I'm twenty-four now and gonna be twenty-five come January. I've never really had a good birthday. When I was a kid, other kids never really came to whatever parties I had, or the weather was bad, or any number of things went wrong. It was never a great birthday. There were a few that were okay and a couple with good memories but they were never anythin' special.
My twenty-second birthday was particularly bad. I was supposed to go to this club for my birthday. My birthday was going to begin at midnight so the idea was that I would go out with these girls from work and they could celebrate with me. One of these girls I'd been makin' eyes with for the past few weeks. We took her car. Later we figured that'd been a mistake on account of she had some bald tires and wet roads to drive on. We spun out a bit n slammed into the concrete median.
I got whiplash. Happy Birthday to me.
The next weekend we were s'posed to try again. We did. They asked me if I wanted to come to the same club with 'em 'bout a week later. And perhaps this is where I made my mistake. I answered "Maybe." So I wound up not havin anything to do that night so I got dressed and drove about an hour to the club and met up with the girls there. I'm sure I must've called them to say I was comin'. It wouldn't make sense for me not to. I don't typically do things that way. Though I can't remember it specifically. They were there with a few friends and dancin'. I went up and said hello, introduced myself to the friends. We all danced in like a big group kinda thing. I went to the bar to grab abother beer only to turn around and find that they had all left. Not one word to me. Rejected. Left. Abandoned.
I am a loser. I am a failure. I always have been. I always will be.
I write about my philosophies and morals and my ideals. I talk about my high standards that I have for myself and others. And I have fallen short on all of those at one time or another. I am in no way, shape, or form, perfect. I have made so many mistakes in my life. Not just lil ones either. I have done all kinds of selfish and wrong things to good and bad people alike.
I want y'all to know this.
Not so you'd feel sorry for me or think I'm some deep pain filled soul. No. I'm not. I'm just a guy that's made a lot of mistakes and I know you have too. I know you have 'cause as good and right as I try to be about everything I slip at least once a day.
We're all failures in the way that we ain't perfect. There are times in our lives where we're gonna ditch somebody 'cause we're selfish or uncaring. There are times where we're gonna be the ones gettin' ditched 'cause somebody didn't think we're good enough or that we aren't what they want.
It happens.
The only thing we can do with all of our short comin's is to move on and learn from them. We have to learn to deal with rejection and failure. I feel sorry for the person that has never known either one of these. 'Cause it'll come one day and when it does it'll crush 'em.
As a kid I was always shy. I don't stand out in a crowd. So I've never had many friends. I was never a great student. I might've been further ahead in life if I had been. I could've been better lookin'. I could've been born into a family with more money. I could die never bein' published. I could never get out from under my debt. I would've gone back to college if I had the money. I shouldn't have to work two jobs just to make ends meet. I could've been thinner. If that brass ring was a lil bit closer I might've made sumthin' of myself.
Yeah. Well things don't always work out to fit in all the woulda, shoulda, coulda's. We're left with all the what is's. We're stuck with things the way they are. That's what we gotta deal with. We pick up our trash one piece at a time and we just have make do with what we got. No bitchin' or whinin' bout how things happened.
You took a chance and came up a lil short. You asked her out and she said no. You put your trust in people you thought were friends and got let down. You think things can't get any worse but odds are they will. How the hell do people put up with that? A lotta people can't. They snap. They overreact. They make bad choices to get themselves out of a bad spot. Those people need help. And askin' for help when you need it doesn't make you weak, it makes you brave enough to reach out and willin' to become better than you are. The people that get lucky and make better choices start small and do what they can to make things better.
Don't let yourself feel like a failure. You may be a person that makes mistakes but til your dead you got a chance to make things better. No one is a failure til it's all over. And as long as you tried can anyone ever really say that about you? How many countless artists never made it til after they were dead. They tried while they were alive. People just couldn't see what talents they had til they were gone. It's sad in a way but as much as they felt like failures in their lives, they never were.
No one's opinion of you matters more than your own. You ain't a loser. You ain't a failure. The fight ain't over. If you got one round left, you got three minutes to get in there and knock that bum the hell out. Get up off your ass. No more feelin' sorry for yourself. Give it all you got. I know you feel tired and you wanna quit but your problems ain't gonna back down. You're the only one that can deal with your problems and to me that says you're the only one that has what it takes to deal with 'em.
Your opinion is all that matters. Learn from your mistakes. Work to make yourself the best you can. Understand that as good as you are, rejection and failure are bound to head your way. They don't have to be that big of a deal. You ain't a loser. You can do what you gotta.
You ain't a failure.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Passion Behind the Ink
Found this paper today. Wrote it for my English class a while back and thought it was pretty good. Enjoy.
For me writing is something I have to do. I couldn’t be happy in a world where people didn’t write. I have a passion for it. Writing is one of the things that can spread an idea like wildfire. It has so many uses and is an amazing tool, but why do people write at all? I believe the answer that is the most truthful is passion. It doesn’t matter what an author writes, he has to be passionate enough about it to take the time to sit down and write about it.
Perhaps an author has a dream and wants to share it with the world as writer and teacher Christopher Meeks explains, “The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in your head.” All stories begin as someone’s dream and through writing can become someone else’s. Writing is a way for any author to share his ideas. I’ve always liked to say, concerning fiction, that it’s like a way for one person to get everyone else to play with their imaginary friends. The author can have a whole universe inside his head filled with excitement, love, and even terror. An author creates this from his passion and uses this fire inside him to try to ignite the world. He has seen fit to write a two-hundred plus page novel about events that never happened, people that don’t exist, and places he may never see simply because he cares about all of these things.
An author has to have a love for what he is saying. Most people wouldn’t sit through a story they can tell the author doesn’t care about. If he doesn’t care why should anyone else? Authors do not think for months at a time about a subject they do not care about. It would be as monotonous as counting grains of sand on a beach. I don’t care how many there are they’re there and that’s enough for me to know about them. However, writing isn’t like that. An idea can hit you, it sparks a flurry of other ideas, characters are created, plots are worked out, details are developed, and it becomes a story. A refreshing breeze becomes a hurricane. Sometimes an author doesn’t just want to tell a captivating story, though it should be his first concern when writing fiction, he can also use his novel to broadcast a message. The Chronicles of Narnia are famous for their references to and support for Christian belief. The “X-Men” comic books are filled with the idea of accepting people who may be different from us. Passion can lead authors to find new depth in their creations. If you care enough about something you can think about it a million different ways and pull out a million different meanings and it all makes sense. Just like the people who write stories there is no one right way to see a book. Just like people, it takes a certain amount of passion to know the story inside and out enough to see all of its sides. Neil Gaiman, creator of the award winning “The Sandman” comic book series writes, “The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page…Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising and it’s magic and wonderful and strange.” People do not label the drab or meaningless as magic. When a person creates something and it becomes more to people than a bunch of words, it becomes magic. Magic is supposed to be mysterious and wonderful. I don’t know if he really made the Statue of Liberty disappear but I know he did something impressive.
It doesn’t really matter what a writer is writing about as long as he’s passionate about it. Insignificant things like marks on walls, or dying flowers, or a person who would otherwise go unnoticed can be given great meaning if an author decides it. It can mean something special to the author and this meaning can then be shared through writing with an audience. The whale isn’t always a whale. Characters can become stand-ins for ideas. The archetypes begin to form around these common symbols giving the reader a host of meaning and offering the writer more ways to get his message across.
Passion for these messages is what some authors write for. Passion can not be learned a writer has to have it for whatever piece he is working on. Fiction is not the only place that passion can be applied to writing. One man’s passion can change the way the world thinks. Nothing great is ever accomplished without passion. Friedrich Engels wrote of poverty in London, “From this it follows that the social conflict- the war of all against all- is fought in the open.” Engels felt poverty existed in part for mankind not regarding each other as people but as enemies. We compete with each other for the same money so that some get more than their fair share while others are left to struggle. Many writers, like Engels, write for the social change which can occur as a result. The change is what they are passionate about. Women wrote about how much they could do if allowed, they urged their sisters to prove themselves, they pushed for their rights. Florence Nightingale was one of those women who pushed to have more than she did by asking, “Why have women passion, intellect, moral activity-these three-and a place in society where no one of the three can be exercised?” She could not see why she exists in a world where she has the same abilities as a man but could not be allowed to use them as well as he could. Eventually, women received the rights they deserved with much thanks to literature. Laws are made to protect people by people who are passionate about that. There are people who want to make the world a safer place for everyone. These are the dreamers who wish desperately for a world without war, hunger, or racism. These passionate few who begin the work of many and fight uphill battles in the hopes of finding something better.
It’s not just social changes non-fiction writers are passionate about. There are a good deal of other ideas for an author to be passionate about. Author of Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut believes any subject works, “A petition to the mayor about the pothole in front of your house or a love letter to the girl next door will do.” Some have felt people were important enough to write about. Whether autobiographies or biographies, a wide range of celebrities, political figures, and everyday people have had their stories told by passionate authors. For whatever the reason people like George Washington or Cleopatra have inspired a variety of authors to tell their stories. Some authors have a fire to tell the tale of a person’s life from beginning to end. Others feel that one particular event is most important to tell. Thomas De Quincey tells of one particular instance in his life which struck him as very important, “When I walk at this time in Oxford street by dreamy lamplight, and hear those airs played on a barrel-organ which years ago solaced me my dear companion, I shed tears, and muse myself at the mysterious dispensation which so suddenly and so critically separated us for ever.” De Quincey met a prostitute named Ann whom he felt terribly about never being able to see again since he’d promised to help her reform. Whether a single event or an entire life, there exists a strong desire to tell that story to anyone who cares to read it. Authors can be fans of these people just like anyone else. An author can attach himself to John Wayne for the tough guy roles he played in the movies he and his father watched while growing up. Bob Marley may inspire passion to his biographer through the lyrics of love he wrote. Even Hector the young guy down the street may find his life recorded in a short story written by his best friend who felt passionate enough to tell their story of an eventful road trip. Anything can be important enough to write about if seen properly.
I believe people are most passionate about each other. We have the most impact on each other. The animals, plants, and weather do not affect the writing of people as much as the store clerks, police officers, wives and husbands of the world do. These are the people we love, hate, look up to, loathe, envy, and hope to meet. A man might fall in love with a woman instantaneously. He would experience the kind of passion that would flood into his heart leading to a creative overflow. “This overflow must be expressed,” the man might say. “I will write her letters, poems, and sonnets, anything I can to express my wish to embrace her and call her mine.” The love poems of the world have been written to express the passion between people for centuries.
Regardless of the reason for the writing there must always be passion behind it. The world is not moved by the strength of a man but by the passion of his heart. Nothing great is ever done without passion. Writing, even when it is not that great, still holds a fire in it. An author must always feel this fire if he wishes to express it to the world. The fire is always what comes first. No one sets out to create something without the passion it takes to create it. You need that fire to finish it.
For me writing is something I have to do. I couldn’t be happy in a world where people didn’t write. I have a passion for it. Writing is one of the things that can spread an idea like wildfire. It has so many uses and is an amazing tool, but why do people write at all? I believe the answer that is the most truthful is passion. It doesn’t matter what an author writes, he has to be passionate enough about it to take the time to sit down and write about it.
Perhaps an author has a dream and wants to share it with the world as writer and teacher Christopher Meeks explains, “The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in your head.” All stories begin as someone’s dream and through writing can become someone else’s. Writing is a way for any author to share his ideas. I’ve always liked to say, concerning fiction, that it’s like a way for one person to get everyone else to play with their imaginary friends. The author can have a whole universe inside his head filled with excitement, love, and even terror. An author creates this from his passion and uses this fire inside him to try to ignite the world. He has seen fit to write a two-hundred plus page novel about events that never happened, people that don’t exist, and places he may never see simply because he cares about all of these things.
An author has to have a love for what he is saying. Most people wouldn’t sit through a story they can tell the author doesn’t care about. If he doesn’t care why should anyone else? Authors do not think for months at a time about a subject they do not care about. It would be as monotonous as counting grains of sand on a beach. I don’t care how many there are they’re there and that’s enough for me to know about them. However, writing isn’t like that. An idea can hit you, it sparks a flurry of other ideas, characters are created, plots are worked out, details are developed, and it becomes a story. A refreshing breeze becomes a hurricane. Sometimes an author doesn’t just want to tell a captivating story, though it should be his first concern when writing fiction, he can also use his novel to broadcast a message. The Chronicles of Narnia are famous for their references to and support for Christian belief. The “X-Men” comic books are filled with the idea of accepting people who may be different from us. Passion can lead authors to find new depth in their creations. If you care enough about something you can think about it a million different ways and pull out a million different meanings and it all makes sense. Just like the people who write stories there is no one right way to see a book. Just like people, it takes a certain amount of passion to know the story inside and out enough to see all of its sides. Neil Gaiman, creator of the award winning “The Sandman” comic book series writes, “The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page…Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising and it’s magic and wonderful and strange.” People do not label the drab or meaningless as magic. When a person creates something and it becomes more to people than a bunch of words, it becomes magic. Magic is supposed to be mysterious and wonderful. I don’t know if he really made the Statue of Liberty disappear but I know he did something impressive.
It doesn’t really matter what a writer is writing about as long as he’s passionate about it. Insignificant things like marks on walls, or dying flowers, or a person who would otherwise go unnoticed can be given great meaning if an author decides it. It can mean something special to the author and this meaning can then be shared through writing with an audience. The whale isn’t always a whale. Characters can become stand-ins for ideas. The archetypes begin to form around these common symbols giving the reader a host of meaning and offering the writer more ways to get his message across.
Passion for these messages is what some authors write for. Passion can not be learned a writer has to have it for whatever piece he is working on. Fiction is not the only place that passion can be applied to writing. One man’s passion can change the way the world thinks. Nothing great is ever accomplished without passion. Friedrich Engels wrote of poverty in London, “From this it follows that the social conflict- the war of all against all- is fought in the open.” Engels felt poverty existed in part for mankind not regarding each other as people but as enemies. We compete with each other for the same money so that some get more than their fair share while others are left to struggle. Many writers, like Engels, write for the social change which can occur as a result. The change is what they are passionate about. Women wrote about how much they could do if allowed, they urged their sisters to prove themselves, they pushed for their rights. Florence Nightingale was one of those women who pushed to have more than she did by asking, “Why have women passion, intellect, moral activity-these three-and a place in society where no one of the three can be exercised?” She could not see why she exists in a world where she has the same abilities as a man but could not be allowed to use them as well as he could. Eventually, women received the rights they deserved with much thanks to literature. Laws are made to protect people by people who are passionate about that. There are people who want to make the world a safer place for everyone. These are the dreamers who wish desperately for a world without war, hunger, or racism. These passionate few who begin the work of many and fight uphill battles in the hopes of finding something better.
It’s not just social changes non-fiction writers are passionate about. There are a good deal of other ideas for an author to be passionate about. Author of Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut believes any subject works, “A petition to the mayor about the pothole in front of your house or a love letter to the girl next door will do.” Some have felt people were important enough to write about. Whether autobiographies or biographies, a wide range of celebrities, political figures, and everyday people have had their stories told by passionate authors. For whatever the reason people like George Washington or Cleopatra have inspired a variety of authors to tell their stories. Some authors have a fire to tell the tale of a person’s life from beginning to end. Others feel that one particular event is most important to tell. Thomas De Quincey tells of one particular instance in his life which struck him as very important, “When I walk at this time in Oxford street by dreamy lamplight, and hear those airs played on a barrel-organ which years ago solaced me my dear companion, I shed tears, and muse myself at the mysterious dispensation which so suddenly and so critically separated us for ever.” De Quincey met a prostitute named Ann whom he felt terribly about never being able to see again since he’d promised to help her reform. Whether a single event or an entire life, there exists a strong desire to tell that story to anyone who cares to read it. Authors can be fans of these people just like anyone else. An author can attach himself to John Wayne for the tough guy roles he played in the movies he and his father watched while growing up. Bob Marley may inspire passion to his biographer through the lyrics of love he wrote. Even Hector the young guy down the street may find his life recorded in a short story written by his best friend who felt passionate enough to tell their story of an eventful road trip. Anything can be important enough to write about if seen properly.
I believe people are most passionate about each other. We have the most impact on each other. The animals, plants, and weather do not affect the writing of people as much as the store clerks, police officers, wives and husbands of the world do. These are the people we love, hate, look up to, loathe, envy, and hope to meet. A man might fall in love with a woman instantaneously. He would experience the kind of passion that would flood into his heart leading to a creative overflow. “This overflow must be expressed,” the man might say. “I will write her letters, poems, and sonnets, anything I can to express my wish to embrace her and call her mine.” The love poems of the world have been written to express the passion between people for centuries.
