native Americans living rent free and on welfare.  All I knew about them is they loved beer.   My only chore was early every morning going yard to yard and collecting aluminum cans.   That was our grocery money.

Eventually, mom lost the house.  It was valued at $28,000 at the time.  Nonetheless, she was proud of it.  

As was I.
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We moved into a mobile home temporarily.  It was at this time, we had to part ways with Smoky.  Smoky the adventure dog needed a yard.  He needed to roam.  He needed what we could not provide.

We were new members at a church.  Mom placed an announcement in the weekly bulletin letting other families know our dog was available.

Before too long, Smoky had a new home.  A 10 acre yard with horses and two other dogs.  Smoky was going to live the rest of his life as intended for adventure dogs.

I was heartbroken.   Smoky was a huge part of my childhood and my best friend during those years in Small Town, USA.

Mom did her best to allow me to visit him a couple times a month.  Over time, those bi-monthly visits became never.
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Years later, the summer before high school, mom said she had a surprise for me.   So, we took a 30  minute drive to the outskirts of town.   We pulled into a dusty driveway and as soon as I exited her banana colored Maverick without a muffler, an elderly overweight dog jumped on me.

IT WAS SMOKY!

I recognized that joy and he recognized my awkward disposition.  It was obvious he was near the end of his life but it was even more apparent, that he had lived a long and fulfilling one. 

I spent an hour with my adventure dog just walking the grounds of his new and last home, a dairy farm.   He stayed by my side every step of the way.   Just like those days in Small Town, USA.

We left that place and of course, I knew it was the last time I would ever see that joyful and ever so curious once best friend. 
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It's always heartbreaking to lose someone or something you love.  Sometimes, it's just better for them that we do.  I suppose a true selfless love will always include wanting that other entity to be happy. 

I will always remember Smoky the adventure dog fondly for those years of love and loyalty he gave me; without pause.  I am proud that he was able to end his life full of joy and loved by someone....

Even if I was no longer the provider I had once been.

Fear of Elevators

I was reaching into my locker.  Ninth grade.  News of the Challenger being passed from kid to kid.   Human nature, humor as a defense mechanism kicked in for my boys my age.  Space shuttle jokes.  A school teacher and some astronauts.  1986.  Shock.  One girl three lockers away, crying. 

President Reagan gave a comforting speech that evening to a mourning nation with a special emphasis side note to the school children of this country.  One of his best.

Nine successful missions.  Tenth one didn't make it into space.

Seventeen years later, I just hung up my phone.  News of the Columbia breaking apart over Dallas on my television. I had no jokes that day.   First thing out of my mouth, "we still send space shuttles up to space?"  A 17 year gap that remains a blur to me.
 
Twenty seven successful missions.  Twenty eighth didn't make it home from space.
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Some point between the Challenger and the Columbia, I was sitting in my college classroom.  The psychology professor was discussing fear.  We went around the classroom; each person stating what they fear.  Typical answers:  Public speaking.  Failure.  Spiders.  Snakes.  Cancer.  Flying.  Dying alone.

It would have been easier for me to answer what I don't fear.   I had to narrow my answer down to the one thing I fear most.  So, I thought about it.  
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There were 135 space shuttle missions.  Two were not fully successful.

I suspect it takes someone uniquely wired to want to go to space. I wonder what astronauts fear.  My guess is spiders or snakes.  Something insignificant when compared to flying to space.

I suppose there's no such thing as having a silly fear.  If an astronaut can bravely go to space yet fear a spider, we are all okay. 
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Ten years ago, my greatest fear was I wouldn't be loved one day.  I was certain she would wake up one morning and realize she just didn't love me.  How could she not?  Look at her.  I convinced myself she was out of my league.

Ultimately, we did not work out.  For awhile, I felt my fear came true.  The I love yous had stopped.  Cold.  Stale.  Something was different.  It had to be me.  My fault.  I believed that.

I was wrong.  Nothing is more loving than kindness and what I had perceived as cold or mean was in reality, kindness.  Honesty.  Just wasn't meant to be.  I'll never hear those three words from her again.  And that's okay.    It has to be. 

Fear leads to paralysis.  It doesn't have to.

Seventeen years after the Challenger, NASA kept sending up space shuttles and astronauts were still signing up for space.   Eight years after Columbia, same exact scenario.
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I sat in that psychology class waiting my turn to answer the professor's question.  Each student had their answer ready.   Some feared insects.  Some, reptiles.  Some, dying alone.  Some, flying.  Some, cancer.  Some, losing a loved one. 

And me...

