It’s been several years, and by
several I mean like twenty. Yet, those
mornings still stand out even though not one of those men is active in my life
anymore. Once a week, usually a Thursday
morning, we would meet at Burger King, order a sausage biscuit, hash rounds,
and a strong, steaming cup of coffee.
After getting settled into our window booth, the food opened up and the
coffee tugging our eyelids awake, we would spend the next hour just talking. Our time wasn’t structured. There was never a topic. Most mornings we would just follow one
tangent after another, chasing rabbit trails of our thoughts until another path
appeared and then we’d take that one.
However, quite a few mornings we would sit there, sip our coffee and
unburden our hearts.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Let’s Have Lunch
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Thursday, August 30, 2012
The Man Hug Maneuver
Women hug each other. They also go to the bathroom together,
probably to talk about us, but above all, women are huggers. Happy.
Sad. Coming or going. It doesn’t matter. They hug.
Sometimes, they even give kisses on the cheek in conjunction with their
hugs, but a hug is almost always guaranteed.
Men shake hands. True there are a few huggers out there, but
those male embracers are quickly ratted out to other men who want no part of
masculine arms wrapped around them for a tight squeeze. No, we are quite happy shaking hands with a
firm grip and two quick, short pumps. To
be honest, that’s about all most men can handle.
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Tuesday, August 28, 2012
A Selective Snob
I have been accused in my life of
being a snob. Several times it was my
mother who made the accusation, while at other times it was the kid in need of
a bath using his food stamps to purchase energy drinks. The words sometimes sting because, the truth
is, I never saw myself as a snob. Since
high school, I have always been the type to befriend the underdog because most
of my life, I had been that very person.
I’ve known what it felt like to have people gaze down on you with
contempt because you simply didn’t measure up to their standards.
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Monday, August 27, 2012
The Lingering Aroma
The party ended and the last
guest stumbled to their car and drove away to their own bed anticipating a
comfortable night’s sleep. The girls and
I begin the task of taking in the empty dishes, abandoned cups, and wilted
decorations. We begin the cleanup
process, so we don’t have to wake up to a mess.
It makes the night longer, but the day easier. Therefore, it’s worth it.
As I stand in the middle of our
living room I breathe in deeply through my nose. The house is filled with a myriad of
scents. A cheese dip that stayed in the
crock pot just a little too long. Spicy
wings. Beer. Scotch.
My cigar intermingled with a few cigarettes. Sweat.
However, above all the other smells that assault my nostrils one overpowers
the rest and it’s this one I will fall asleep remembering. It’s the lingering aroma of friendship.
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Thursday, August 23, 2012
But It’s Comfortable
“You really need to get rid of
that shirt,” she said with that look that made me wonder if I had stepped in
dog poo and was wearing it. I was
wearing an old shirt with some witty coffee saying blasted across the
front. There was a hole over one of my
nipples and my underarms had sweated out the fabric that used to cover them
once upon a time. The neckline and hem
were frayed with surrendered strands dangling down. There were paint stains and grease stains
covering most of it. I own a pair of
jeans in about the same shape with most of the crotch missing.
“But it’s comfortable,” I
pouted. “I’m just going to the back
porch. Who is going to see me?”
“We will. Here let me get you another shirt.” And before I can escape to the cigar and
coffee waiting for me on the back porch, I am completely redressed.
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Wednesday, August 22, 2012
I’ll Just Have a Bite of Yours
“Wow. That really looks good, but it’s way more
than I can eat. I’ll just have a bite of
yours.” I had to admit what she wanted
looked delicious. It was a double
chocolate cake with a rich pudding middle and drizzled with thick chocolate
syrup. I gained five pounds just by
looking at it. However, it wasn’t the
dessert I had been planning on ordering.
“Oh, what are you having?” Her voice had a disappointed tone. I had settled on a cherry smothered
cheesecake with the syrup oozing off the sides and onto the plate. “Well, I’ll just have a bite of that then.”
I glanced down at the menu. The cheesecake wasn’t that big in the
picture. “It looks too small for two
people. If you want that chocolate dish,
then get it, honey.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly eat all
of that alone. I just wanted a bite of
yours.” I had told her to go ahead and
order her own, that it didn’t matter how much she ate. She couldn’t waste that much food, however,
especially with starving kids in third world countries. I’m not sure what that had to do with
anything, but parents have used it on children for decades, so it seems to be a
conditioned response. My sharing a
dessert wasn’t going to get food in someone’s stomach three time zones
away.