Regardless of the reason for the writing there must always be passion behind it. The world is not moved by the strength of a man but by the passion of his heart. Nothing great is ever done without passion. Writing, even when it is not that great, still holds a fire in it. An author must always feel this fire if he wishes to express it to the world. The fire is always what comes first. No one sets out to create something without the passion it takes to create it. You need that fire to finish it.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The Nature of Good and Evil
I love comic books. They're all about right and wrong. It's simplified ethics. Old school comics were particularly simple.
The good guys were in brightly colored outfits, the bad guys were mostly in black. The good guys weren't racist, they did't have any vices, they were pure of heart.
The bad guys were fairly simple as well. Often mad scientists with dreams of world domination or monsters that came from nowhere only to destroy. Pretty clear cut there. Nobody should be allowed to own the world or destroy it as far as the majority of people would be concerned.
The good guys step in and might makes right. If the good guys with all their strength and powers could defeat the bad guys the day would be saved and evil would again return to the shadows.
But the real world ain't like that. Evil doesn't come in the form of monsters or mad scientists so often here. Try walkin' in your mall and spottin' all the good guys and all the bad guys. Odds are you ain't gonna get 'em all right.
Evil is subjective. So's good. It all depends on who's judgin'.
A man that cheats on his wife isn't evil but he's wrong for it. A woman that keeps the extra twenty bucks from an atm might not even be considered wrong in keepin' that extra money. All children are selfish and tend to lie or be sneaky to get what they want but are they evil?
If Bob killed a man he might be called evil. But what if the person killed was attackin' Bob's family. What if it only appeared that the person killed was attackin' Bob's family? What if Bob's family had attacked the man that was killed? Things start to get a lil murkier.
There is no razor thin line drawn in the sand for every occasion. People can only act with the best of intentions and hope the rest of the world will understand. There's always a reason for the actions of people. Convenience, weakness to tempation, amusement, whatever it is there's at least one reason for it. It doesn't always make a lick o' sense and far too often it's backed up by stupidity but people have their reasons.
Reason is what a person needs to determine good and evil. To label all people who kill evil is to ignore those shades of gray that make things messy. It would be nice to live in a world where things fit into their lil boxes and you could always tell what's right and whats wrong. They don't. It's not that simple so you always gotta keep your wits about you and do your best to judge for yourself. It's why we hold trials for criminals. It's why we have rehabilitation programs. They clearly ain't perfect but it's all we got right now.
Nuthin' and No one is truly evil. Most folks who do bad things are misguided. They need to be helped not condemned. They need to learn to make better decisions not to be locked away and mistreated.
True evil would have to be a relentless force of death and destruction. True evil would not have a purpose for a new order to replace the old or any benefit to anyone. It would only destroy and corrupt whatever it can.
True good would then have to be a relentless force of life and creation. Its purpose would have to be peace and happiness for all. This is an impossible task.
There are no such creatures I've ever run across in my time.
There is no absolute evil or absolute good. There are the things we do and the reasons we do them and what happens as a result. These three things determine what could be good or bad. But nothing we can do can make us evil nor can anything we do make us perfectly good. We can get better or worse easily but there always remains at least a sliver of one or the other.
I'd say that's a good thing though. As perfect as we may become, if that lil bit of us wants things it shouldn't stays with us, then we must constantly work to keep it in check. That bit of badness keeps us awake at the wheel. And as bad as we may become, as hateful, and wild, and malicious as we can be if that lil bit of good stays with us then there is still hope to save us from ourselves. There's alway time to change what we are as long as there is a breath in our lungs.
The good guys were in brightly colored outfits, the bad guys were mostly in black. The good guys weren't racist, they did't have any vices, they were pure of heart.
The bad guys were fairly simple as well. Often mad scientists with dreams of world domination or monsters that came from nowhere only to destroy. Pretty clear cut there. Nobody should be allowed to own the world or destroy it as far as the majority of people would be concerned.
The good guys step in and might makes right. If the good guys with all their strength and powers could defeat the bad guys the day would be saved and evil would again return to the shadows.
But the real world ain't like that. Evil doesn't come in the form of monsters or mad scientists so often here. Try walkin' in your mall and spottin' all the good guys and all the bad guys. Odds are you ain't gonna get 'em all right.
Evil is subjective. So's good. It all depends on who's judgin'.
A man that cheats on his wife isn't evil but he's wrong for it. A woman that keeps the extra twenty bucks from an atm might not even be considered wrong in keepin' that extra money. All children are selfish and tend to lie or be sneaky to get what they want but are they evil?
If Bob killed a man he might be called evil. But what if the person killed was attackin' Bob's family. What if it only appeared that the person killed was attackin' Bob's family? What if Bob's family had attacked the man that was killed? Things start to get a lil murkier.
There is no razor thin line drawn in the sand for every occasion. People can only act with the best of intentions and hope the rest of the world will understand. There's always a reason for the actions of people. Convenience, weakness to tempation, amusement, whatever it is there's at least one reason for it. It doesn't always make a lick o' sense and far too often it's backed up by stupidity but people have their reasons.
Reason is what a person needs to determine good and evil. To label all people who kill evil is to ignore those shades of gray that make things messy. It would be nice to live in a world where things fit into their lil boxes and you could always tell what's right and whats wrong. They don't. It's not that simple so you always gotta keep your wits about you and do your best to judge for yourself. It's why we hold trials for criminals. It's why we have rehabilitation programs. They clearly ain't perfect but it's all we got right now.
Nuthin' and No one is truly evil. Most folks who do bad things are misguided. They need to be helped not condemned. They need to learn to make better decisions not to be locked away and mistreated.
True evil would have to be a relentless force of death and destruction. True evil would not have a purpose for a new order to replace the old or any benefit to anyone. It would only destroy and corrupt whatever it can.
True good would then have to be a relentless force of life and creation. Its purpose would have to be peace and happiness for all. This is an impossible task.
There are no such creatures I've ever run across in my time.
There is no absolute evil or absolute good. There are the things we do and the reasons we do them and what happens as a result. These three things determine what could be good or bad. But nothing we can do can make us evil nor can anything we do make us perfectly good. We can get better or worse easily but there always remains at least a sliver of one or the other.
I'd say that's a good thing though. As perfect as we may become, if that lil bit of us wants things it shouldn't stays with us, then we must constantly work to keep it in check. That bit of badness keeps us awake at the wheel. And as bad as we may become, as hateful, and wild, and malicious as we can be if that lil bit of good stays with us then there is still hope to save us from ourselves. There's alway time to change what we are as long as there is a breath in our lungs.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Code of the Braggin' Apes
Not too long ago a friend and I were discussin' religion. It's never much of a discussion with him though, he's very set in his views and wants to beleive what he believes. That's his right. If I want to believe what I believe I gotta live in a way that allows others to do the same.
In the course of him quoting The Bible, he asked me if I believed in evolution. He wanted to know if I believed that mankind had evolved from monkeys. Everybody gets their panties in a bunch over that question 'cause people don't wanna be thought of as monkeys.
My answer to the question was that it didn't matter one way or the other. Neither has any particular bearin' on me or what I choose to do with my life.
I asked him, "Would bein' created by God make him a better person?"
He said, "No, it's my own actions that determine whether or not I am a good person."
I asked him, "Would bein' descended from a monkey make him any worse of a person, would bein' related to a monkey diminish his existence in any way?"
He said, "Yes."
I asked him why, and the most logical thing he could come up with was that it would take away from God. That strikes me as irrelevant to the question, seein' as how the question kinda asks you to put yourself in a world where God doesn't exist. When God doesn't exist you can't really take much from him.
I've heard it said before that man is only an animal with a superiority complex. That man believes itself to be so intelligent, so much better than other creatures that it deveops a code of conduct and morality that must be followed. It's been said that there is no real authority behind any moral code, particularly when so many people disobey it or drop it at the first sign of trouble.
Perhaps we are animals. Perhaps we're all descended from monkeys. Maybe we come from the nastiest glob of puss ever to squish its way across the planet. Maybe God is a made up inventon of mankind. Maybe our morals mean nothing to the fish, or the ants, or the stars. Maybe people do often do desperate things in desperate times. Should that have any bearin' on what the rest of us should do? Should we let all that mean that we have no moral code to uphold?
I don't think so. Things have no value of any kind 'til people decide they're worth sumthin'. A moral code, whether The Bible or Bushido, only has value if people abide by it or respect it. A code that people don't stick to can't gain any momentum or strength. But when someone has a philosophy and they stick to it, never bendin' or yieldin' in any of their values, or at least as few as possible, it can be respected. A code like that can be upheld by the people that follow it.
Even in a world without a god or any moral code before you, if you created a code and lived by it and upheld it with every step you took and every action you made, it would have a real value to at least you. It doesn't have to mean anything to anyone but you. Even if it's you alone that chooses to follow that path gives it will gain strength. God does not have to stand behind you. A discouragin' fact like you comin' from a monkey, or a family of thieves, or a drunk could not tarnish this path unless you let it.
No matter your history, whether you were a begger, prostitute, drug addict, molested, or just a regular joe, any moral code should be designed to make you a better person through habit and a method of thinkin'. Now of course, people are not perfect, we will never be perfect, and as such creatures of limited power we're gonna screw up. These slips don't need condemnation, they need understandin'. People that make mistakes just need to be shown a better way to make decisions or live. People that throw away their codes in the face of danger, times of war, or desperate situations need strength to hold on to these codes and forgiveness for abadonin' them. Killin' for killin' ain't never brought anybody back but makin your peace with the people that are still around might let you live a happier life.
Mankind may be just a braggin' ape but if we deliver on our braggin' then we have not just created a code of conduct but a self-fulfilling prophecy. We give ourselves the reasons we need to be righteous and moral. These codes may differ from region to region but should still be respected.
Christians are one group that are often disrespected. In a way it may be their own fault for lackin' a knowledge in their own philosophy. There are those that are well versed and could make anyone doubt their own philosophies but there are others that say simply "Because God said so." "Because God said so" has never been a satisfactory answer to me. There's no real logic to it. We should be moral for the good it creates in the universe not just for ourselves but for all. Good is, as I understand it, derived from the word god. God is good and good is god. In a sense, people don't really do good things because God said so, people do good things and then good exists in the universe, people create a sort of "god".
In the course of him quoting The Bible, he asked me if I believed in evolution. He wanted to know if I believed that mankind had evolved from monkeys. Everybody gets their panties in a bunch over that question 'cause people don't wanna be thought of as monkeys.
My answer to the question was that it didn't matter one way or the other. Neither has any particular bearin' on me or what I choose to do with my life.
I asked him, "Would bein' created by God make him a better person?"
He said, "No, it's my own actions that determine whether or not I am a good person."
I asked him, "Would bein' descended from a monkey make him any worse of a person, would bein' related to a monkey diminish his existence in any way?"
He said, "Yes."
I asked him why, and the most logical thing he could come up with was that it would take away from God. That strikes me as irrelevant to the question, seein' as how the question kinda asks you to put yourself in a world where God doesn't exist. When God doesn't exist you can't really take much from him.
I've heard it said before that man is only an animal with a superiority complex. That man believes itself to be so intelligent, so much better than other creatures that it deveops a code of conduct and morality that must be followed. It's been said that there is no real authority behind any moral code, particularly when so many people disobey it or drop it at the first sign of trouble.
Perhaps we are animals. Perhaps we're all descended from monkeys. Maybe we come from the nastiest glob of puss ever to squish its way across the planet. Maybe God is a made up inventon of mankind. Maybe our morals mean nothing to the fish, or the ants, or the stars. Maybe people do often do desperate things in desperate times. Should that have any bearin' on what the rest of us should do? Should we let all that mean that we have no moral code to uphold?
I don't think so. Things have no value of any kind 'til people decide they're worth sumthin'. A moral code, whether The Bible or Bushido, only has value if people abide by it or respect it. A code that people don't stick to can't gain any momentum or strength. But when someone has a philosophy and they stick to it, never bendin' or yieldin' in any of their values, or at least as few as possible, it can be respected. A code like that can be upheld by the people that follow it.
Even in a world without a god or any moral code before you, if you created a code and lived by it and upheld it with every step you took and every action you made, it would have a real value to at least you. It doesn't have to mean anything to anyone but you. Even if it's you alone that chooses to follow that path gives it will gain strength. God does not have to stand behind you. A discouragin' fact like you comin' from a monkey, or a family of thieves, or a drunk could not tarnish this path unless you let it.
No matter your history, whether you were a begger, prostitute, drug addict, molested, or just a regular joe, any moral code should be designed to make you a better person through habit and a method of thinkin'. Now of course, people are not perfect, we will never be perfect, and as such creatures of limited power we're gonna screw up. These slips don't need condemnation, they need understandin'. People that make mistakes just need to be shown a better way to make decisions or live. People that throw away their codes in the face of danger, times of war, or desperate situations need strength to hold on to these codes and forgiveness for abadonin' them. Killin' for killin' ain't never brought anybody back but makin your peace with the people that are still around might let you live a happier life.
Mankind may be just a braggin' ape but if we deliver on our braggin' then we have not just created a code of conduct but a self-fulfilling prophecy. We give ourselves the reasons we need to be righteous and moral. These codes may differ from region to region but should still be respected.
Christians are one group that are often disrespected. In a way it may be their own fault for lackin' a knowledge in their own philosophy. There are those that are well versed and could make anyone doubt their own philosophies but there are others that say simply "Because God said so." "Because God said so" has never been a satisfactory answer to me. There's no real logic to it. We should be moral for the good it creates in the universe not just for ourselves but for all. Good is, as I understand it, derived from the word god. God is good and good is god. In a sense, people don't really do good things because God said so, people do good things and then good exists in the universe, people create a sort of "god".
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Destroyer
I started off wantin' to write sumthin' positive. But at the moment I just can't bring myself to. I still carry massive amounts of hope in my heart and the situation isn't bleak but there's sumthin I'm not so happy with. I'm not really sure what it is. I'll figure it out sooner or later.
In the mean time, I'm left feelin' sumthin' I try not to feel very often. Like a tiny black flea I feel it scratchin' and clawin' and bitin' at me. I can't help it. It's there. I try to contain it but I can't right now. I felt great a few days ago and then for the past few days it's slowly dug its way in. Hate. That's what it is. At nothing in particular. But still at everything.
Everyone talks about hate like it's something casual, like it's common or even okay to hate. "I hate onions." "I hate purple." "I hate my math teacher." That's a strong dislike. And probably with good reason. Math is hard. Purple isn't everybody's favorite color and it's not always flatterin'. But real hate is sumthin' I hope you all never have to feel.
I've felt it.
I know it.
And because I have, I'm left feeling a bit broken. Perhaps broken hearted.
About three years ago, I was datin' a girl. She was an interesting character. Odd in unimaginable ways and very pretty. Never was she a boring person to be around. She was the kind of person you had to think like if you ever wanted to understand what she was doin'. She didn't want to graduate though she was in her senior year and doin' fine in her classes. She felt it was her surrenderin' herself to the will of the man. She didn't like her big butt, she thought "A butt should be smaller and flatter, like a white girl's." She had a dream of becomin' a porn star, but was highly self conscious about her body. She was lazy, and funny, and foolish, and wild, and unreliable.
Unreliable.
I do not like that quality in a person. Much less a person I'm tryin' to date. She stood me up in total, about nine times. We would make plans and she'd sleep instead or be with her family or doin' sumthin' else. I found out that that sumthin' else had a name. Several actually. She'd been sleepin' around 'cause she thought I was a good guy and thought if she'd slept with me she'd get bored with me. She placed sex as the peak a relationship could reach and rarely stuck around with a guy after sleepin' with him.
She was my friend. Not the greatest or most trustworthy friend. But that's what I considered her, and as foolish as it may have been to think so I didn't think she'd do that to me. I could've handled her wantin' to see someone else. I'm not a lil kid, I've been through a few breakups before. But I felt betrayed by her.
I apparently walked around with a sad look on my face long enough that someone noticed. She listened. She was kind to me. She became my friend. I fell in love with her and she with me. But it wasn't true love. It wasn't real. I was at a weak point and she fooled me.
Despite my hard work doin' everything I could to take care of her. She ultimately rejected me, for an inferior man. I was crushed. I was hurt in the worst way.
I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't eat. I woke up in the morning and the first thing I would think to myself was that I wish I hadn't. If I had the time I'd go back to sleep in the hopes that maybe I wouldn't wake up the next time around. For the next six months I continued on like this hopin' that maybe she'd love me and not him. I tried to be the best that I could be. I helped her however I could. I did everything imaginable for her. I took care of her mother. I took care of her bills.
And everyday I was rejected. That wasn't anything new to me. I can't count the number of times I'd been turned down for bein' ugly, or not cool, or bein too nice. How many times have I been passed over for some asshole? How many times has a girl toyed with my emotions so she could feel good about herself? How many times has a girl been embarassed to be seen with me? How many times has a girl used me for money? I've been rejected all my life. Far too many times for one heart to accept.
