Friday, April 27, 2012
It's never too early too learn
When I was 5 years old, I lived across the street from the elementary school that I attended. You'd think that kind of close proximity would've spelled murder for me, because theoretically, it'd be easier for my teachers to arrange conferences with my parents regarding my behavior. Luckily, that happened far less than I gave them reason to. Anyway, when I was in kindergarten, one of my best friends, if not THE best friend I had at the time, was a little blonde girl named Anna. We used to enjoy talking to each other at recess time, and since she lived only a few houses down from me, I visited her a few times at her home after the school day was over. My mother and stepfather used to tease me, saying that Anna was my girlfriend. I really didn't like hearing that, for what 5 year old boy wants to have a girlfriend? Of course, it's always possible that this was just the first step in what would become my openness to interracial dating. And I'm most certain that it was the first example for me of a pure friendship, one that was innocent, purely based on mutual regard and mutual enjoyment of each other's company. The kind that are still very much possible to have as one gets older, yet seemingly get harder to find. And it was on one of the these occasions while I was playing with Anna in her living room, that I looked up to see her father standing there. He was always there during the day time, and looking back on it now, I wonder if he worked at night, or if he wasn't working at all at that particular time.
Anyhow, on this particular occasion, when I happened to look up and find him staring at me, he jut had this look of utter contempt on his face. I couldn't understand why, because I had done nothing wrong, and I felt that Anna and I were playing quietly, but what I did know was that it made me feel very uncomfortable. And unfortunately, that would be the last time that I would get to visit Anna at her home. She told me the next day at school that her Dad said that I wasn't allowed to go over there anymore. I didn't know why, and its possible Anna didn't either. I thought that kind of sucked, but I still got to talk to Anna at school, although it seemed a little less frequent.
Later on in life, I was able to look back on that incident at Anna's house with a little more perspective. As I continued through life, I would come to recognize that same look that her father had on his face, on the faces of others. There was always the possibility that her father just didn't like the thought of his daughter having a boy around the house. After all, what father is ever ready for his daughter to take an interest in boys, at any age much less the age of 5? But no, it was more than that. I firmly believe that it was my skin tone. Sure, I'm a little on the lighter side for a Chicano, but I'm still Latino nontheless, and for some people, regardless of race or creed, differences are intolerable. It was unfortunate that I had to have my first taste of the racist brand of narrowmindedness at such a young age, but it was bound to happen. I didn't see Anna over that next summer, or even during the next school year, and I missed my friend very much. Then one day in the second grade, I was walking back to my classroom during recess, and I heard someone call my name. It was Anna, and she was sitting on the concrete walkway outside of her classroom, with her back against the wall. I was both excited and surprised to see my friend whom I had missed so much.
She looked very sad, and I asked her where she'd been, because I hadn't seen her around. She said that her family had moved to a different house. It was weird, because it seemed that we both wanted to talk to eache other, and I wanted to comfort my friend because she was sad, but things seemed different between us. They had changed somehow, as if there was a barrier between us other than time lost. I remembered how in kindergarten there were a couple of times that I had tried to comfort her while she was crying. She had said at those times that she was crying because her Dad was meant to her. I wanted to comfort her now as well, but it felt as if there was an unbridgeable gap between us. It was an uncomfortable moment for both of us, and being young, and not knowing what else to say, I said goodbye and continued to walk to class.
For a long time, on the rare occasions when I'd be reminded of that incident, I wondered if I was less of a friend than I should've been. As if there were more that I could've done, but hadn't. And I felt bad about that. But eventually, I came to the realization that there could've been several possibilities, including personal problems on her part, (most likely having to do with her home life) that might've caused the distance between us. And if that was the case, I had no control over that. While we can contribute to the happiness of others, and they can contribute to ours, we are not responsible for anyone else's happiness, nor are they responsible for ours. And as we go through life, we are all bound to pick up a little baggage. Now some people may be quick to protest, "No, not me!" But I think my statement about baggage is fair and accurate. Baggage doesn't always have to have a negative connotation or impact, although it often does. Sometimes baggage is just something that we have as a result of having lived and experiencing life. Sometimes in can be the result of mistakes, and sometimes in can be the result of negative experiences, but often, it's simply the result of living. The difference is in how much of it is negative vs. how much of it is just the result of experience? And how much do we have, and how heavy is it to carry? If it weighs us down, and impedes us from being able to move forward on our path, or if we end up dumping it on other people because it's too much for us to handle, then it becomes problem.