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Tuesday, August 21, 2012
My Friends Have Tools
A friend of mine was giving away some
fancy power tool the other day. To be
honest, I don’t even remember what it was other than some type of saw. I think the word “bench” was in the name as
well, but I could be mistaken. I usually
am when it comes to tools. Anyway, I was
about to say I’d take it, when the thought made even me laugh and I just kept
my mouth shut. What would I ever need it
for? I don’t build things and for the
safety of my family I try never to repair anything, either. When something needs fixed, I call my
friends.
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Monday, August 20, 2012
Men Have Eight Colors
“Bless you,” I said. I mean, I can be polite - sometimes. When someone sneezes that’s what you
say. Bless you.
“Excuse me?” Char just stared at me as if I had two
heads. It’s a look I’m used to from the
girls. Obviously, I’m not as nice as I
thought I was if Char wasn’t able to perceive my manners.
“Bless you. You sneezed, so I said, ‘Bless you.’ That’s what you say when people sneeze.”
“I know what people say, Robbie.” I’m used to the rolling of the eyes, as
well. “I didn’t sneeze.”
“Yes, you did. I heard it.
You two were discussing your outfits for tonight and you sneezed.”
“Oh for crying…I didn’t sneeze,
Robbie. I said fuchsia.”
“Bless you.”
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Saturday, August 18, 2012
Sexual Harassment in School
While standing at the water
cooler a lady is groped by a coworker as he passes by. Another is propositioned for a lunch break
rendezvous while she is busy at her desk.
A gentleman who has just finished working out hears a whistle and a call
to “shake it.” However, that water
cooler is really a water fountain in the middle of a crowded high school, the desk
sits in the middle of a classroom, and that gym is actually a high school
locker room. The aggressors aren’t
coworkers or bosses looking for some extra perks. They are classmates. Furthermore, it’s not just kids teasing
around with one another. It is sexual
harassment and it happens every day of the school year.
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Thursday, August 16, 2012
To Shape the Future
There are a lot of good teachers
out there in our school system, both public and private. Sadly there are also quite a few bad
ones. However, a great teacher is one
who realizes that the ability to shape the future lies in their hands and they
strive to make the most of it. It’s not
in their lesson plans or even in the knowledge that they hope their students
retain past the test that Friday.
Thirteen years from kindergarten to graduation and what I remember is
that I went to school ten months out of every year and that when taking a
multiple choice test “All of the above” is usually the correct answer.
Okay, so maybe that’s not really
fair. I do remember some things from
those prison camp years. I know how to
write, after all, and regardless of what my check ledger looks like I can do
basic math. I don’t know a damn thing
about chemistry, however. I tried in the
beginning, but Mr. D really was not the best teacher. He even looked at one kid and told him that
it was all right, “we need ditch diggers in America.” That’s not motivation; that’s demoralizing a
teen. My dad went to see Mr. D when my
sister had him and this tall man with one eyebrow that went across both eyes showed
my dad his grade book.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Coping with School Bullies
Schools will always have certain
personalities - the highly intellectual geek, the extra perky cheerleader and
the lunch money stealing bully. I wasn’t
any of the three even though I resembled the nerd at 98 pounds and thick
glasses. Although I would have loved
the affection of a perky cheerleader, it was the attention of the bullies I
received. I can remember their names and
cocky personalities as they never picked on anyone more than half their size
and quite often I have visions of them dying a gruesome death in prison. This was one of the reasons I took up
writing, so that my enemies could die the way I wanted them to. It was a great outlet that has paid off quite
well.
School should be an exciting time
in a child’s life. However, fear of
facing a bully can make it the place he fears the most. I know, because I spent almost my entire
ninth grade year hiding around corners and dreading physical education. Something was going to happen sooner or later
and it was my goal for it to always be later.
I never understood bullies or why it was funny to harass a kid half your
size that wasn’t bothering you one bit.
Yet, bullies have always existed and I don’t see them vanquishing the
scene any time soon.
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Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Be a Parent Teachers Need
School is back in full swing and
the classrooms are packed to overflowing with rambunctious children. The teacher has an abundance of young minds
eager to learn, papers to grade and lessons to plan. They are responsible for shaping these young
minds for an unknown future and they need help.
Parents need to be active in their kids’ school and be a volunteer that
teachers can rely on. In order to do
that, however, parents need to follow a few simple rules.