I was rejected again and again. I was rejected and this time my heart couldn't take it. It shattered. She made her decision to stand by him, a worthless, gelatinous, perverse, ox of a man. There was nothing I could do. Except hate. I stood by and when they smiled together, I hated. When they kissed, I hated. When I knew they were layin' in bed together, I hated. When I felt I'd been robbed of the woman I loved, I hated.
I hated him. I hated him so much my blood boiled. My body burned. I felt a black hole in my chest where my heart once was. There would be nuthin' that was gonna fill that void. I died. I accepted the cold. I turned to stone to avoid feelin' any pain at all.
The tears stopped. The anger was there but contained. My hate. My hate fumed from my body. My hate was the stone I'd used to protect myself from my pain. I thought about doin' things. Disgusting things. Things that it would never have been possible for anyone with a soul to do. I hurt so badly, I just wanted to make the world hurt too.
But I do have a soul. And ultimately I am a good person. I could never do any of those things. I could never hurt anyone out of any selfishness.
One day, I walked into a church. An unlikely place to find me, but I went. I went in, I sat down and I listened. The preacher sounded like he was talkin' straight to me. He said exactly what I needed to hear. I sobbed. I don't think I've ever cried that hard over anything. In that church all I could do was melt all the hate away and show my pain.
After about another year I was able to let it go. It took a lot of work and practice not bein' angry about bein' left penniless, hurt, and livin' with my mom but I got over it. For the most part. I'd been hatin' the wrong person. I came to the realization that hate is just a poison. It'll kill you slowly and painfully.
No one deserves that from another person and you shouldn't let people have that much power over you. Hate is a fire that only destroys and consumes. It burns from inside you and does it's best to burn its way out. It'll consume you and destroy everything around you if you let it.
Real hate does nuthin' but destroy. It kills. People's lives are ruined by it. It must be controlled to live a positive life. Anger is anger and that's okay. We'll all get mad or annoyed by sumthin' but you can't let it take charge of everything you do.
I will not let hate consume me in such a way again. I'd never want my friends to feel hate like that. I know I'm different now after that experience. I'm colder. I feel as though my heart is blocked off. It's not good to know that you're broken in a way that may never be fixed. I might not get sick, I might not bruise easily, but I don't know if anyone will ever get that close to my heart again. But maybe, with time, practice, and the right person it'll happen.
In the mean time, I'm left feelin' sumthin' I try not to feel very often. Like a tiny black flea I feel it scratchin' and clawin' and bitin' at me. I can't help it. It's there. I try to contain it but I can't right now. I felt great a few days ago and then for the past few days it's slowly dug its way in. Hate. That's what it is. At nothing in particular. But still at everything.
Everyone talks about hate like it's something casual, like it's common or even okay to hate. "I hate onions." "I hate purple." "I hate my math teacher." That's a strong dislike. And probably with good reason. Math is hard. Purple isn't everybody's favorite color and it's not always flatterin'. But real hate is sumthin' I hope you all never have to feel.
I've felt it.
I know it.
And because I have, I'm left feeling a bit broken. Perhaps broken hearted.
About three years ago, I was datin' a girl. She was an interesting character. Odd in unimaginable ways and very pretty. Never was she a boring person to be around. She was the kind of person you had to think like if you ever wanted to understand what she was doin'. She didn't want to graduate though she was in her senior year and doin' fine in her classes. She felt it was her surrenderin' herself to the will of the man. She didn't like her big butt, she thought "A butt should be smaller and flatter, like a white girl's." She had a dream of becomin' a porn star, but was highly self conscious about her body. She was lazy, and funny, and foolish, and wild, and unreliable.
Unreliable.
I do not like that quality in a person. Much less a person I'm tryin' to date. She stood me up in total, about nine times. We would make plans and she'd sleep instead or be with her family or doin' sumthin' else. I found out that that sumthin' else had a name. Several actually. She'd been sleepin' around 'cause she thought I was a good guy and thought if she'd slept with me she'd get bored with me. She placed sex as the peak a relationship could reach and rarely stuck around with a guy after sleepin' with him.
She was my friend. Not the greatest or most trustworthy friend. But that's what I considered her, and as foolish as it may have been to think so I didn't think she'd do that to me. I could've handled her wantin' to see someone else. I'm not a lil kid, I've been through a few breakups before. But I felt betrayed by her.
I apparently walked around with a sad look on my face long enough that someone noticed. She listened. She was kind to me. She became my friend. I fell in love with her and she with me. But it wasn't true love. It wasn't real. I was at a weak point and she fooled me.
Despite my hard work doin' everything I could to take care of her. She ultimately rejected me, for an inferior man. I was crushed. I was hurt in the worst way.
I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't eat. I woke up in the morning and the first thing I would think to myself was that I wish I hadn't. If I had the time I'd go back to sleep in the hopes that maybe I wouldn't wake up the next time around. For the next six months I continued on like this hopin' that maybe she'd love me and not him. I tried to be the best that I could be. I helped her however I could. I did everything imaginable for her. I took care of her mother. I took care of her bills.
And everyday I was rejected. That wasn't anything new to me. I can't count the number of times I'd been turned down for bein' ugly, or not cool, or bein too nice. How many times have I been passed over for some asshole? How many times has a girl toyed with my emotions so she could feel good about herself? How many times has a girl been embarassed to be seen with me? How many times has a girl used me for money? I've been rejected all my life. Far too many times for one heart to accept.
I was rejected again and again. I was rejected and this time my heart couldn't take it. It shattered. She made her decision to stand by him, a worthless, gelatinous, perverse, ox of a man. There was nothing I could do. Except hate. I stood by and when they smiled together, I hated. When they kissed, I hated. When I knew they were layin' in bed together, I hated. When I felt I'd been robbed of the woman I loved, I hated.
I hated him. I hated him so much my blood boiled. My body burned. I felt a black hole in my chest where my heart once was. There would be nuthin' that was gonna fill that void. I died. I accepted the cold. I turned to stone to avoid feelin' any pain at all.
The tears stopped. The anger was there but contained. My hate. My hate fumed from my body. My hate was the stone I'd used to protect myself from my pain. I thought about doin' things. Disgusting things. Things that it would never have been possible for anyone with a soul to do. I hurt so badly, I just wanted to make the world hurt too.
But I do have a soul. And ultimately I am a good person. I could never do any of those things. I could never hurt anyone out of any selfishness.
One day, I walked into a church. An unlikely place to find me, but I went. I went in, I sat down and I listened. The preacher sounded like he was talkin' straight to me. He said exactly what I needed to hear. I sobbed. I don't think I've ever cried that hard over anything. In that church all I could do was melt all the hate away and show my pain.
After about another year I was able to let it go. It took a lot of work and practice not bein' angry about bein' left penniless, hurt, and livin' with my mom but I got over it. For the most part. I'd been hatin' the wrong person. I came to the realization that hate is just a poison. It'll kill you slowly and painfully.
No one deserves that from another person and you shouldn't let people have that much power over you. Hate is a fire that only destroys and consumes. It burns from inside you and does it's best to burn its way out. It'll consume you and destroy everything around you if you let it.
Real hate does nuthin' but destroy. It kills. People's lives are ruined by it. It must be controlled to live a positive life. Anger is anger and that's okay. We'll all get mad or annoyed by sumthin' but you can't let it take charge of everything you do.
I will not let hate consume me in such a way again. I'd never want my friends to feel hate like that. I know I'm different now after that experience. I'm colder. I feel as though my heart is blocked off. It's not good to know that you're broken in a way that may never be fixed. I might not get sick, I might not bruise easily, but I don't know if anyone will ever get that close to my heart again. But maybe, with time, practice, and the right person it'll happen.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Lucky Bum
I was born lucky.
I know that.
I got practically nuthin' to complain about in my life. I was never starved as a child. I got parents that love and take care of me. I never had to walk miles in the snow to sit in a cold classroom and read outdated textbooks. I never had to eat a sugar sandwich. I don't get sick very often at all. I'm fairly strong and rumor has it I'm decently talented as a writer.
I got a lot goin' for me. Does that mean I'm outta touch with the people that don't have all that goin' for 'em? Perhaps. I'd hope not. There are plenty of examples of people that have a little money and lose track of what really matters. People with money put themselves in communities blocked by fences, key cards, guards, bright lights and cameras. They work in different areas, eat in different restaurants, they live in a whole other world with different problems. I never had anybody threaten me with tax evasion or had to worry if we had the right kind of caviar.
Other things create barriers between people too. Money isn't the root of all evil. Want is. Everybody wants what somebody else has. He wants to be stronger, she wants to be prettier, the poor want to be rich, the rich want to be richer, he wants that person to notice him, he wants to be invisible. All these wants make people think they have nuthin'. All they can focus on is what they're lackin instead of seein' what they do have.
I'm a bum and I got lucky. I was born into the right place, at the right time, to the right people. I didn't deserve those things but I got lucky. Someone else could've used those things but missed out on a few of 'em. I can't be blamed for where I got lucky and somebody else didn't.
Things could've easily been bad for me. I could have serious health problems, be in more debt, or any number of things could be worse than they are. I'm aware of this. I think that as long as I am and as long as I try to sympathize with those people I don't think I could lose touch with those less fortunate than myself. It's important to remember that we aren't always the least fortunate in the world. I know with things like myspace, youtube, facebook, and blogs it's easy to think we are the center of the universe. You get caught up in people visitin' your pages or payin' attention to what you're doin' you can forget what's important to the rest of the world. Sometimes it's your day, others it's not. Most of the time it's not. Gotta help those less fortunate than ourselves so they can get to a place where they can help themselves. Hold 'em in your heart and be kind to one another as best you can.
All we can do is appreciate what we got and do our best to create a lil luck for those that ain't got it. I'm lucky. I know it. I got lots worth appreciatin'. I could be much worse off but I'm not.
I'm thankful for that.
I know that.
I got practically nuthin' to complain about in my life. I was never starved as a child. I got parents that love and take care of me. I never had to walk miles in the snow to sit in a cold classroom and read outdated textbooks. I never had to eat a sugar sandwich. I don't get sick very often at all. I'm fairly strong and rumor has it I'm decently talented as a writer.
I got a lot goin' for me. Does that mean I'm outta touch with the people that don't have all that goin' for 'em? Perhaps. I'd hope not. There are plenty of examples of people that have a little money and lose track of what really matters. People with money put themselves in communities blocked by fences, key cards, guards, bright lights and cameras. They work in different areas, eat in different restaurants, they live in a whole other world with different problems. I never had anybody threaten me with tax evasion or had to worry if we had the right kind of caviar.
Other things create barriers between people too. Money isn't the root of all evil. Want is. Everybody wants what somebody else has. He wants to be stronger, she wants to be prettier, the poor want to be rich, the rich want to be richer, he wants that person to notice him, he wants to be invisible. All these wants make people think they have nuthin'. All they can focus on is what they're lackin instead of seein' what they do have.
I'm a bum and I got lucky. I was born into the right place, at the right time, to the right people. I didn't deserve those things but I got lucky. Someone else could've used those things but missed out on a few of 'em. I can't be blamed for where I got lucky and somebody else didn't.
Things could've easily been bad for me. I could have serious health problems, be in more debt, or any number of things could be worse than they are. I'm aware of this. I think that as long as I am and as long as I try to sympathize with those people I don't think I could lose touch with those less fortunate than myself. It's important to remember that we aren't always the least fortunate in the world. I know with things like myspace, youtube, facebook, and blogs it's easy to think we are the center of the universe. You get caught up in people visitin' your pages or payin' attention to what you're doin' you can forget what's important to the rest of the world. Sometimes it's your day, others it's not. Most of the time it's not. Gotta help those less fortunate than ourselves so they can get to a place where they can help themselves. Hold 'em in your heart and be kind to one another as best you can.
All we can do is appreciate what we got and do our best to create a lil luck for those that ain't got it. I'm lucky. I know it. I got lots worth appreciatin'. I could be much worse off but I'm not.
I'm thankful for that.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Humanity Never Disappoints
I work in customer service. I love it. I really do 'cause I get to help solve people's problems and tend to make people' days a lil bit better. My name labels me a defender of mankind but the other night something happened that forced me to question the hearts and souls of all men and women just for a moment. How can you defend the people if they are what you despise?
Two women had an altercation over a parkin' spot. One hispanic woman about forty with three daughters of different ages and a caucasian girl about twenty. The hispanic woman claimed the girl had told her "You need to learn to speak English" and then spit on her. They walked into my store as I'm helpin' another customer. I notice them walkin' through the doorway where the girl and the daughters were all callin' each other "stupid bitch". The hispanic woman then spit on the caucasian girl. Hit her right on the cheek. The girl then calls the police and both are ticketed.
I can't tell you how furious this made me. People spittin' on each other? God damned disgusting. I wanted to jump over my counter and shake 'em, make 'em realize that they were in a store for civilized people. Make 'em realize that people are s'posed to be civil to one another. People ain't s'posed to spit on each other like monkeys that fling crap at one another. We should be able to have a real discussion about what's botherin' us. Physical actions should come as a last resort.
A punch in the face or spit on the cheek doesn't make anyone right or wrong. A punch doesn't make red turn blue or up turn into down. In fact, to those around you bein' the first to throw a punch usually puts you in the wrong. A punch won't change someone's ideas. Hittin' a member of the Klan doesn't make him love people that got some color to 'em. Fightin' doesn't usually do much to settle an argument. So a fistfight for your side of the argument isn't really worth it.
I'm not really sure but it's never seemed to me that sumthin' like a parkin' space was really worth fightin' over in the first place. I've fought for sport and I've fought to defend myself. Never has it occurred to do more than call somebody a "bastard" in my car over some drivin' discourtesy.
When handlin' a conflict I find it best to take a minute and ask yourself "What are you really arguin' about?" Just take a breath and figure out if you're about to say sumthin' stupid over sumthin' stupid. If it's just a parkin' spot or bein' cut off in traffic, is it really worth it? What's an extra 50 feet to walk? Most of us in the U.S. are over weight anyway, a lil walkin' wouldn't kill us. Or is it that this issue had racial tensions hidden in the conflict? That's possible I suppose. Both of 'em have prolly had bad experiences or at least ignorant views on each other's culture. So, bottom line chalk it up to both women bein' short on patience and feelin' wronged. Odds are they ain't evil. But bein' a decent human bein' the day before doesn't justify what either of them did either. I'm glad they were both ticketed. They were actin' like animals and despite our human nature I believe that people have the potential to be better than we are.
Odds are they are lovable and funny and a dozen other wonderful things that they weren't at that particular moment. It wasn't either one's proudest moment I'm sure. I think one of the most important things people should know is that nothing is absolute. Not everyone is good. Not everyone is evil. Not everyone is any one thing. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone acts selfishly from time to time. Everyone has so many sides to them you can't say that people are anything but everything.
You want that little nugget to take with you and think about? Here it is: If you expect to be disappointed by humanity, you won't be disappointed. People aren't perfect. We do the best we can, I believe. And yes that means we're jerks sometimes or that we aren't as good as we could be. But I think at any random moment most people are tryin' to be good or better than they are. If a man walks a hundred miles he's bound to fall sooner or later. Just gotta keep in mind we all do and offer those that get tripped up by life the love in your heart instead of anger and misunderstanding.
And don't spit on people.
Two women had an altercation over a parkin' spot. One hispanic woman about forty with three daughters of different ages and a caucasian girl about twenty. The hispanic woman claimed the girl had told her "You need to learn to speak English" and then spit on her. They walked into my store as I'm helpin' another customer. I notice them walkin' through the doorway where the girl and the daughters were all callin' each other "stupid bitch". The hispanic woman then spit on the caucasian girl. Hit her right on the cheek. The girl then calls the police and both are ticketed.
I can't tell you how furious this made me. People spittin' on each other? God damned disgusting. I wanted to jump over my counter and shake 'em, make 'em realize that they were in a store for civilized people. Make 'em realize that people are s'posed to be civil to one another. People ain't s'posed to spit on each other like monkeys that fling crap at one another. We should be able to have a real discussion about what's botherin' us. Physical actions should come as a last resort.
A punch in the face or spit on the cheek doesn't make anyone right or wrong. A punch doesn't make red turn blue or up turn into down. In fact, to those around you bein' the first to throw a punch usually puts you in the wrong. A punch won't change someone's ideas. Hittin' a member of the Klan doesn't make him love people that got some color to 'em. Fightin' doesn't usually do much to settle an argument. So a fistfight for your side of the argument isn't really worth it.
I'm not really sure but it's never seemed to me that sumthin' like a parkin' space was really worth fightin' over in the first place. I've fought for sport and I've fought to defend myself. Never has it occurred to do more than call somebody a "bastard" in my car over some drivin' discourtesy.