And perhaps that experience with Anna was also my first lesson that things change, that people sometimes drift apart for whatever reason, and that we need to be prepared to move on in life. Again, a hard lesson at an early age, but a necessary one. People, and sets of situations that we encounter in life's journey, are like a single puzzle piece in a thousand peice puzzle. Some pieces are bigger than others, but all are necessary for us to complete the final picture. Where we sometimes get into trouble is when we try to force a peice into a place that it doesn't belong, in an effort to quickly complete the puzzle. When that happens, not only do we risk distorting the final picture, but breaking that particular puzzle piece in the process. It's every piece in its own place and its own time.
And so I've also learned to appreciate, reflect on, and treasure the good memories from every situation and relationship, and I've learned that those are things that time can never destroy or tarnish. And that like money in the bank, they can collect interest over time. When we're feeling a little shipwrecked in life, lost at sea, suitcases of good memories are the kind of baggage that can make great floatation devices, keeping our head above water, rather than weighing us down, causing us to sink. Sometimes, it's all in how we look at things.
"Men are disturbed, not by things that happen, but by their opinion of the things that happen." - Epictetus
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Daddy's little girl
Like most adults, I have several roles that I play in life, but since the day that my daughter was born, the most pivotal, challenging, and most of all rewarding one, has been that of Daddy. I've been called many names before, some unfit to print here (thanks, mom), but the one that I've enjoyed hearing most is "Daddy". And at times, it seems as if my daughter is determined to be the only one that will ever call me that. There have been a few exceptions, but I'm determined to keep this post rated "PG", so I'll just gloss over those.
But then, it hasn't always been that way. I can recall when my daughter was 5, and we were in the local supermarket, looking for the shortest checkout line while I pushed our cart full of groceries, and my daughter reached up and grabbed my arm, shaking it to get my attention, and was excitedly yelling "Dad! Dad!" I was hoping that she had spotted a very short line, but thought that with my luck she simply wanted to point out that I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. And that it was used. But as it turned out, I was wrong on all counts. I then asked my daughter "What? What is it?" She then pointed towards an attractive female checker and excitedly shouted, "Look! Look!" (Now when you picture my daughter speaking as a five year old, you have to keep in mind that at the time, she had a speech delay, which made her sound like a 3 year old. It sometimes bothered her, but I thought she sounded adorable.) "Look at what?" I asked. "Look at that girl Dad!" "Well, what about her?" "She's PRETTY Dad!" I laughed and responded, "Well, yes, she is. But why are you telling me this?" She turned to me and said with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that indicated that she was merely stating the obvious, and answered, "Because...You LIKE pretty girls, Dad!"
I was both shocked and relieved. Had I been that obvious in my attraction to women? For a brief moment, a slight paranoia struck me and I began to pat down my shirt to see if it was wet from drool, and to look around me to see if some supermarket worker had placed any of those yellow cones around me that said "wet floor/mojado", either indicating excessive drool on my part or questioning my right to be in this country. I had always considered myself discreet when casting an admiring eye on a woman, so I just figured that my daughter was quite perceptive. She probably figured that there must be some reason we were always getting extra tokens from the female workers at Chuck E. Cheese. And I was encouraged that she seemed to be accepting that her single Dad would be attracted to women, and what's more, seemed to be more than willing to point them out to me. Not only was that a relief for me, but it seemed to have nice possibilities.