I fear elevators.

perpetually nostalgic

Five hours ago, your birthday ended
All I thought about was the scent of your hair
I know it's stupid

darkness ushers in nostalgia

Ducks floating on the water
picnics with her dead daughter
She thinks its stupid
so she tells no one

It seems so anticlimactic
from way over here
Something so careless
can't be this pedantic

pay phone ahead, I need a dime
I'm just calling to say we're out of time
I know this is stupid
I'll call you back in 30 years

It's been months, where'd you go
never mind, I already know
Longing can be so ironic
You and I, platonic
I can be so stupid

Drinking with an old war friend
He's talking about 1993
I remind him it's 2003
right about now, he'd ask is that when they buried me
I think he's stupid for leaving us all behind

She says I would have liked him
He was weird
He crossed the line into crazy
It's stupid how he disappeared

light exposes nostalgia for what it is

It's been five hours since your birthday ended
all I can think of is the scent of your hair
I know it's stupid

right about now, you'd say stop being so melodramatic
and I'd say but longing is so romantic

everyone is perpetually nostalgic


 

A Father's Love

His father was this 6'5 giant of a man.    He was a man of few words but commanded an audience when he spoke.  He was awkward.  Eccentric.  Really, eccentric IS the best word to describe him.  It's the adjective reserved for geniuses.  Quiet geniuses.  Misunderstood men.

He built a suitcase rack on top of his horse trailer one Saturday afternoon.   Boredom, I suppose. 

In the 15 years I saw this man on a daily basis, he never spoke to me.   In the back of his mind, he had his mind set that I was a bad influence on his son.  I was a best friend.  One of many.  Influence is earned.  We all earned his son's influence.   We were good people.  We loved.  We cared.  We were all best friends.

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Stuck in a Sunday malaise, blood pressure rising to the point where I could hear my own heart beat.  Any minute, I expected my left arm to go numb and then I'd drop to the floor; looking up at the half full mug of coffee wishing I had two more minutes to finish my morning vice. 

I leaned back in my padded chair; waiting.   I guess God wasn't quite ready to take me home.

Something divine, maybe random placed two documentaries into my queue.  Chris Farley was first, followed by Andre the Giant.

Farley's dad was 650 pounds.  A lovely man, by all accounts.  All that resonated with me during the 90-minute Farley documentary was his love for his father.   One man carrying the shame of his out of control weight and the son who idolized him.  When love is pure, it is the most beautiful sight and sound on earth.






Andre the Giant lived on a farm in his final years; surrounded by farm animals and pets.  Dozens of them.   When asked why he had so many, he stated, "They never look twice at me".   I imagine being Andre wasn't easy.  He couldn't hide.  Judgment waited around every corner.  A 7'4, 500 pound man will always be the center of unwanted attention.   Andre's friends all referred to him as a gentle giant.  A lovely man, by all accounts.
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His father was hard to figure out.   We would come stumbling into the house drunk late at night and he would be standing in front of the television; watching soft core porn on Cinemax.  When he heard us laugh, he would turn off the TV and hide in the dark until we were gone.   That man was an OB/GYN.  Why would he need porn?   He sees that shit all day long.   We pondered that question on many drunken nights.

In the 15 years, I saw that man on a daily basis, he yelled at me once.  I never had a father so I enjoyed the negative attention. 

His relationship with his two sons and two daughters seemed odd from my perspective.   He seemed distant.   There was a quiet resentment from his oldest son.  A resentment that seemed to bear the blame for his drinking.

We spent a Saturday afternoon in the smoky club house of the rehab center he checked himself into.  We openly discussed his drinking and his relationship with his father.  I couldn't relate.  I could only listen.  The excuses were palpable.  Genetics.  Dad was always working.  Depression. 

Buddy, genetics control the disease but YOU control your genes.   That was all I really said that day.

Two months later, he was gone.

We all lost a best friend. 

It was a fitting gray Thursday when he was buried.   I stood in the foyer alone of the church as the other best friends were huddled together yards away.  I was just observing.  Taking deep breaths.  Observing, some more.  Trying to process my thoughts.   Searching for my lost emotions.  Looking for answers.

His father slowly walked over to me.  His face had aged remarkably that week.  He grabbed me.  And he wept.  Sobbed.   He was broken, I guess.

He didn't say a word to me.   He didn't need to. 

Tears from a stoic man, a misunderstood father, a gentle giant... those tears are contagious.

I suppose this was the only time in my life where I witnessed a father's love firsthand. 

And it remains as the most beautiful sight and sound I have ever witnessed.

Shameville

Took a guilt trip to Shameville.  Hoped to forget Us. 
Spent too much time there
I feel the same, still. 
I broke down in Hopeless.   Lost direction and focus. 
I hope you're happy now.
It's very seldom
we don't overstay our welcome
I overstayed mine
I hope you're happy now

Strangers can be comforting. 
The indifference is palpable
Seeking deliverance from the suffering
seems rational
Nobody is happy in Shameville

Hypothetical futures become regrettable pasts. 
Sunny days ahead are rainy forecasts. 
Only the weatherman profits from bad news. 
Everyone wants to trade skin.  I want to trade shoes. 
Kindness happens behind closed doors.   And so, does abuse. 

I hope you're happy now. 
No one deserves it more. 
Life ain't fair says the entitled one.  
I refuse to keep score.

Scheduled a flight to heaven.  Hope to wait on the other side for you.
Excuse me if I ignore you...

Valor is the better part of discretion.
Hell is the road to good intention
Kill one stone with two birds
Wise is the man of few words
Better never than late
Good luck is a leg break
Getting on in years
Pity parties and crocodile tears
Every silver lining has a cloud.
I hope you're happy now.