When handlin' a conflict I find it best to take a minute and ask yourself "What are you really arguin' about?" Just take a breath and figure out if you're about to say sumthin' stupid over sumthin' stupid. If it's just a parkin' spot or bein' cut off in traffic, is it really worth it? What's an extra 50 feet to walk? Most of us in the U.S. are over weight anyway, a lil walkin' wouldn't kill us. Or is it that this issue had racial tensions hidden in the conflict? That's possible I suppose. Both of 'em have prolly had bad experiences or at least ignorant views on each other's culture. So, bottom line chalk it up to both women bein' short on patience and feelin' wronged. Odds are they ain't evil. But bein' a decent human bein' the day before doesn't justify what either of them did either. I'm glad they were both ticketed. They were actin' like animals and despite our human nature I believe that people have the potential to be better than we are.
Odds are they are lovable and funny and a dozen other wonderful things that they weren't at that particular moment. It wasn't either one's proudest moment I'm sure. I think one of the most important things people should know is that nothing is absolute. Not everyone is good. Not everyone is evil. Not everyone is any one thing. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone acts selfishly from time to time. Everyone has so many sides to them you can't say that people are anything but everything.
You want that little nugget to take with you and think about? Here it is: If you expect to be disappointed by humanity, you won't be disappointed. People aren't perfect. We do the best we can, I believe. And yes that means we're jerks sometimes or that we aren't as good as we could be. But I think at any random moment most people are tryin' to be good or better than they are. If a man walks a hundred miles he's bound to fall sooner or later. Just gotta keep in mind we all do and offer those that get tripped up by life the love in your heart instead of anger and misunderstanding.
And don't spit on people.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
It's a Long Walk 'til You're in Love
Altogether my parents have been married a total of five times. Dad three times and my mom twice. More or less 'cause the details are a bit shady on those stories. Not sure if Mom was actually married to that first guy. Dad is rumored to have been married to a woman he had no kids with and doesn't talk to anymore and only my brother has told me about it and for some reason never mentioned it 'til last year.
I hear the statistic is now that two out of three marriages fail now. That's quite a bit you know? "Divorced", "Divorced", "Yeah, we're doin' okay. It takes a lot of work but we're makin' it."
You know what makes love so special? It's a rare thing. Not just rare but if you don't know what it is you can go your whole life without ever recognizin' you ever had it. And if you don't know what love is, no one can tell you. "You just know.", They say.
And I suppose you do but I guess a lot of people think they know when they really ain't gotta clue. Met quite a few people in recent weeks, none of 'em old enough to drink but all of 'em certain they found that someone to spend their lives with. I can't help but think they made a big mistake. Maybe they haven't, I hope they haven't, but two nineteen-year-olds bein' married just doesn't seem like a good idea.
I know I've been through a thing or two in my day, and maybe those things have hardened this heart o' mine, but I think love, real can't live without it, standin' in the rain waitin' for it love is damn near impossible to find. I once met a couple that had known each other since the third grade. When I met them they were pushin' eighty. Assumin' they married at twenty, that's sixty years of marriage and all but seven of those years they've known each other.
You think that old man hasn't stood in the rain for his woman? You think if she got sick he'd wait to see her when she was better? You think if they were gettin' on each other's nerves they'd break up? You think if one of 'em died the other would do anything but follow?
That's real love. I'm sure they've had their problems and odds are they've broken up a few times. I'm sure there are things he's always done that get on her nerves. I'm sure if he died and didn't do those things anymore that she'd miss them anyway.
They knew each other a long time before they were able to get married. By that time they would've been the other's best friend. People get married after six months and wonder why it didn't work out. People convince themselves they've fallen in love because they wanna be in love. It sounds like a good place to be. To be that certain of the person next to you. To know that she's gonna take care of you as best she can no matter what. To know he's gonna love you when your looks start to fade. To know that if you left them for a long period of time the only thing that's gonna happen is that they're gonna miss you.
But that ain't always the case. Some people want to be there so much, they set up camp wherever they are and pretend to be in love. Love's a journey and it takes so many miles to get there. You can't take a few steps towards it and say you're there. You gotta endure the trials to get there. You earn bein' in love or you find out the person goin' with you ain't who you want to be in love with.
Love is precious. Love is rare. To find it at every turn cheapens the entire experience and sucks all the romance outta bein' romantic.
I hear the statistic is now that two out of three marriages fail now. That's quite a bit you know? "Divorced", "Divorced", "Yeah, we're doin' okay. It takes a lot of work but we're makin' it."
You know what makes love so special? It's a rare thing. Not just rare but if you don't know what it is you can go your whole life without ever recognizin' you ever had it. And if you don't know what love is, no one can tell you. "You just know.", They say.
And I suppose you do but I guess a lot of people think they know when they really ain't gotta clue. Met quite a few people in recent weeks, none of 'em old enough to drink but all of 'em certain they found that someone to spend their lives with. I can't help but think they made a big mistake. Maybe they haven't, I hope they haven't, but two nineteen-year-olds bein' married just doesn't seem like a good idea.
I know I've been through a thing or two in my day, and maybe those things have hardened this heart o' mine, but I think love, real can't live without it, standin' in the rain waitin' for it love is damn near impossible to find. I once met a couple that had known each other since the third grade. When I met them they were pushin' eighty. Assumin' they married at twenty, that's sixty years of marriage and all but seven of those years they've known each other.
You think that old man hasn't stood in the rain for his woman? You think if she got sick he'd wait to see her when she was better? You think if they were gettin' on each other's nerves they'd break up? You think if one of 'em died the other would do anything but follow?
That's real love. I'm sure they've had their problems and odds are they've broken up a few times. I'm sure there are things he's always done that get on her nerves. I'm sure if he died and didn't do those things anymore that she'd miss them anyway.
They knew each other a long time before they were able to get married. By that time they would've been the other's best friend. People get married after six months and wonder why it didn't work out. People convince themselves they've fallen in love because they wanna be in love. It sounds like a good place to be. To be that certain of the person next to you. To know that she's gonna take care of you as best she can no matter what. To know he's gonna love you when your looks start to fade. To know that if you left them for a long period of time the only thing that's gonna happen is that they're gonna miss you.
But that ain't always the case. Some people want to be there so much, they set up camp wherever they are and pretend to be in love. Love's a journey and it takes so many miles to get there. You can't take a few steps towards it and say you're there. You gotta endure the trials to get there. You earn bein' in love or you find out the person goin' with you ain't who you want to be in love with.
Love is precious. Love is rare. To find it at every turn cheapens the entire experience and sucks all the romance outta bein' romantic.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Fathers and Sons
Whatever happened to the men of the world?
What's bein' raised today ain't what I'd call men. A few pop up here and there but for the most part I see a buncha lil girls. They wax and shave everything. They whine and are afraid of a lil hard work. They refuse to get dirty. They worry 'bout lookin' pretty. They hit women. They respect no one. Whatever that is, it ain't a man.
I was raised by a man that picked cotton to help his family survive. I was raised by a man that wasn't afraid to defend himself or the people around him. He never hit a woman. He never disrespected anybody that didn't disrespect him first. He'll be 60 next year and at the moment is diggin' a ditch while I type away at a computer. Quite frankly, I'd rather be with him or doin' the work for him. He's always believed I'm better than that but has shown me that hard work is important to anything you do.
Maybe I got off lucky in life 'cause I got one helluva father and I know it. Maybe this new generation of boys ain't got anybody to show 'em how to really be a man. If that's the case, it's a damn shame.
A woman can tell a boy how to shave his face but she lives her life shavin' her legs. Kanye West was raised by his momma. She taught him how to be bold, creative, confident, and hard workin'. She did not teach him humility, respect, or honor. If you ask me he's a prime example of what's wrong with these boys in the world.
In my mind my father is God. I know he watches what I do and sees in his mind what I should be doin'. He's always done his best to steer me to what I should be doin'. I can't bring myself to disobey him or do anything that I feel he would disapprove of. The times that I have I am very much stricken with guilt. When I think of what God would look like or sounds like I can only think of my father. When I think of how God should judge people I think of how my father does it. He's always been reasonable and for the most part understanding. If every father is the absolute for his son, just think of how important his role is for that boy.
When a man shirks his duties in favor of doin' sumthin' fun on a regular basis, or whines instead of fixin' his problems, or puts himself ahead of others, he's not a man at all. Boys want new toys. Boys want to play and fight and be lazy all day long. Boys want their mommies to protect them from the world. Boys lie about things they don't wanna get in trouble for. Boys are mean to girls.
When a man works hard, respects those that have yet to disrespect him, and protects those around him, he is a man. Men pay their bills. Men take care of what they have. Men put their family's well being ahead of their own. Men respect all women. Men deal with their problems.
Bein' a boy is fine for a while. Sooner or later you gotta grow out of it. I don't think any man ever lets it all go away anyway. It's why we laugh at dirty jokes. It's why we don't always like doin' chores. It's why we like tools and gadgets and cars. But a man knows when to put those childish things to rest and grow up.
What's bein' raised today ain't what I'd call men. A few pop up here and there but for the most part I see a buncha lil girls. They wax and shave everything. They whine and are afraid of a lil hard work. They refuse to get dirty. They worry 'bout lookin' pretty. They hit women. They respect no one. Whatever that is, it ain't a man.
I was raised by a man that picked cotton to help his family survive. I was raised by a man that wasn't afraid to defend himself or the people around him. He never hit a woman. He never disrespected anybody that didn't disrespect him first. He'll be 60 next year and at the moment is diggin' a ditch while I type away at a computer. Quite frankly, I'd rather be with him or doin' the work for him. He's always believed I'm better than that but has shown me that hard work is important to anything you do.
Maybe I got off lucky in life 'cause I got one helluva father and I know it. Maybe this new generation of boys ain't got anybody to show 'em how to really be a man. If that's the case, it's a damn shame.
Single mothers do a helluva a job. It's a hard situation to be in. It's hard to be a parent in a house with a mother and a father but when everythin' is ridin' on your single set of shoulders you'll know what Atlas felt like. One person to do the dishes. One person to do the laundry. One person to help the kids with their homework. One person to make enough money to feed everyone, pay all the bills, but still have enough time left over to actually raise the kids.
That's hard. There's no way that doin' all that can be made easy. And because it is so difficult the children are always gonna be lackin' somethin'. The best mother can not teach her son everything it takes to be a man anymore than the best father can teach his daughter what it takes to be a woman. The genders are always gonna have some unknown element that we don't get about each other. It's there. It's always gonna be there. It's why guys and girls get together and talk 'bout how the other doesn't make any damn sense.
"What's hard about puttin' up a damn toilet seat before you pee?"
"What's so hard about puttin' it down before you pee?"
A boy needs a man in his life to model himself after. That man ain't gotta be perfect, he's just gonna be a template. The son will figure out how to improve what's there in front of him. A father just has to live his life as a man. The son then follows the father's lead. He walks the way he walks. He talks the way he talks. He drinks what he drinks. He respects the people his father respects. The father shows the boy how to be responsible, how to take care of himself, how to take care of others, how to do things a man needs to know how to do.
A woman can tell a boy how to shave his face but she lives her life shavin' her legs. Kanye West was raised by his momma. She taught him how to be bold, creative, confident, and hard workin'. She did not teach him humility, respect, or honor. If you ask me he's a prime example of what's wrong with these boys in the world.
In my mind my father is God. I know he watches what I do and sees in his mind what I should be doin'. He's always done his best to steer me to what I should be doin'. I can't bring myself to disobey him or do anything that I feel he would disapprove of. The times that I have I am very much stricken with guilt. When I think of what God would look like or sounds like I can only think of my father. When I think of how God should judge people I think of how my father does it. He's always been reasonable and for the most part understanding. If every father is the absolute for his son, just think of how important his role is for that boy.
When a man shirks his duties in favor of doin' sumthin' fun on a regular basis, or whines instead of fixin' his problems, or puts himself ahead of others, he's not a man at all. Boys want new toys. Boys want to play and fight and be lazy all day long. Boys want their mommies to protect them from the world. Boys lie about things they don't wanna get in trouble for. Boys are mean to girls.
When a man works hard, respects those that have yet to disrespect him, and protects those around him, he is a man. Men pay their bills. Men take care of what they have. Men put their family's well being ahead of their own. Men respect all women. Men deal with their problems.
Bein' a boy is fine for a while. Sooner or later you gotta grow out of it. I don't think any man ever lets it all go away anyway. It's why we laugh at dirty jokes. It's why we don't always like doin' chores. It's why we like tools and gadgets and cars. But a man knows when to put those childish things to rest and grow up.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
My Place in the Universe
We live in a crap society. It's true. The rich keep gettin' richer. The poor struggle all their lives and die. Women aren't treated equally. Neither are minorities. Idiots cover the T.V. with nut shots and sex. No one reads anymore. People are obsessed with possessions. People don't always think about what they do before they do it. We smother our children so they grow up to think they're better than everyone. People are afraid of some hard work. We pollute and destroy the environment around us. We cement everything we can. We don't do a damn thing unless we're paid for it. We charge people everything they have to save them from a disease they wouldn't have if the land they live on hadn't been used to stash radioactive runoff fifty years before they were born. Money we'll kill for and we can't do anything but hold on to it and trade it for crap we don't need. We live in a crap society.
So what's the point of existin' in a place like this? Why would anybody want to live here? Why does anyone get out of bed to do anything at all?
I can't tell you why anybody else does it 'cause quite frankly I don't know. There are plenty of good reasons to lay in bed and think about how miserable life is and how everything sucks and how ain't a thing on this planet fair. In my opinion though, that does absolutely no good.
What good is self-pity? Not a damn bit of good really. Self-pity is selfishness. Pityin' the world doesn't do a thing to change what's wrong with it. You can't complain 'bout the world around you and hope it magically changes. If you ain't doin' sumthin' to make your life or the lives of the people around you a lil better, I'd say you ain't livin'.
It's easy to point out the flaws with anyone's plan but it's much harder to come up with the right answers. Any plan is gonna have it's flaws anyway, kinda what makes it easy to criticize, you know? All we can do is go with the best plan. Maybe we haven't done that. Maybe we've been led to believe we have. I don't have the answers as to what the plan should be. I see what I don't like and maybe if I put enough thought into it or work on these problems I can fix them.
I get outta bed in the mornin' in the hopes that maybe just maybe I can make a little, bitty, tiny, bit of a difference in the world. I realize that may seem stupid to some people but I like helpin' people. I like openin' doors for people when I'm at the post office. I like helpin' little old ladies get the stuff down from the high shelf in the grocery store. I don't mind usin' my day off to help a friend move. I don't mind listenin' to my friends' problems. I have patience with people that need it. I do my best to pay attention to those shy or insecure people like myself that could use a little. I encourage people to do well with whatever makes them happy and successful.
My brother and I were discussin' our place in the universe. We came to the conclusion that we are more or less the protectors of mankind. It would explain our love of fightin', and comic books, and the way we don't like seein' people get hurt. We prevent it if we can. We do our best to stick up for the little guys. Maybe we're wrong and the universe has no place for us and maybe we're terribble at helpin', but we try.
I can't tell you what your place is in the universe. You have to decide that. You know you better than I or anyone else ever could. You know what you like to do. You know what you should be doin' with your life. You have to be the one to give your life meanin'. You have to be the one that says gettin' up is worth doin'.
You have to be the one that says you ain't gonna pity yourself anymore.
So what's the point of existin' in a place like this? Why would anybody want to live here? Why does anyone get out of bed to do anything at all?
I can't tell you why anybody else does it 'cause quite frankly I don't know. There are plenty of good reasons to lay in bed and think about how miserable life is and how everything sucks and how ain't a thing on this planet fair. In my opinion though, that does absolutely no good.
What good is self-pity? Not a damn bit of good really. Self-pity is selfishness. Pityin' the world doesn't do a thing to change what's wrong with it. You can't complain 'bout the world around you and hope it magically changes. If you ain't doin' sumthin' to make your life or the lives of the people around you a lil better, I'd say you ain't livin'.
It's easy to point out the flaws with anyone's plan but it's much harder to come up with the right answers. Any plan is gonna have it's flaws anyway, kinda what makes it easy to criticize, you know? All we can do is go with the best plan. Maybe we haven't done that. Maybe we've been led to believe we have. I don't have the answers as to what the plan should be. I see what I don't like and maybe if I put enough thought into it or work on these problems I can fix them.
I get outta bed in the mornin' in the hopes that maybe just maybe I can make a little, bitty, tiny, bit of a difference in the world. I realize that may seem stupid to some people but I like helpin' people. I like openin' doors for people when I'm at the post office. I like helpin' little old ladies get the stuff down from the high shelf in the grocery store. I don't mind usin' my day off to help a friend move. I don't mind listenin' to my friends' problems. I have patience with people that need it. I do my best to pay attention to those shy or insecure people like myself that could use a little. I encourage people to do well with whatever makes them happy and successful.