Years before I had become a father, I had been somewhat of a father figure to my youngest sister, who is 16 years my junior. I bought her first bikes, taught her to ride them (and file the serial numbers off of the frames), took her to parks, the zoo, and to amusement parks, and taught her some of the things that kids need to learn in their first few years. And unfortunately for me on one occasion, one of those things was self-defense. One of the unexpected benefits of being such a good big brother and taking my kid sister almost everywhere with me, was that many women find it appealing when they see a man interacting well with a child and being an active participant in their life. And like some perceptive young men, I sometimes used it as an opportunity to strike up chats with attractive women that I encountered in public. One of those occasions was when my then-5 year old sister and I were waiting in a check out line at the local Sam's Club. I wasn't 20 seconds into a conversation with an attractive woman in the next line, when my kid sister decided to demonstrate on me the effectiveness of a straight right punch to the crotch of an unsuspecting male. As it turned out...it was quite effective. Effective in causing me to lose my air, buckle my knees, change color a couple of times, and in causing the attractive young woman to cringe in sympathy before proceeding through her check out line. And of course my sister stood there with a smile on her face, as if expecting to hear a "Thatta girl" from me and encouragement to pick the candy of her choice from near the checkout stand. As if I would be capable of any kind of speech for the next 20 minutes. I think the only voice she should've expected to hear was the one over the PA system requesting a "Clean up on check stand 4."
So, flashing back several years ahead, and with my hands instinctively shielding my crotch area, my daughter and I proceeded through our supermarket check out line, and I pondered the thought that my luck may have changed, and that I just might now have an effective wingman.
That excitement was very short lived however, because not too long after, while taking her back to her mom's house after one of our weekend visits, I had to make an urgent stop at a bathroom, because I had made the mistake of drinking way too much liquid before the nearly 2 hour drive. Just before I burst into the men's room at the local Wendy's Restaurant and my bladder burst on me, I made eye contact with a very attractive woman who was standing in line to place her food order, and we exchanged smiles. Being that I had my daughter with me, I don't think that I would've asked her for her number or anything, but the thought of another quick exchange of looks and flirtatious smiles would've been a nice way to stroke my ego, so I was hoping that I'd see her again after my quick visit to the bathroom. I did, and slightly sooner than expected. Although I was in the bathroom less than 2 minutes, to a 5 year old who's waiting in the hallway and has no concept of time, that seems like an eternity. So when I exited the bathroom, and Lo and behold, made eye contact with the attractive woman from earlier, who was now on her way to her own bathroom break, my daughter promptly blurted out, "Man, Dad! You took a long time!!!" As if in very painfully slow motion, the attractive woman's smile transitioned to a look of embarrassment (for me), and she then averted her eyes away from me and down toward the floor. Of course, my smile quickly left my own face as well, and the only one in the vicinity who seemed to manage to hold onto theirs, was of course, my daughter. In fact, I could've sworn her smile got wider...like a Cheshire Cat. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia kicking in. Probably.
But being the kind of person that tries to remain positive, and who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I chalked up the experience to mere coincidence and figured it might've been a fluke. But then a couple of months afterward, while innocently joking and chatting with the young lady working at the Burger King drive-thru, I turned toward the backseat to hand my daughter her kids' meal, and was met with a look that was both quite suspicious and cynical for a 5 year old. A look and a smirk that said, "Why don't you just quit your job so you could flirt full-time?" Sigh...I was beginning to think that the days of my daughter being my wingman were over before they even got started.
And I became positive that this was the case when after watching a Shakira music video, I turned and asked my daughter, who up until that moment was orchestrating a lively discussion between 2 Barbie dolls as to who would get to go with Ken and Scooby Doo to the movies, "How would you feel if your Dad decided to get married?' The way that my daughter dropped her Barbies (and her jaw dropped too) indicated that they were now probably headed to the Mattel Emergency room instead of the theater, and that she really didn't like the idea of her father having a female companion. I was joking of course, but she obviously didn't find anything funny in what I had said. And I was a little surprised at such a reaction. I then half expected to later find her cutting letters out of a magazine to paste them on a piece of paper, spelling out subtle threats to be mailed to Shakira. Of course, she probably receives plenty of letters warning, "Stay away from my Dad!" And probably mailed by their mothers...