Monday, August 13, 2012
It’s Back to School
The house is peacefully
quiet. The neighborhood streets are
empty. There are no abandoned bicycles
or scooters laying on their sides or basketballs left in the gutter. For a few hours a day I can drive without
worry of munchkins darting out into the street or walk quietly without the
screaming and yelling of “Tag! You’re it”
when I’m not even playing.
Of course, all this peace and
quiet comes with a couple of obstacles.
Twice a day traffic creeps along at fifteen miles per hour in front of
schools dotted along busy thoroughfares in order to protect small children and
crossing guards alike. Sometimes police
officers are staked out with their radar guns to catch the forgetful motorist.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Why Are You Dressed Up?
That’s what Dylan, the seven-year
old, asked me as she entered the house. “Are
we going somewhere?”
I glanced down at my attire and
wondered what she thought of my other clothes.
I wasn’t wearing a tie or even shoes, for that matter, but I was “dressed
up.” I always wear button down dress
shirts, so that wasn’t it. The only
difference in what I had on was that I was wearing slacks instead of
jeans. Even my dress socks were normal!
“No, we’re not going
anywhere. I have to finish a manuscript.”
She nodded. “Oh, well, you look nice.” And she ran off to her room to torture her
Barbies.
“Thanks,” I said after her
disappearing back. “I think.”
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Thursday, August 9, 2012
A Matter of Habit
I chuckled to
myself this morning as I sat down to write this blog post because I had just
gone through each of the steps that I was going to discuss. I couldn’t help it. I am truly a creature of habit. Of course, some will call them routines,
rituals, or merely the boring traits of a middle-aged man stuck in his ways. That last one is partly true. I am middle-aged, but I’m not exactly stuck
in my ways. It’s more as if I’m
comfortable. Okay, very comfortable, but
I’m not stuck. Stuck is what I am at
night on the couch after two bowls of butter pecan ice cream and it’s time for
bed. This is the real reason for those
fat sofa pillows the girls keep buying to decorate the house with. It’s so I can simply roll over and go to
sleep without moving.
Labels:
Writing
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
So, What Do You Write?
It’s usually the first question I
get asked. Grant it, I get asked quite a
few things when people find out I write, such as:
Have you been published?
Where do you get your ideas?
Can you write a story about me?
Do you walk around the house in
your boxers all day?
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Tuesday, August 7, 2012
The Writing is in the Rewriting
I rewrite things to death. I fret over it, change it, lengthen it,
shorten it, and then put it aside for a few months only to pull it out again
and start the process all over. Until
recently I have been a hoarder with my words.
I know it’s fear. I’ve already
written about it in Out of the Nest, but it’s more than just being afraid of
people liking my writing. It’s a fear that
it will look childish in its prose and grammar.
When it comes to the English
language, I know I have several weak spots.
For a writer this is a handicap to say the least. I study grammar books and browse advice
columns and blogs and even follow several people on Twitter who tweet nothing
except grammar rules and examples. I
would love it if Word was perfect at catching all of this for me, but the
software program and I still argue over fragment phrases and so I think it
holds back on purpose.
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Monday, August 6, 2012
Because I Read
This dream of being a writer
started with the opening of a book when I was a tyke. It was the enjoyment I received of getting
lost inside a story with characters that seemed to breathe real air. I read story after story when I was little -
Dr. Seuss, The Bernstein Bears, as well as the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew - and
from there I took my Star Wars action figures and started acting out my own
heroic tales of adventure along my bookshelves and window sills. Not being satisfied with acting out my stories,
I soon began to scribble my imaginative ramblings down on paper and filled
dozens of spiral notebooks with short stories and poems. Yet, it all started with opening a book.
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Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The Rights of Chickens
I am not a political person, and
it took a lot for me to decide to stick my nose into the quagmire and make this
post. I know I should probably be more
involved, but I find the whole process reminiscent of a clown convention and
even clowns after awhile become tedious.
To be honest, I think government has grown beyond what it was ever
intended for and, like my feelings toward the church, I believe they should practice
what they preach. They don’t and I doubt
they ever will, which is why stand up comics have so much material.
I am also of the mindset to live
and let live. I don’t care how my
neighbors live their lives as long as they keep their damn dogs out of my
yard. I like to walk barefoot and I don’t
need an early morning squishy surprise.
You see, I don’t care if people go to church or not. I also don’t care if they are hetero or
homosexual or if they love tattoos or piercings or like to dye their hair to
resemble a snow cone. It doesn’t matter
to me, because it’s not my life; it’s theirs.
They have to live it and with their decisions.
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