My brother and I were discussin' our place in the universe. We came to the conclusion that we are more or less the protectors of mankind. It would explain our love of fightin', and comic books, and the way we don't like seein' people get hurt. We prevent it if we can. We do our best to stick up for the little guys. Maybe we're wrong and the universe has no place for us and maybe we're terribble at helpin', but we try.
I can't tell you what your place is in the universe. You have to decide that. You know you better than I or anyone else ever could. You know what you like to do. You know what you should be doin' with your life. You have to be the one to give your life meanin'. You have to be the one that says gettin' up is worth doin'.
You have to be the one that says you ain't gonna pity yourself anymore.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Just Not Enough
Today, I'm tired.
I shouldn't be. I tried to go to sleep early last night after several long days. But I spent all night dreamin' bout fightin' off all the monsters my mind could conjure up. I remember zombies and bashin' in their heads with a broken pick axe only to discover a friend had been having sex with one of the dead things and bloody red worms crawlin' outta her unmentionables. Disturbing to say the least. And then there was the hand or at least that creepy feeling that a hand was runnin' up and down my back. That woke me up.
I woke up a few times last night. Always with an uneasy feeling. Wasn't scared really just somewhere between empty and unhappy.
I've been workin' a lot for the past two weeks. 40 hours at one job and about 25 more at the second. On a short day I work 8 hours. On a long day I do about 12. I feel like I haven't had time for much else but I squeeze in what I can during the hours I'd normally be asleep. Time for friends and fun is put late and often has to be cut short 'cause those 12 hour days start turnin' into 16 hour days.
I ain't had enough sleep in a while. I just looked in the mirror and I look like I've got a couple of black eyes with these dark, purplish bags under my eyes. Dad said "Looks like you could carry around baby kangaroos in those things." Said he also had a couple of good whackin' sticks if I'm havin' trouble sleepin'.
I worry 'bout him too. He went to the doc today and they say his plastic knee is splinterin' and jabbin' into his nerves. He's been walkin' with the limp for about a month now and he sounds tired and run down himself. He's workin' to save his business and come next June he'll be 60 years old with no retirement plan I'm aware of. Not much I can do for him though.
Might not have mentioned it to you but Mom is sick too. She's got a tumor growin' inside her. She had one about 8 pounds cut out some years ago but it's been growin' back. She doesn't wanna do chemo or take meds for it. Doc said untreated she might last about 10 years. About 7 years ago now I think.
I'm tired. I feel run down. My back hurts. My feet hurt. I've been yawning pretty constantly for the past couple of days. I feel like I have a low-grade fever and my cough is still hangin' around. The weather doesn't help, its been rainy and a lil cool. I want to sleep now but I still feel empty inside and I'm hopin' this would make me feel less so.
I want to make time for friends and family but quite frankly I can't. I'm going to let someone down here or there. I don't like it. I don't want to let anyone down. But I can't please everyone and I've got people pullin' me in different directions. My mom wants me home before midnight period. My dad wants me home early enough that he doesn't have to worry about me fallin' asleep on the road. I want to spend time with friends. I have to work both jobs if I want to do more than break even with my bills.
I suppose that's what it boils down to. If I want to make a better life for myself, which I do, I have to suffer now. I have to work. I have to make enough money to get rid of my debts and move out of my parents place. Of course there's school too. 8 grand a semester hangin' over me in the future.
I'm going to be 25 in January and still livin' at home. I look at the people around me my own age and I see those that are married and buyin' houses and have already finished school. They have their lives together and I feel like I'm goin' full throttle only to wind up where I was 6 years ago when I graduated. Only now I'm more in debt, older, and fatter. I'm only gonna get older and fatter sooner or later. I know I could've done better with my life and things could've been better for me if I'd made better choices. That's all in the past now and there's not a thing I can do but move on and try not to make them again.
I'm only two weeks into the job and I can handle the work if I can get rest but I want to be there for my friends. I'll have to do what I can but I know in the end for someone it's just not enough. Someone other than me is gonna have to suffer along with me for the mistakes I've already made. I'm sorry for that but I know I'm gonna fall through sooner or later. I'm good but all my strength and effort just isn't gonna be enough.
I am not happy about that or much of anything else right now. The more I think about it the more it depresses me so I just gotta suck it up and do what I gotta do. I can't quit workin'. The people around me are gonna have to suffer the fact that I don't have the time to spend with them like I'd like to. I wish I could be there but I can't. All I can do is work and adjust to the new schedule.
Sorry, if all this is emotional crap that you didn't like. It's therapy for me so :P. Can't tell me what to write. I'll prolly feel different next week anyway.
I shouldn't be. I tried to go to sleep early last night after several long days. But I spent all night dreamin' bout fightin' off all the monsters my mind could conjure up. I remember zombies and bashin' in their heads with a broken pick axe only to discover a friend had been having sex with one of the dead things and bloody red worms crawlin' outta her unmentionables. Disturbing to say the least. And then there was the hand or at least that creepy feeling that a hand was runnin' up and down my back. That woke me up.
I woke up a few times last night. Always with an uneasy feeling. Wasn't scared really just somewhere between empty and unhappy.
I've been workin' a lot for the past two weeks. 40 hours at one job and about 25 more at the second. On a short day I work 8 hours. On a long day I do about 12. I feel like I haven't had time for much else but I squeeze in what I can during the hours I'd normally be asleep. Time for friends and fun is put late and often has to be cut short 'cause those 12 hour days start turnin' into 16 hour days.
I ain't had enough sleep in a while. I just looked in the mirror and I look like I've got a couple of black eyes with these dark, purplish bags under my eyes. Dad said "Looks like you could carry around baby kangaroos in those things." Said he also had a couple of good whackin' sticks if I'm havin' trouble sleepin'.
I worry 'bout him too. He went to the doc today and they say his plastic knee is splinterin' and jabbin' into his nerves. He's been walkin' with the limp for about a month now and he sounds tired and run down himself. He's workin' to save his business and come next June he'll be 60 years old with no retirement plan I'm aware of. Not much I can do for him though.
Might not have mentioned it to you but Mom is sick too. She's got a tumor growin' inside her. She had one about 8 pounds cut out some years ago but it's been growin' back. She doesn't wanna do chemo or take meds for it. Doc said untreated she might last about 10 years. About 7 years ago now I think.
I'm tired. I feel run down. My back hurts. My feet hurt. I've been yawning pretty constantly for the past couple of days. I feel like I have a low-grade fever and my cough is still hangin' around. The weather doesn't help, its been rainy and a lil cool. I want to sleep now but I still feel empty inside and I'm hopin' this would make me feel less so.
I want to make time for friends and family but quite frankly I can't. I'm going to let someone down here or there. I don't like it. I don't want to let anyone down. But I can't please everyone and I've got people pullin' me in different directions. My mom wants me home before midnight period. My dad wants me home early enough that he doesn't have to worry about me fallin' asleep on the road. I want to spend time with friends. I have to work both jobs if I want to do more than break even with my bills.
I suppose that's what it boils down to. If I want to make a better life for myself, which I do, I have to suffer now. I have to work. I have to make enough money to get rid of my debts and move out of my parents place. Of course there's school too. 8 grand a semester hangin' over me in the future.
I'm going to be 25 in January and still livin' at home. I look at the people around me my own age and I see those that are married and buyin' houses and have already finished school. They have their lives together and I feel like I'm goin' full throttle only to wind up where I was 6 years ago when I graduated. Only now I'm more in debt, older, and fatter. I'm only gonna get older and fatter sooner or later. I know I could've done better with my life and things could've been better for me if I'd made better choices. That's all in the past now and there's not a thing I can do but move on and try not to make them again.
I'm only two weeks into the job and I can handle the work if I can get rest but I want to be there for my friends. I'll have to do what I can but I know in the end for someone it's just not enough. Someone other than me is gonna have to suffer along with me for the mistakes I've already made. I'm sorry for that but I know I'm gonna fall through sooner or later. I'm good but all my strength and effort just isn't gonna be enough.
I am not happy about that or much of anything else right now. The more I think about it the more it depresses me so I just gotta suck it up and do what I gotta do. I can't quit workin'. The people around me are gonna have to suffer the fact that I don't have the time to spend with them like I'd like to. I wish I could be there but I can't. All I can do is work and adjust to the new schedule.
Sorry, if all this is emotional crap that you didn't like. It's therapy for me so :P. Can't tell me what to write. I'll prolly feel different next week anyway.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
More in Heaven and Earth
I ain't one to believe in the supernatural. Ghosts and goblins don't typically do it for me. I love a good zombie movie (I love 28 Days Later, Zombieland, and Romero's stuff. And if you dig that read zombie comic Walking Dead by Robert Kirkman. AMAZING!) but all that stuff never struck me as feasible. Now I've heard a few stories and bein' that it's October and Halloween is comin' up I thought maybe I'd share a few of those creepy true stories that I'm just not sure about.
One dark night many, many years ago my grandfather was on his way home and drivin' through Iowa. If you've never driven through Iowa I can tell you that it's a boring drive. Fields as far as the eye can see and very few interesting things to see. I'm sure it was even more so durin' the fifties and sixties.
My grandfather was havin' a hell of a time stayin' awake. He spotted a hitchhiker headin' in the same direction as he was so he offered to give him a lift. The man gladly accepted and they rode and chatted about a few things. My grandfather was asked to pull into a side road that the man claimed he lived down. There wasn't a house for miles and my grandfather was becoming suspicious. He pulled over and asked the man to get out.
The passenger pulled out a knife and attacked my grandfather. They struggled and eventually my grandfather stabbed the man in the center of his chest. After doin' so my grandfather passed out either from exhaustion or 'cause of the beatin' he took, I'm not sure which. When he woke up in the mornin' his truck was in the middle of a cornfield and the man was gone with no sign of blood or anything. What was there in the seat next to him was a knife stuck right where the man's chest would've been.
Maybe he dreamed it all up. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe.
When my father was a young man and living with his parents he had a recurring dream. He dreamt that an old woman would come to his screen door at night and try to open it. He left the door open to get a breeze in the summertime but kept the screen locked to keep out thieves.
He told a relative about the dream he kept havin' wonderin' if it meant anything. What was told to him was that old women appear in your dreams to take you to an undiscovered treasure. This friend said to leave the door unlocked when he went to bed and the old woman could then show him where the treasure was.
So he did. The old woman appeared in a dream and with the screen door unlocked she was able to let herself in. When she did, she pulled a knife from her belt and charged my father. Her face had rotted away and she became infested with spiders and maggots. She tried to kill him but he awoke before she could.
Another instance involving my grandfather took place as he was workin' on a farm. He and several other men had been hired to pick cotton or fruit I'm not really sure which or what state they were in exactly. It happened before my grandfather was married so i suppose it could've been in the forties on any patch of land suitable for growin'. Well when my grand father was hired he was shown around. "These are the outhouses over here. Those are where the bunks where all you boys are gonna be stayin'. These are the trees you'll be pickin' from. And I'll be at the house way over there on the hill if you need anything you boys just come and get me."
The owner went off to his house and the guys started workin'. Night rolled around and the guys headed in to their little shack. They wanted some water for their supper but had used up what they had already. My grandfather was sent to grab a bucketfull from the well one of the guys had seen.
It was dark and my grandfather could only see by the moonlight. He made it to the well before he noticed a woman standing there. She told him the well water was no good here and that he should use the well on the far side of the owner's home. My grandfather thanked her and did as she suggested.
The next mornin' the owner came early to let the workers know that the well closer to the had bad water in it. Somethin' in the water made people sick and he told the workers they should use the one on the far side of his house. My grandfather said, "Thanks, but we already know. Your wife told me while I was up there about to get water from the well."
The man looked surprised, "I don't have a wife and nobody lives near here for miles."
My grandfather went later to search for footprints of a trespasser and only found hoofprints like the ones from a cow where the woman had been standin'.
I dunno that any of these are exactly as true as the people that they happened to believe but those people believe 'em. I don't buy into all this spooky stuff but I've heard that expression ,I forget exactly how it goes but it's sumthin' like, "There is more in Heaven and Earth than we understand." I'll buy that. There are things that fool us and things we believe to readily with no good cause. People believe in the Bible without questionin' it and people trust science and technology more than they should. There are things that neither can truly appreciate and those are the lil gray patches in the world where ghosts and goblins come from. The Twilght Zone, Outer Limits, under the bed, in the closet, in the shadows, there are always things to be feared and misunderstood somewhere.
One dark night many, many years ago my grandfather was on his way home and drivin' through Iowa. If you've never driven through Iowa I can tell you that it's a boring drive. Fields as far as the eye can see and very few interesting things to see. I'm sure it was even more so durin' the fifties and sixties.
My grandfather was havin' a hell of a time stayin' awake. He spotted a hitchhiker headin' in the same direction as he was so he offered to give him a lift. The man gladly accepted and they rode and chatted about a few things. My grandfather was asked to pull into a side road that the man claimed he lived down. There wasn't a house for miles and my grandfather was becoming suspicious. He pulled over and asked the man to get out.
The passenger pulled out a knife and attacked my grandfather. They struggled and eventually my grandfather stabbed the man in the center of his chest. After doin' so my grandfather passed out either from exhaustion or 'cause of the beatin' he took, I'm not sure which. When he woke up in the mornin' his truck was in the middle of a cornfield and the man was gone with no sign of blood or anything. What was there in the seat next to him was a knife stuck right where the man's chest would've been.
Maybe he dreamed it all up. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe.
When my father was a young man and living with his parents he had a recurring dream. He dreamt that an old woman would come to his screen door at night and try to open it. He left the door open to get a breeze in the summertime but kept the screen locked to keep out thieves.
He told a relative about the dream he kept havin' wonderin' if it meant anything. What was told to him was that old women appear in your dreams to take you to an undiscovered treasure. This friend said to leave the door unlocked when he went to bed and the old woman could then show him where the treasure was.
So he did. The old woman appeared in a dream and with the screen door unlocked she was able to let herself in. When she did, she pulled a knife from her belt and charged my father. Her face had rotted away and she became infested with spiders and maggots. She tried to kill him but he awoke before she could.
Another instance involving my grandfather took place as he was workin' on a farm. He and several other men had been hired to pick cotton or fruit I'm not really sure which or what state they were in exactly. It happened before my grandfather was married so i suppose it could've been in the forties on any patch of land suitable for growin'. Well when my grand father was hired he was shown around. "These are the outhouses over here. Those are where the bunks where all you boys are gonna be stayin'. These are the trees you'll be pickin' from. And I'll be at the house way over there on the hill if you need anything you boys just come and get me."
The owner went off to his house and the guys started workin'. Night rolled around and the guys headed in to their little shack. They wanted some water for their supper but had used up what they had already. My grandfather was sent to grab a bucketfull from the well one of the guys had seen.
It was dark and my grandfather could only see by the moonlight. He made it to the well before he noticed a woman standing there. She told him the well water was no good here and that he should use the well on the far side of the owner's home. My grandfather thanked her and did as she suggested.
The next mornin' the owner came early to let the workers know that the well closer to the had bad water in it. Somethin' in the water made people sick and he told the workers they should use the one on the far side of his house. My grandfather said, "Thanks, but we already know. Your wife told me while I was up there about to get water from the well."
The man looked surprised, "I don't have a wife and nobody lives near here for miles."
My grandfather went later to search for footprints of a trespasser and only found hoofprints like the ones from a cow where the woman had been standin'.
I dunno that any of these are exactly as true as the people that they happened to believe but those people believe 'em. I don't buy into all this spooky stuff but I've heard that expression ,I forget exactly how it goes but it's sumthin' like, "There is more in Heaven and Earth than we understand." I'll buy that. There are things that fool us and things we believe to readily with no good cause. People believe in the Bible without questionin' it and people trust science and technology more than they should. There are things that neither can truly appreciate and those are the lil gray patches in the world where ghosts and goblins come from. The Twilght Zone, Outer Limits, under the bed, in the closet, in the shadows, there are always things to be feared and misunderstood somewhere.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Helpin' Hands
Today, I begin a new job. Not today exactly, I have to go and fill out paperwork so I can have the job but I'm all but hired. This is my second job. Not second as in I've only had two jobs but second as in I run the office in the family business by day and then I start workin' in a department store by night. It'll give me like an extra $500 a month which is good but I hate that I have to have two jobs.
I have to have two jobs to give myself a lil bit of financial stability. I have a minor mountain of debt to clear out. Four grand on one card, four grand on another, 'bout twenty grand on my car that I owe, plus another four grand if I can't get the Ex to pay the debt she left me stuck with. So, that makes a total of 32 thousand dollars I owe with next to nuthin' to show for it. Not to mention I still need some dinero to go to school on. I figure that costs 'bout eight grand a semester. So, yeah, my meager earnin's with this new job might give me a leg up on a bit of that.
