I’ve got a quick story for you. I'm out of town and see an
old friend. An individual who I hadn’t seen since the last time I was in
California. This individual simply substituted any customary salutation for one
word, “Why?” Being the mild manner guy I am, I half grinned. “Why put your
efforts into something so morbid?” He was referencing Project 100 People, I got
upset, I won’t lie. I wouldn’t have skipped a beat had he not put morbid into
the conversation. I love the English language, it’s beautiful to me. I like
words and I like stories. They’re a maze, a gig saw puzzle for my brain.
Finding them and stacking them in a way that soothes the ear and rolls up one’s
imaginary tongue and straight to the brain is gratifying to me. Pleasing could
be another description.
I agree that death is scary and the thought is troubling. But
I've been there and faced the scariest, the most troubling, darkest hours you
could ever imagine. But the forces that be put that on me. I didn’t chose those
circumstances. But since it was me, and as long as I'm still breathing, no one
will ever forget my son or the twenty beautiful years he made this place a
better space. And that goes for anyone else's child or loved one too. I've got
a voice and it's loud enough for "mine" and yours too. So before I
get asked to leave another place and get all hyper-focused on your face, pick
your words carefully. Putting morbid in a conversation that’s going to lead
into my son or the countless others who I’ve had to watch wrestle death, is
going to offend me, I can’t help it. Using morbid with mine, isn’t so kind.
I simply asked, “How many kids do you have?” I knew the
answer already.
“None, my man.” He noticed my ears getting red. “I wasn’t
trying to be rude Mike.”
“I know. You decided not to have children because all the sun
and fun that this place offers a man like you.” I said. “But if you have never
really loved then you should watch and pick your words more carefully.” I
replied in a condescending tone.
“I’ve loved.” This person shot back. “Who are you to say I’ve
never loved?”
“I don’t doubt you’ve loved, Jack Off, but I said never -
really, loved.” It was getting heated. “If you’d been listening, or picking out
my RIGHT words you’d get it.” It was getting good now. “You’d have caught the
really, loved part!”
“Wow!” He spurted out, with his anger starting to surface.
But I was all over him before he could speak another word.
“If you’ve had no children, you’ve never really loved!” My
voice was starting to raise. A statement I was going to defend to him or any
one for that matter. Until you have a kid or kids you don’t know the true
meaning of love, it’s just my opinion. But be on the bad end of it, when you’re
have to take life support off one, you’d sell anyone except that child down the
fucking river! Your mate – gone. Your extended family members – gone. That kind
neighbor – gone. Your priest, preacher, or clergymen – fucking gone! The love
for a child supersedes all.
Long story short, I was asked to leave Saddles Steakhouse at
the MacArthur for unbecoming behavior, it was, I agree. But the artichokes and
fried sausage at Hopmonks Tavern was much better than bad manners, bad company,
and a bad pick of words. Like I said, I was fine with the flagrant foul that
got me kicked out of the game because the way I see it, if you haven’t seen me
in a long time start with a salutation as you might start with a light salad.
Don’t jump straight to the Double Lamb Chops Chump (I’ve never had one for the
record) because you just never know what one might consider a heavy topic.
Well that’s all I “gots” this morning, I hope your weekend is
safe, sound, and silly. Submit a story. And love the one you’re with!
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