I have to work. Those are my debts to carry. My foolishness with my money. I have to struggle now in the hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to have a better life in the future. Maybe I'll actually be able to move out of my mom's house. Maybe I can have a place of my own. Maybe I can live comfortably one day in a log cabin away from people to focus on my writin' and enjoy nature.
I am gonna bust my ass to make things better for myself. It's no one else's responsiblity. No one should have to take care of me and I do not want to be a burden to anyone. It sucks 'cause it's gonna take up all my time. I prolly won't get to write as much or spend so much time with friends or family or my girlfriend. If I want to live better in the future I have to suffer a bit now. It'll be a little rough but I'm sure I'm strong enough to handle it. I have to be.
It's my debt and my problem to handle. A lot of people in this world don't handle their own problems. They trip themselves up in life and expect others around 'em to pick 'em up. It ain't fair to your friends and family to do that. I'm all about helpin' people if I can. You ever have a problem and need someone to talk to? I'll listen. You need a shoulder to cry on? I've got two. You need help liftin' sumthin' heavy? I've got a strong back. I don't mind offerin' advice or just bein' there if I can. I will not however, sit there and watch you screw your life up, and pick up the pieces repeatedly. I can't live your life and mine. Your problems can't always be mine or any of your other friends'.
Every individual on the face of the planet has to face up to what they've done and deal with what has fallen on their path. You can't just sit on your ass and always expect your mommy to come pick you up and dust you off. Everyone's entitled to a little help every now and then. You can't abuse that help without abuse the friends that give it. It's disrespectful to the lives of those friends to expect them to wait on you hand and foot. By not takin' care of your own problems all the time your sayin' your life and the problems in it are more important thant your friends'. It ain't fair to 'em. Pick yourself up and dust yourself off. Do the best you can with all your problems.
Now, understandably, people run into problems that are just bigger than they are. Sometimes everybody needs a helpin' hand from friends. I do. You do. Your parents have. Your kids will. To be a good friend you gotta be there for those that need a hand too. Help when you can. Even if it's an inconvenience for you put a good friend first once in a while. Don't go broke or ruin your life tryin' to help somebody but throw 'em a bone. Let your friends know they're good friends and that you're there for 'em if they need it. And mean that if you say it. No sense in offerin' a hand just to pull it a way.
I love my uncle very much and though in his youth he has been a help to my dad, in the last thirty years he's been a drunk. He currently has no place to live, no bills to pay, no driver's license, no money, kids he never sees, and barely any clothes. He's made a lot of mistakes in his life and he's owned up to many of them somewhere along the way he gave up. He quit tryin'. He didn't show up to work half the time, when he did he was usually drunk. His speech is so slurred constantly it's always difficult to understand him. He always reeked of cheap Busch beer. He drinks with my dad and when he's had enough it always winds up with him accusin' my dad of bein' some kinda Mr. Perfect and thinkin' of himself as some failure.
I have felt for several years that it's largely my father's fault for carryin' him as long as he has instead of lettin' him deal with the problems on his own. When a person is forced to sink or swim their true strength shows. Sometimes it's enough and other times it's not. But they have to be let alone to do that. People need to take responsibility for their own life. Help them if you can but there's no reason to bail your brother out every day for thirty years. We each have the responsibility to take care of our problems as best we can.
I have to have two jobs to give myself a lil bit of financial stability. I have a minor mountain of debt to clear out. Four grand on one card, four grand on another, 'bout twenty grand on my car that I owe, plus another four grand if I can't get the Ex to pay the debt she left me stuck with. So, that makes a total of 32 thousand dollars I owe with next to nuthin' to show for it. Not to mention I still need some dinero to go to school on. I figure that costs 'bout eight grand a semester. So, yeah, my meager earnin's with this new job might give me a leg up on a bit of that.
I have to work. Those are my debts to carry. My foolishness with my money. I have to struggle now in the hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to have a better life in the future. Maybe I'll actually be able to move out of my mom's house. Maybe I can have a place of my own. Maybe I can live comfortably one day in a log cabin away from people to focus on my writin' and enjoy nature.
I am gonna bust my ass to make things better for myself. It's no one else's responsiblity. No one should have to take care of me and I do not want to be a burden to anyone. It sucks 'cause it's gonna take up all my time. I prolly won't get to write as much or spend so much time with friends or family or my girlfriend. If I want to live better in the future I have to suffer a bit now. It'll be a little rough but I'm sure I'm strong enough to handle it. I have to be.
It's my debt and my problem to handle. A lot of people in this world don't handle their own problems. They trip themselves up in life and expect others around 'em to pick 'em up. It ain't fair to your friends and family to do that. I'm all about helpin' people if I can. You ever have a problem and need someone to talk to? I'll listen. You need a shoulder to cry on? I've got two. You need help liftin' sumthin' heavy? I've got a strong back. I don't mind offerin' advice or just bein' there if I can. I will not however, sit there and watch you screw your life up, and pick up the pieces repeatedly. I can't live your life and mine. Your problems can't always be mine or any of your other friends'.
Every individual on the face of the planet has to face up to what they've done and deal with what has fallen on their path. You can't just sit on your ass and always expect your mommy to come pick you up and dust you off. Everyone's entitled to a little help every now and then. You can't abuse that help without abuse the friends that give it. It's disrespectful to the lives of those friends to expect them to wait on you hand and foot. By not takin' care of your own problems all the time your sayin' your life and the problems in it are more important thant your friends'. It ain't fair to 'em. Pick yourself up and dust yourself off. Do the best you can with all your problems.
Now, understandably, people run into problems that are just bigger than they are. Sometimes everybody needs a helpin' hand from friends. I do. You do. Your parents have. Your kids will. To be a good friend you gotta be there for those that need a hand too. Help when you can. Even if it's an inconvenience for you put a good friend first once in a while. Don't go broke or ruin your life tryin' to help somebody but throw 'em a bone. Let your friends know they're good friends and that you're there for 'em if they need it. And mean that if you say it. No sense in offerin' a hand just to pull it a way.
I love my uncle very much and though in his youth he has been a help to my dad, in the last thirty years he's been a drunk. He currently has no place to live, no bills to pay, no driver's license, no money, kids he never sees, and barely any clothes. He's made a lot of mistakes in his life and he's owned up to many of them somewhere along the way he gave up. He quit tryin'. He didn't show up to work half the time, when he did he was usually drunk. His speech is so slurred constantly it's always difficult to understand him. He always reeked of cheap Busch beer. He drinks with my dad and when he's had enough it always winds up with him accusin' my dad of bein' some kinda Mr. Perfect and thinkin' of himself as some failure.
I have felt for several years that it's largely my father's fault for carryin' him as long as he has instead of lettin' him deal with the problems on his own. When a person is forced to sink or swim their true strength shows. Sometimes it's enough and other times it's not. But they have to be let alone to do that. People need to take responsibility for their own life. Help them if you can but there's no reason to bail your brother out every day for thirty years. We each have the responsibility to take care of our problems as best we can.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Mischief Makers
Childhood is a precious, precious thing and it's usually robbed of us long before we should let it go. Childhood is all about innocence. It's s'posed to be the time in your life where you make mistakes, do bad things 'cause they're fun, and know nuthin about the troubles of the real world.
One of my brother's earliest memories is climbin' up on the roof to look for radioactive spiders to bite him so he could become Spider-Man.
My other brother broke into a neighbor's house when he was about ten and found a fire extinguisher. He then used the fire extinguisher to make it "snow" on their front lawn.
I may or may not have possibly stolen a stop sign that may or may not be hangin in my dad's shop.
My dad's first arrest was at the age of fourteen when he and some friends were charged for indecent exposure and starting a fire on a beach. (I don't know a proper term for that one exactly.)
These are all things I'd say are perfectly normal for kids to do growin' up.
At this young age, you're s'posed to go explorin'. Push your boundaries. Get into fights. Find your way into trouble. Do sumthin' so crazy, so stupid, that you're surprised that you survived it. Get scars. Face your fears. Most these things will be unacceptable or taboo after a certain age. Kids should be allowed to be free and wild. They should be cut a lil slack every once in a while. There's nuthin' wrong with bein' free at that age. Hell, we should be free to do that stuff our whole lives but the world gets hold of you and wraps you in its chains. Then you have to be responsible and make good decisions. No more sleepin' in, eatin' tons of junk food, practical jokes, or doin' things that you were never s'posed to do anyway. None of that without payin' a price.
I see these parents today and they have their kids on leashes. Seriously? Like he's a damned dog or monkey to be owned and kept under control? Parents use up all the kids time with karate lessons, piano lessons, school, homework, studyin' and all this other crap. Parents work so much and put this emphasis on makin' money, they pawn their kids off on anybody they can pay to watch 'em for two hours. The kids are then left bein' insecure and irritated by parents that don't know a damn thing bout 'em. They have no free time to be creative and think independant thoughts. We're raisin' kids to be scared, witless, sheep. There's a reason why too few people have original thoughts and ideas. Fifty years ago we dreamed of goin' to the moon and colonizing it. A little over a hundred years ago the industrial revolution was in full swing. We used to have new inventions and ideas pourin' out of us. Now? Twitter? To Hell with Twitter. The internet? The biggest source of information anywhere and we watch some damned keyboard cat on it. Bacon flavored mayo? That just makes me sad for people as a whole.
Kids need a few hours a day to run free and unsupervised. Let 'em grab their bikes and some of the other kids in the neighborhood to go ridin' across town. My friend and I used to walk across town in Texas summers. 104 degrees out and we'd be dyin' when we got there but it kept us fit and we had plenty of time to talk and explore the city. We knew each other and our city very well. We had time to make jokes and laugh and think up crazy ideas. We got creative with the time we had.
Parents are so afraid that their kids are gonna be dumb or crazy or hurt by some other crazy that they keep 'em locked up. Fuck that! You know what happens when you do that? You get some spoiled lil pansy that's afraid of his own shadow and whines about a lil hard work. There are already too damn many of those brats. I for one can't stand 'em. You gotta let your kids out. Let em make mistakes. Let 'em take chances. Let 'em fail from time to time. They can't win everything. You can not keep them safe from everything. You can not keep them from feelin' bad. It's all gonna happen. Let 'em grow up learnin' all this for themselves. Let you kids sprout a pair on their own. Give 'em a chance to grow up independent and strong. Let them be those mischief makes with stories to tell of how they got arrested for sumthin' minor. Let them do sumthin' crazy and stupid. Be there to pick up the pieces. Love your child for bein' the mischief maker she is and let her know everything is gonna be okay 'cause you're there.
As much control as I'd like to have in my life, I know I just can't control every little thing that could go wrong. Plan A never works. Plan B isn't much better. Really, I just consider myself lucky if I can make it through the day without bleedin'.
I figure you gotta take the same approach with eveything in life. Know it's not gonna go according to plan. Know that if you make mistakes it ain't the end of the world. Get up off your ass and fix 'em to the best of your ability. This all starts in childhood. As a kid you gotta learn how to handle your mistakes and failin's. Kids need to know its okay to make mistakes. No one is born perfect and no one ever reaches that point. All you can do is think for yourself, make the best choices you can, and learn to pick up the pieces.
But then what do I know about parenting? I only did it for a bit. (Plus I been drinkin' a bit today. Max won't stop handin me beers. I think I'm on number 4 now. Lots more to go.)
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
"Rodriguez"
Wanna know an embarassin' lil factoid bout me?
Course you do.
When my mother was pregnant with me she wanted to name me.........Christopher Robin.
Yeah.
She wanted to name me after the guy that's friends with Winnie the Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger too.
Dad stepped in and decided that might get me beat up a bit too often. He decided to name me Alejandro Rodriguez instead. (Yeah, that is my real name. I'll put it up here mostly 'cause the people that read this already know me.)
Do you know what that name means?
Defender of mankind, Son of the great king.
Helluva handle ain't it? I love that. It's a good name I think. Though it's not really mine, not exactly.
There are a lotta families that can trace their families back for centuries. They get all the papers to prove who they are and where they come from. I can't do that on my dad's side of the family. I know my father, I know my grandfather, and I've heard of a great-grandfather. Beyond that there's nuthin. Not a damn thing that I'm aware of. Like these Rodriguez people just appeared outta nowhere on the face of the earth.
My great-grandfather was born towards the beginning of the 20th century. There are no official papers I'm aware of that prove he existed. My father has seen one picture of him and heard a few stories about him. Apparently, he was 6'4"ish (Or at least tall enough to stand next to his horse for the picture with his elbow on it's back. You ever stand next to a horse? I have and that one came up to my shoulder.) with tanned skin and had red hair. He was s'posed to be Mexican but I've never seen any Mexican that looked like that. I'm 6' myself and have a few strands of red hair so maybe there's a ring of truth to that.
The way it was told to me, no one had ever seen him before he came ridin' into a small town on a horse. Like sumthin' out of a western. The stranger rides into town on an unfamiliar horse with an unfamilar face. He keeps to himself and isn't friendly with anyone. People know him by a name that most likely isn't his. "Rodriguez" is the name on his saddle and it's the name he gives but no one really believes it. (It was the only kind of I.D. the man had. Even if he had a paper one it wouldn't have done much to prove who he was. Dad found his I.D. from 1968 the other day and it was just a paper with a name and address. No picture or anything and he said half the information on it was wrong anyway.)
In this small town he met a girl and they got married and she gave birth to my grandfather. From what my grandfather has said, his father was a good man. He was stern and didn't talk much. He rarely talked about himself or his family. Practically never really. One day while the first Rodriguez was out in town there was some kind of dispute. I'm not sure what it was about. I don't know who was involved. What I do know is that another man's horse bucked and kicked my great-grandfather in his chest breaking' his ribs and puncturin' vital organs. He suffered a few minutes and died. It's not quite certain if this was done on purpose or not.
Years later, Dad did a bit of research and figured out there's a tribe of natives in the Colorado area that were bein' forced on to reservations about the time my great-grandfather would've been born. He suspects that our relative was much like ourselves and didn't like bein' told where he could and could not go. He may have high-tailed it outta the rez and went to see the country. Along the way he might've stolen the horse and saddle. He may have even killed for it. That would easily give him an excuse to not talk about himself.
Dad's theory was somewhat supported by a very odd happening when he was growin' up. He was with his aunt and uncle for the summer and they went to this Native American like craft fair or sumthin' like that on a reservation in Iowa. It was a place where you could go and see Natives do their thing in the ways of their culture. They'd dance, show off the traditional clothing, and cook foods. Well my father wandered away from his aunt and into a small shack where an old woman was makin' sumthin'. He could see the old woman's milky white eyes and knew she was clearly blind. Before he said anything to her she speaks, "I knew you would come back."
My dad of course was confused. He asked the woman what she was talkin' 'bout. She explained that he left his people years ago but would return as a great chief to lead them into greatness. She said his family was hidin' his true roots from him. My father was about 10 when this happened and hadn't heard anythin' about our possible heritage. He asked his aunt about it and she said the old woman was just crazy, that his family came from Mexico.
When he was 17 and had heard the stories I mentioned earlier he returned to the reservation only to find it desolate and empty. The old woman wasn't there. He never found out exactly what is true and what isn't about our family.
If I dug deep enough and liked technology more than I do (which isn't very much really) I could probably find out the truth about our family. I don't care to. I like that that section of my heritage is shrouded in mystery. To me it makes for an interestin' story and really no good would come of knowin' for sure. I either would find out that my great-grand father was a thief and killer or that we do in fact come from a long line of rather decent but unspectacular Mexicans. But if this is all uncertain it could be anything. It could be as the old woman said and there is some purpose my family is meant for or we could've just appeared outta nowhere when the red headed stranger rode into town and said his name was "Rodriguez."
The world is a big place and people think we know so much about it. We don't know anything. The universe is vast and mysterious. I like those mysteries. It's in those shadowy spots of our lives that there exists all the things that those who know better say don't exist. In these dark corners is love, magic, fear, danger, adventure, and discovery. I hope we never run out of mysteries to investgate and I hope sometimes we can just leave a few of them alone. Let the mystery be and we will always know a good scare and a bit of excitement. Life would be boring without it.
Course you do.
When my mother was pregnant with me she wanted to name me.........Christopher Robin.
Yeah.
She wanted to name me after the guy that's friends with Winnie the Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger too.
Dad stepped in and decided that might get me beat up a bit too often. He decided to name me Alejandro Rodriguez instead. (Yeah, that is my real name. I'll put it up here mostly 'cause the people that read this already know me.)
Do you know what that name means?
Defender of mankind, Son of the great king.
Helluva handle ain't it? I love that. It's a good name I think. Though it's not really mine, not exactly.
There are a lotta families that can trace their families back for centuries. They get all the papers to prove who they are and where they come from. I can't do that on my dad's side of the family. I know my father, I know my grandfather, and I've heard of a great-grandfather. Beyond that there's nuthin. Not a damn thing that I'm aware of. Like these Rodriguez people just appeared outta nowhere on the face of the earth.
My great-grandfather was born towards the beginning of the 20th century. There are no official papers I'm aware of that prove he existed. My father has seen one picture of him and heard a few stories about him. Apparently, he was 6'4"ish (Or at least tall enough to stand next to his horse for the picture with his elbow on it's back. You ever stand next to a horse? I have and that one came up to my shoulder.) with tanned skin and had red hair. He was s'posed to be Mexican but I've never seen any Mexican that looked like that. I'm 6' myself and have a few strands of red hair so maybe there's a ring of truth to that.
The way it was told to me, no one had ever seen him before he came ridin' into a small town on a horse. Like sumthin' out of a western. The stranger rides into town on an unfamiliar horse with an unfamilar face. He keeps to himself and isn't friendly with anyone. People know him by a name that most likely isn't his. "Rodriguez" is the name on his saddle and it's the name he gives but no one really believes it. (It was the only kind of I.D. the man had. Even if he had a paper one it wouldn't have done much to prove who he was. Dad found his I.D. from 1968 the other day and it was just a paper with a name and address. No picture or anything and he said half the information on it was wrong anyway.)
In this small town he met a girl and they got married and she gave birth to my grandfather. From what my grandfather has said, his father was a good man. He was stern and didn't talk much. He rarely talked about himself or his family. Practically never really. One day while the first Rodriguez was out in town there was some kind of dispute. I'm not sure what it was about. I don't know who was involved. What I do know is that another man's horse bucked and kicked my great-grandfather in his chest breaking' his ribs and puncturin' vital organs. He suffered a few minutes and died. It's not quite certain if this was done on purpose or not.
Years later, Dad did a bit of research and figured out there's a tribe of natives in the Colorado area that were bein' forced on to reservations about the time my great-grandfather would've been born. He suspects that our relative was much like ourselves and didn't like bein' told where he could and could not go. He may have high-tailed it outta the rez and went to see the country. Along the way he might've stolen the horse and saddle. He may have even killed for it. That would easily give him an excuse to not talk about himself.
Dad's theory was somewhat supported by a very odd happening when he was growin' up. He was with his aunt and uncle for the summer and they went to this Native American like craft fair or sumthin' like that on a reservation in Iowa. It was a place where you could go and see Natives do their thing in the ways of their culture. They'd dance, show off the traditional clothing, and cook foods. Well my father wandered away from his aunt and into a small shack where an old woman was makin' sumthin'. He could see the old woman's milky white eyes and knew she was clearly blind. Before he said anything to her she speaks, "I knew you would come back."
My dad of course was confused. He asked the woman what she was talkin' 'bout. She explained that he left his people years ago but would return as a great chief to lead them into greatness. She said his family was hidin' his true roots from him. My father was about 10 when this happened and hadn't heard anythin' about our possible heritage. He asked his aunt about it and she said the old woman was just crazy, that his family came from Mexico.
When he was 17 and had heard the stories I mentioned earlier he returned to the reservation only to find it desolate and empty. The old woman wasn't there. He never found out exactly what is true and what isn't about our family.
If I dug deep enough and liked technology more than I do (which isn't very much really) I could probably find out the truth about our family. I don't care to. I like that that section of my heritage is shrouded in mystery. To me it makes for an interestin' story and really no good would come of knowin' for sure. I either would find out that my great-grand father was a thief and killer or that we do in fact come from a long line of rather decent but unspectacular Mexicans. But if this is all uncertain it could be anything. It could be as the old woman said and there is some purpose my family is meant for or we could've just appeared outta nowhere when the red headed stranger rode into town and said his name was "Rodriguez."
The world is a big place and people think we know so much about it. We don't know anything. The universe is vast and mysterious. I like those mysteries. It's in those shadowy spots of our lives that there exists all the things that those who know better say don't exist. In these dark corners is love, magic, fear, danger, adventure, and discovery. I hope we never run out of mysteries to investgate and I hope sometimes we can just leave a few of them alone. Let the mystery be and we will always know a good scare and a bit of excitement. Life would be boring without it.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Yeller
A man much smarter than me once said courage ain't a lack of fear but the ability to do what you gotta while bein' afraid. Courage is an admirable quality but it's a rare find in a person. It's easy to claim to be brave. Anybody can say if there were a school shootin' or a hijackin' or some monster in the shadows they could be brave. When it comes down to it could anybody you know really do anything like that?
It's hard to say. Those things don't really happen a lot. I don't think you could really blame anyone for seekin' cover in a shootout or if some real life monster showed up. The real test of courage is in the everyday situations you do encounter.
Does a person have the courage to do what needs to be done? Does a fella have the courage to be a real man? Does a person have the strength of character to sacrifice themselves for the well bein' of others or for their own success? Everyone wants to be brave enough to do what it takes to make it through the day but problems in people's lives come from them or the people around them not havin' the courage to do what they need to.
There's a western movie you might've heard of based on a japanese film by Akira Kurisowa. The Japense black and white flick is called "Seven Samurai". American audiences might recognize it as "The Magnificent Seven".
There's a scene in "The Magnificent Seven" with Charlie Bronson and some kids. The movie is about seven gunfighters that come to a town of farmers to defend them. Charlie Bronson is admired by the boys in the town for his bravery and willingness to fight. The boys say their fathers are cowards because they won't fight. Charlie gets mad and spanks the boys sayin' that their daddys are braver than he is 'cause they don't fight one fight and then run, they fight the same battles everyday so their families can have food, clothes, and be taken care of.
He's right. It takes an insane amount of courage for a man to be a man and say "I'm gonna be resposible for everything you eat, wear, and sleep on. I'm gonna do everything I can to make you as comfortable as possible." It's stressful. There will always be fightin' whether it's 'cause you forgot an aniversary, or 'cause the kid doesn't understand why he has to do math homework, or 'cause bill collectors keep forgettin' they got the payment you sent last week.
If you can get past that fear and hang in there, bein' a father is a rewardin' thing. Too few men stick around to find out. It's a weak man, in my opinion, that leaves his responsibility all up to the mother of his children. I know marriages don't always work out but it's a coward that shucks his duty to his kids. Even standin' up to your faults and weaknesses from the beginnin' I'd say is preferred over that. Just say, "I'm not ready to be a daddy. I don't have what it takes. I am too weak and unreliable to take care of someone else for the rest of my life." Just say it if it's true. Get it out in the open and take responsibility for it. Make sure you don't have babies you can't care for. If you do have 'em better get yourself a plan too. What can you really do? What can you do to provide the best life for you and your child?
There's lots of people that show courage like that and it's rarely recognized. Everybody remembers the good cops, soldiers, nurses, doctors, and firefighters as they should. No doubt that all these people are courageous in tight spots and desperate situations. Do you recognize your parents as courageous for stickin' by you when you were actin' bad? Or feedin' and takin' care of you when you were a kid and unable to provide for yourself? Yeah, there's mother's and father's days but aside from that do you say thanks?
And how 'bout for all the friends and neighbors that look out for each other. All the people that ain't afraid of bein' themselves, cool or not. There's a lot of everyday courage that gets swept away like it's not even worth havin'. It's bein responsible. It's so expected and common it ain't courage anymore.
Maybe it's not a brave thing to do what's needed of you.
Maybe not.
But somebody has to do it. Somebody's gotta be a shepard. Somebody's gotta fend off the wolves. Even if those wolves are only hunger, bills, and lack of shelter.
A coward is someone that can do nuthin' but disappoint you. Is he there to pick you up after practice? No. Is he there to help you balance the check book? No. Is he ownin' up to his faults, takin' responsibility for 'em, and tryin' his best to do things right? No. Well ladies and gents, that bastard's a coward. He's yeller.
It's hard to say. Those things don't really happen a lot. I don't think you could really blame anyone for seekin' cover in a shootout or if some real life monster showed up. The real test of courage is in the everyday situations you do encounter.
Does a person have the courage to do what needs to be done? Does a fella have the courage to be a real man? Does a person have the strength of character to sacrifice themselves for the well bein' of others or for their own success? Everyone wants to be brave enough to do what it takes to make it through the day but problems in people's lives come from them or the people around them not havin' the courage to do what they need to.
There's a western movie you might've heard of based on a japanese film by Akira Kurisowa. The Japense black and white flick is called "Seven Samurai". American audiences might recognize it as "The Magnificent Seven".
There's a scene in "The Magnificent Seven" with Charlie Bronson and some kids. The movie is about seven gunfighters that come to a town of farmers to defend them. Charlie Bronson is admired by the boys in the town for his bravery and willingness to fight. The boys say their fathers are cowards because they won't fight. Charlie gets mad and spanks the boys sayin' that their daddys are braver than he is 'cause they don't fight one fight and then run, they fight the same battles everyday so their families can have food, clothes, and be taken care of.
He's right. It takes an insane amount of courage for a man to be a man and say "I'm gonna be resposible for everything you eat, wear, and sleep on. I'm gonna do everything I can to make you as comfortable as possible." It's stressful. There will always be fightin' whether it's 'cause you forgot an aniversary, or 'cause the kid doesn't understand why he has to do math homework, or 'cause bill collectors keep forgettin' they got the payment you sent last week.
If you can get past that fear and hang in there, bein' a father is a rewardin' thing. Too few men stick around to find out. It's a weak man, in my opinion, that leaves his responsibility all up to the mother of his children. I know marriages don't always work out but it's a coward that shucks his duty to his kids. Even standin' up to your faults and weaknesses from the beginnin' I'd say is preferred over that. Just say, "I'm not ready to be a daddy. I don't have what it takes. I am too weak and unreliable to take care of someone else for the rest of my life." Just say it if it's true. Get it out in the open and take responsibility for it. Make sure you don't have babies you can't care for. If you do have 'em better get yourself a plan too. What can you really do? What can you do to provide the best life for you and your child?
There's lots of people that show courage like that and it's rarely recognized. Everybody remembers the good cops, soldiers, nurses, doctors, and firefighters as they should. No doubt that all these people are courageous in tight spots and desperate situations. Do you recognize your parents as courageous for stickin' by you when you were actin' bad? Or feedin' and takin' care of you when you were a kid and unable to provide for yourself? Yeah, there's mother's and father's days but aside from that do you say thanks?
And how 'bout for all the friends and neighbors that look out for each other. All the people that ain't afraid of bein' themselves, cool or not. There's a lot of everyday courage that gets swept away like it's not even worth havin'. It's bein responsible. It's so expected and common it ain't courage anymore.
Maybe it's not a brave thing to do what's needed of you.
Maybe not.
But somebody has to do it. Somebody's gotta be a shepard. Somebody's gotta fend off the wolves. Even if those wolves are only hunger, bills, and lack of shelter.
A coward is someone that can do nuthin' but disappoint you. Is he there to pick you up after practice? No. Is he there to help you balance the check book? No. Is he ownin' up to his faults, takin' responsibility for 'em, and tryin' his best to do things right? No. Well ladies and gents, that bastard's a coward. He's yeller.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Self-Inflicted
You ever see those homeless people on the side of the road lookin' for change? Of course you have. Everybody has 'em somewhere in their town. How do you think they got there? If there is a God and he has a plan for everyone, why is it that his plan for these people appears to be to suffer?
I don't know a thing about God. I never seen him, I never met the guy. I couldn't tell you if He is what the Bible says. But I have never believed that if He is that kind and loving God people say he is, that He would write such cruel existences for people.
Children die young. Good people are killed in horrible ways. Bad people go unpunished. Poor people struggle their entire live. Rich people never learn the value of a dollar. It makes no sense to me that a plan could be laid for these people to walk these paths.
If destinies were written it would make all the sense in the world to me for everyone to get along and for peace to be the norm. Wars are fought all throughout history. People kill each other over the stupidest damned things. That can't be part of the plan.
I could never accept that much blood shed and wrong doing in my heart as a necessary evil. If there is a necessary evil it is only the evil that each of us is born with. That's the evil we either control or let control us. The suffering of mankind is self-inflicted. We have no one but ourselves to blame for our short-comings. We are all born with a capacity for evil and wrong doin'. I've tried my best to control that part of me and keep it confined to the darkest places in my heart. I have hated and I am capable of evil deeds. Rather than act on these deeds, I force them down in to the back of my mind. I let the hate go away with the sunset. No good could ever come from it. I decided such doin's are not what would make my destiny. I decided that. No one else.
I am a firm believer that people write these destinies for themselves. It is up to every individual person to make his choices every day. You choose to dress a certain way, you choose to eat what you eat, you choose to act like you do. Because you can choose this and because life is very much unfair I don't see how it could work any other way.
I am my own man. I've made all my decisions for myself. In the end whether I am a success or failure it will only be my own fault. I can blame no god, person, or obstacle. Nothing is impossible for me. I am the master of my own destiny.
I believe you are too.
I don't know a thing about God. I never seen him, I never met the guy. I couldn't tell you if He is what the Bible says. But I have never believed that if He is that kind and loving God people say he is, that He would write such cruel existences for people.
Children die young. Good people are killed in horrible ways. Bad people go unpunished. Poor people struggle their entire live. Rich people never learn the value of a dollar. It makes no sense to me that a plan could be laid for these people to walk these paths.
If destinies were written it would make all the sense in the world to me for everyone to get along and for peace to be the norm. Wars are fought all throughout history. People kill each other over the stupidest damned things. That can't be part of the plan.
I could never accept that much blood shed and wrong doing in my heart as a necessary evil. If there is a necessary evil it is only the evil that each of us is born with. That's the evil we either control or let control us. The suffering of mankind is self-inflicted. We have no one but ourselves to blame for our short-comings. We are all born with a capacity for evil and wrong doin'. I've tried my best to control that part of me and keep it confined to the darkest places in my heart. I have hated and I am capable of evil deeds. Rather than act on these deeds, I force them down in to the back of my mind. I let the hate go away with the sunset. No good could ever come from it. I decided such doin's are not what would make my destiny. I decided that. No one else.
I am a firm believer that people write these destinies for themselves. It is up to every individual person to make his choices every day. You choose to dress a certain way, you choose to eat what you eat, you choose to act like you do. Because you can choose this and because life is very much unfair I don't see how it could work any other way.
I am my own man. I've made all my decisions for myself. In the end whether I am a success or failure it will only be my own fault. I can blame no god, person, or obstacle. Nothing is impossible for me. I am the master of my own destiny.
I believe you are too.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Colors
I don't understand what's so hard about treatin' people like people.
The other day, about 4:30 in the afternoon I got a phone call. I was just sittin' here workin' on my last blog and then the phone rang.
I answered and this is what I heard, "I hate all you fuckin' wetbacks I wish you'd all go back to your own fuckin' country."
"Yeah, well, you can go to hell."I said angrily. I heard a girl in the background laughin' as I hung up.
The other day, about 4:30 in the afternoon I got a phone call. I was just sittin' here workin' on my last blog and then the phone rang.
I answered and this is what I heard, "I hate all you fuckin' wetbacks I wish you'd all go back to your own fuckin' country."
"Yeah, well, you can go to hell."I said angrily. I heard a girl in the background laughin' as I hung up.
I am Mexican-American. My father was born in Texas. My mother came to this country legally and recently became a citizen of the U.S. Both of them are hard-working and speak english. I am cut of the same cloth. I am proud of my heritage. I am proud to have been born in Texas. I am proud of who and what I am. If you got an issue with any of that you can kiss my ass.
Everyone should be proud of their heritage. We should all be able to wear our traditonal clothing, or eat our traditional food, or worship our gods all without being persecuted. I love the differences of people. I like that there are people in the world the see things differently than I do. Revolutionary ideas come from the differences in the way people think. We'd all do everything exactly the same and the world would be a boring place if we didn't have people of different cultures, colors, and philosophies. It's so amazing to me to talk to people that have worked and studied hard to get to the U.S. in an attempt to find success. I wish anyone that works for it and is deserving of it any success they desire.
I have little tolerance for those people that can't appreciate the differences that make this world wonderful. Can't make a rainbow using only one color. There are so many other things to do with your time than encouraging ignorance. Ignorance should not be seen as any kinda cool. Is it cool that a person can't do math? Is it cool if they have no class? Is it cool if the encourage ignorant ideas? NO to all of that. I don't think people are ever too old to learn anything. It's only a person's own closed mindedness that prevents them from learnin'.
The true colors of a person's character is what you should judge them on. We've all been taught this for the last thirty years but still some think it's ok to discriminate. I don't understand it. I don't think I ever will. People are just people. I get not likin' liars, thieves, and murderers but those are deeds not colors. Not likin' a person 'cause he's darker or lighter skinned than you, or 'cause his hair is different, or 'cause he's from a different place is all just ignorant. These people are born different and they can't help that. It's only chance that stops any man from bein' a brother to you. Even that doesn't have to be. If you accept a man with open arms and respect him he will be your brother.
Just treat each other with respect. Try to understand each other. You don't have to like everybody you meet but I don't think it's too much to ask everybody to act like civilized people.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Woman Holdin' the Ladder
My mother gets on my nerves most days.
I love my mother very much.
But she gets on my nerves.
I work with her. We sit in the same office across the room from each other forty hours a week. I've been involved in this business since I was ten. Dad would take me on jobs and I'd do what I could to help. I spent my summers growin' up diggin trenches, layin' pipe for septic systems, under kitchen sinks, and unstopping commodes. Lotta people don't even like cleanin' their own toilets let alone diggin' around in someone else's.
In the last year and a half, I've been runnin' the office with my mother. Someone calls and it's our job to get customer information. She knows this, I know this, it's not hard but it's about seventy percent of what we do. Still, everytime I answer the phone she feels the need to tell me exactly what to do and how to do it.
No man needs anyone else keepin' a leash on him like that.
I don't need anyone tellin' me how to dress, comb my hair, walk, talk, or otherwise crticizin' my every move. My mother is one to do that kind of thing. She tells me she doesn't like that I stay out til midnight or later. She doesn't like the way I drive. She thinks I should take business classes instead of English. Nothin' I do is ever good enough. I quit tryin' to make her happy a long time ago because I don't believe I could ever do it.
I know she does these things out of love.
There is no question in my mind that she's lookin' out for me in her own way. She wants me to be educated in business so that whatever industry I'm in I will be a good business man. She wants to dress me up so I look nice. She wants me home early so she knows I'm safe. (Yeah, I'm 24 and still livin at home with my momma.) She loves me. I know she does but she has her own stubborn way of showin' it and tryin' to make me a better man. At least a better man than my sister's father anyway.
My mother was born in Coahuila, Mexico in May of 1952. She was the middle child among her eight siblings. She helped raise those that came behind her. She wound up dropping out of school after second grade. (Think about this for a minute, how much did you know after second grade? How to read a few words? Simple math? How to cut paper without cuttin' your fingers off? That's about it really.)
She worked the majority of her young life doin' chores, changin' diapers, cookin' and cleanin'. When she was about eighteen her family was as poor as they'd ever been. She couldn't find the kind of work that would really do her family any good. So, she filled out the proper paperwork, paid the fees, waited the long waits, stood in the long lines, and got her green card.
She came to America, alone, with no formal education, with only the hope of finding work to send back to her family. She didn't speak very good english or have nice clothes but she found herself an apartment and a job cleaning houses for wealthy families. She started working as many hours as she could to provide for herself and for her family.
She got by alright. She found a man to date and love. She thought he was a good man and she stayed with him for a while. The two fought as is common for any two people in a relationship. She was still fond of him though. The two wound up having a baby together. A daughter, my older sister.
My mother couldn't be happier. She was soon ready to bring her new born baby girl home. The man saw my mother in front of the hospital as he drove up to give her a ride. She got in and he saw the baby and I guess a fear must've taken over him. Can you magine that, bein' afraid of a tiny, little, pink, and mushy-faced girl maybe two days old?
He was. He grabbed that mushy-faced little girl and dropped her out of the car on to the sidewalk. He told my mother that he would not have anything to do with a baby. She didn't give a damn about him after that. She left the car to pick up her baby girl and make a better life for themselves as he drove away.
They were already better off without him in their lives.
By now, my aunt had come to America and the two sisters moved in together. They lived in Houston for a while and my sister grew up fairly happy. She would go along with our mother to clean the wealthy family's home and get to enjoy a few luxuries even if only for a few hours.
Now that my mother only had one home to clean she was left responsible for the repairs as well. Plumber's were called in to fix a leak under a sink. Well, one of these plumber's had an eye for beauty. He spotted it as my mother was bent over under the sink to try and show him where the leak was. (Romantic, right?)
This plumber wound up leavin' a tool behind on purpose so he'd have an excuse to go back and talk to the pretty house keeper. She called the plumbing company and the plumber went back. He got his tool back and then asked for a phone number in some clever way I'm sure. (The man's always got sumthin' clever to say.)
He wasn't much of anythin' at the time really. He was livin' with my uncle and his wife at the time. He didn't have any money. He was highly depressed and as I understand it somewhat suicidal. He spent his whole life up until then makin' what he saw as mistakes. He was always fightin', always drunk, he had two kids he could never see, and his ex-wives hated him. He was goin' on thirty years and didn't see much reason to keep goin'.
But he thought she was pretty and it gave him a little hope when he got her phone number. He would call and ask out my mother, she would say no. She'd been hurt, and she knew a enough about him to know he was trouble. She didn't need any more of that for her or her daughter.
One day my mother was stuck out in the rain somewhere. She tried callin' her sister but there was no answer. (There was a time before cell phones boys and girls, I know that sounds like a horror movie now but back then they had pay phones and land lines.) She had no one else to call...except that plumber who had had enough of bein' turned down by her at this point. She called his plumbing company and they relayed the message through his C.B. radio. (That's just ancient technology, kids.) Since, he was in the area and off duty he went to pick her up. He gave her a ride home and asked her out one more time. She said yes.
They fell in love, got married, and had a baby. (Me, of course.) My father vowed to do everything he could to make all of our lives better and make this marriage work. He adopted my sister and has always treated her as his own. My parents raised me to be a good man. He opened up a plumbing business with my mother supporting him. She worked answering his phone and taking messages and was still cleaning that wealthy family's home for extra money.
His promise to her during this finincially troubling time was "If you hold the ladder, Baby, I'll climb it to the top." And together they did. She's been his support. He's been her protector.
My father told me that my mother is responsible for saving his life. That she was the one that made him believe in a life worth livin'. He said to me with tears in his eyes that if anything ever happened to that woman he loved, that he would get in that truck of his and drive off never to be seen again. He said he couldn't have done anything without her and wouldn't be able to if he lost her.
My mother's harsh life has made her a hard woman to live with. It's also made her strong, tough, and street smart. She has had to struggle all her life to make life better for the ones she loves. She struggles for me, because she loves me.
My mother gets on my nerves most days but I'm glad I get to see her everyday and that she cares about me like she does. I love her very much.
I love my mother very much.
But she gets on my nerves.
I work with her. We sit in the same office across the room from each other forty hours a week. I've been involved in this business since I was ten. Dad would take me on jobs and I'd do what I could to help. I spent my summers growin' up diggin trenches, layin' pipe for septic systems, under kitchen sinks, and unstopping commodes. Lotta people don't even like cleanin' their own toilets let alone diggin' around in someone else's.
In the last year and a half, I've been runnin' the office with my mother. Someone calls and it's our job to get customer information. She knows this, I know this, it's not hard but it's about seventy percent of what we do. Still, everytime I answer the phone she feels the need to tell me exactly what to do and how to do it.
No man needs anyone else keepin' a leash on him like that.
I don't need anyone tellin' me how to dress, comb my hair, walk, talk, or otherwise crticizin' my every move. My mother is one to do that kind of thing. She tells me she doesn't like that I stay out til midnight or later. She doesn't like the way I drive. She thinks I should take business classes instead of English. Nothin' I do is ever good enough. I quit tryin' to make her happy a long time ago because I don't believe I could ever do it.
I know she does these things out of love.
There is no question in my mind that she's lookin' out for me in her own way. She wants me to be educated in business so that whatever industry I'm in I will be a good business man. She wants to dress me up so I look nice. She wants me home early so she knows I'm safe. (Yeah, I'm 24 and still livin at home with my momma.) She loves me. I know she does but she has her own stubborn way of showin' it and tryin' to make me a better man. At least a better man than my sister's father anyway.
My mother was born in Coahuila, Mexico in May of 1952. She was the middle child among her eight siblings. She helped raise those that came behind her. She wound up dropping out of school after second grade. (Think about this for a minute, how much did you know after second grade? How to read a few words? Simple math? How to cut paper without cuttin' your fingers off? That's about it really.)
She worked the majority of her young life doin' chores, changin' diapers, cookin' and cleanin'. When she was about eighteen her family was as poor as they'd ever been. She couldn't find the kind of work that would really do her family any good. So, she filled out the proper paperwork, paid the fees, waited the long waits, stood in the long lines, and got her green card.
She came to America, alone, with no formal education, with only the hope of finding work to send back to her family. She didn't speak very good english or have nice clothes but she found herself an apartment and a job cleaning houses for wealthy families. She started working as many hours as she could to provide for herself and for her family.
She got by alright. She found a man to date and love. She thought he was a good man and she stayed with him for a while. The two fought as is common for any two people in a relationship. She was still fond of him though. The two wound up having a baby together. A daughter, my older sister.
My mother couldn't be happier. She was soon ready to bring her new born baby girl home. The man saw my mother in front of the hospital as he drove up to give her a ride. She got in and he saw the baby and I guess a fear must've taken over him. Can you magine that, bein' afraid of a tiny, little, pink, and mushy-faced girl maybe two days old?
He was. He grabbed that mushy-faced little girl and dropped her out of the car on to the sidewalk. He told my mother that he would not have anything to do with a baby. She didn't give a damn about him after that. She left the car to pick up her baby girl and make a better life for themselves as he drove away.
They were already better off without him in their lives.
By now, my aunt had come to America and the two sisters moved in together. They lived in Houston for a while and my sister grew up fairly happy. She would go along with our mother to clean the wealthy family's home and get to enjoy a few luxuries even if only for a few hours.
Now that my mother only had one home to clean she was left responsible for the repairs as well. Plumber's were called in to fix a leak under a sink. Well, one of these plumber's had an eye for beauty. He spotted it as my mother was bent over under the sink to try and show him where the leak was. (Romantic, right?)
This plumber wound up leavin' a tool behind on purpose so he'd have an excuse to go back and talk to the pretty house keeper. She called the plumbing company and the plumber went back. He got his tool back and then asked for a phone number in some clever way I'm sure. (The man's always got sumthin' clever to say.)
He wasn't much of anythin' at the time really. He was livin' with my uncle and his wife at the time. He didn't have any money. He was highly depressed and as I understand it somewhat suicidal. He spent his whole life up until then makin' what he saw as mistakes. He was always fightin', always drunk, he had two kids he could never see, and his ex-wives hated him. He was goin' on thirty years and didn't see much reason to keep goin'.
But he thought she was pretty and it gave him a little hope when he got her phone number. He would call and ask out my mother, she would say no. She'd been hurt, and she knew a enough about him to know he was trouble. She didn't need any more of that for her or her daughter.
One day my mother was stuck out in the rain somewhere. She tried callin' her sister but there was no answer. (There was a time before cell phones boys and girls, I know that sounds like a horror movie now but back then they had pay phones and land lines.) She had no one else to call...except that plumber who had had enough of bein' turned down by her at this point. She called his plumbing company and they relayed the message through his C.B. radio. (That's just ancient technology, kids.) Since, he was in the area and off duty he went to pick her up. He gave her a ride home and asked her out one more time. She said yes.
They fell in love, got married, and had a baby. (Me, of course.) My father vowed to do everything he could to make all of our lives better and make this marriage work. He adopted my sister and has always treated her as his own. My parents raised me to be a good man. He opened up a plumbing business with my mother supporting him. She worked answering his phone and taking messages and was still cleaning that wealthy family's home for extra money.
His promise to her during this finincially troubling time was "If you hold the ladder, Baby, I'll climb it to the top." And together they did. She's been his support. He's been her protector.
My father told me that my mother is responsible for saving his life. That she was the one that made him believe in a life worth livin'. He said to me with tears in his eyes that if anything ever happened to that woman he loved, that he would get in that truck of his and drive off never to be seen again. He said he couldn't have done anything without her and wouldn't be able to if he lost her.
My mother's harsh life has made her a hard woman to live with. It's also made her strong, tough, and street smart. She has had to struggle all her life to make life better for the ones she loves. She struggles for me, because she loves me.
My mother gets on my nerves most days but I'm glad I get to see her everyday and that she cares about me like she does. I love her very much.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Today Will Be A Good Day
Nothing in this world lasts forever. Not the good, not the bad. That's just life.
Today can be a good day if you let it. I know the world ain't perfect. I know it's not fair. I know that problems can pile up on you like you're bein' buried alive. The world is a scary place and things can go bad at any time. But things can get better for you at any time too.
There's no fight you can't overcome with a lil perseverence and the right plan. I used to box. I learned how to fight and how to think. You gotta prepare yourself for a fight. You have to protect yourself from any hurt that might come your way. You have to train to have the right tools to fight. You need a strategy to win a challenging fight. Most importantly you gotta have the fire inside of you it takes to win a fight. That fire comes from a controlled combination of fear, anger, and the desire to change your situation.
All these things I've learned about fightin' have helped me in my life. You have issues you gotta have a plan to deal with them. Are you gonna save money to get outta debt? Are you gonna work out to stay fit? Are you gonna spend more time studyin' to get better grades? You gotta protect yourself from what can go wrong. Always have a back up plan, 'cause things will always go wrong. Nuthin' ever works out perfectly. And if you gotta goal in mind you need to stay focused to get to that goal. Don't let all the things that go wrong, or a little bit of progress stop you from gettin' exactly what you want. A lot of people give up halfway through 'cause things get too tough. You ever hear 'bout the guy that was swimmin' across the lake? He gets half way across when he got tired so he swam back. Doesn't make sense to start sumthin' and not finish it when you've gotten so far.
Today will be a good day, if you let it. You're awake and you're alive. That's all you need to make you're situation better. Let the warmth of the sun in your soul. Breathe in the strength of the universe. Everything is always in flux. What's bad now will get better. Know that things are gonna be tough. Know that you got what it takes to make things better. You ain't a moron, you can learn how to do what you need to do. You can ask for help without bein' weak. You can do more than you think. Push yourself. Get off your ass and get what you deserve. If you want it and you're tryin' your best to get it then you deserve it. Even if life isn't fair enough to let you have it's better to try and fail than to say you never even made the effort. Never ever give up.
The problems in your life are never permanent. This life is always changin'. You can't hold on to goodness or badness forever. That's what gives the universe it's balance. As long as you're alive there's a fight to be had. Never surrender to it. There's nuthin' better than takin' a couple of bad hits and givin' a few good ones right back, knowin the fight is a long way from over but at least you're a contender.
Go out and get your good day. You deserve it.
I love those Rocky movies 'cause you watch 'em and you feel like you can take on the world. This is from "Rocky Balboa". It's a lil clip I love. I think Rocky says it best.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1tXhJniSEc
Today can be a good day if you let it. I know the world ain't perfect. I know it's not fair. I know that problems can pile up on you like you're bein' buried alive. The world is a scary place and things can go bad at any time. But things can get better for you at any time too.
There's no fight you can't overcome with a lil perseverence and the right plan. I used to box. I learned how to fight and how to think. You gotta prepare yourself for a fight. You have to protect yourself from any hurt that might come your way. You have to train to have the right tools to fight. You need a strategy to win a challenging fight. Most importantly you gotta have the fire inside of you it takes to win a fight. That fire comes from a controlled combination of fear, anger, and the desire to change your situation.
All these things I've learned about fightin' have helped me in my life. You have issues you gotta have a plan to deal with them. Are you gonna save money to get outta debt? Are you gonna work out to stay fit? Are you gonna spend more time studyin' to get better grades? You gotta protect yourself from what can go wrong. Always have a back up plan, 'cause things will always go wrong. Nuthin' ever works out perfectly. And if you gotta goal in mind you need to stay focused to get to that goal. Don't let all the things that go wrong, or a little bit of progress stop you from gettin' exactly what you want. A lot of people give up halfway through 'cause things get too tough. You ever hear 'bout the guy that was swimmin' across the lake? He gets half way across when he got tired so he swam back. Doesn't make sense to start sumthin' and not finish it when you've gotten so far.
Today will be a good day, if you let it. You're awake and you're alive. That's all you need to make you're situation better. Let the warmth of the sun in your soul. Breathe in the strength of the universe. Everything is always in flux. What's bad now will get better. Know that things are gonna be tough. Know that you got what it takes to make things better. You ain't a moron, you can learn how to do what you need to do. You can ask for help without bein' weak. You can do more than you think. Push yourself. Get off your ass and get what you deserve. If you want it and you're tryin' your best to get it then you deserve it. Even if life isn't fair enough to let you have it's better to try and fail than to say you never even made the effort. Never ever give up.
The problems in your life are never permanent. This life is always changin'. You can't hold on to goodness or badness forever. That's what gives the universe it's balance. As long as you're alive there's a fight to be had. Never surrender to it. There's nuthin' better than takin' a couple of bad hits and givin' a few good ones right back, knowin the fight is a long way from over but at least you're a contender.
Go out and get your good day. You deserve it.
I love those Rocky movies 'cause you watch 'em and you feel like you can take on the world. This is from "Rocky Balboa". It's a lil clip I love. I think Rocky says it best.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1tXhJniSEc
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