And on another occasion, while my daughter was again playing with her Barbies on the floor of my bedroom, and Shakira was again letting people know that her "Hips don't lie", I jokingly made the remark to my daughter, "Look at your future step-mom, dancing on tv." My daughter then turned towards the tv, and stared for a while before turning back towards me. I don't know what she was thinking while she was staring at the Colombian beauty dancing, although something to the effect of "That tramp?!" probably wouldn't have been out of the question. My daughter then turned her look towards me and sat there without a word before turning her attention back to her Barbies. I realized that "Daddy's Girl" in her mind, meant that there really wasn't any room for others. At least not any time soon. So I sat down with her and assured her that I was only joking with my remark, and that she would always be Daddy's number one girl, no matter what. And we both then decided together that it would be a good idea for Barbie to put on her Mariachi hat and sunglasses before jumping into her jeep to drive herself and her friends to the beach.
And it's always been that way, with my daughter being my number one girl, and everything in my life, whether it be work, dating, or whatever, being secondary to, and revolving around my time with her. And that's how it should be. A few years later, when my daughter was 10, and we were sitting on top of the Ferris wheel at Knott's Scary farm, admiring the night lights, I mentioned to her that this might be the last time we do this together. She laughed, as if I were joking, and asked, "Why?" To which I responded, "Because even though you don't understand this right now, there's going to be a time soon, when you're not going to think it's so cool to hang around your Dad, and you're going to prefer to visit places like this with your friends or cousins. Instead, you're going to be asking me to drop you off, and telling me that you'll call me when you're ready to be picked up. You might even ask me to duck down and drop you off around the corner." My daughter giggled in amusement and gave me a look of "Ok, Dad...Senility is hitting you early..."
My daughter is going to be 13 soon, and as predicted, Dad isn't quite as cool to be around as he used to be. She still hasn't handed me a Chauffeur's hat yet while I drive her around, but she definitely enjoys her alone time and she opts out of some of the things that I suggest we do together. She still laughs at my stories though and listens attentively when I teach her life lessons, and I am still convinced that she probably respects me more than any one else in the world. And while I loved and miss my role as her oldest playmate, I take most seriously my roles as perhaps her most influential teacher, and the primary male figure in her life. And hopefully, the many by whom all future men in her life will be measured, because they sure don't seem to make them like they used to. I'm sure that by now, she'd be better accustomed to the idea of there being a special woman in her Dad's life, although still, my daughter would be the priority.
Life is a cycle, and our roles, and sometimes the nature of our relationships, have to change somewhat. We hold our children tight when they are young, only to let loose our grip when they grow older. We look forward to the the day that they can walk, only to see them eventually walk away. But hopefully, the ties that we have with them, the connections that we've made and strengthened, are like a bungee cord, allowing them freedom to roam, but the with the prospect that when they reach their limits, they can always return.
But then, it hasn't always been that way. I can recall when my daughter was 5, and we were in the local supermarket, looking for the shortest checkout line while I pushed our cart full of groceries, and my daughter reached up and grabbed my arm, shaking it to get my attention, and was excitedly yelling "Dad! Dad!" I was hoping that she had spotted a very short line, but thought that with my luck she simply wanted to point out that I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. And that it was used. But as it turned out, I was wrong on all counts. I then asked my daughter "What? What is it?" She then pointed towards an attractive female checker and excitedly shouted, "Look! Look!" (Now when you picture my daughter speaking as a five year old, you have to keep in mind that at the time, she had a speech delay, which made her sound like a 3 year old. It sometimes bothered her, but I thought she sounded adorable.) "Look at what?" I asked. "Look at that girl Dad!" "Well, what about her?" "She's PRETTY Dad!" I laughed and responded, "Well, yes, she is. But why are you telling me this?" She turned to me and said with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that indicated that she was merely stating the obvious, and answered, "Because...You LIKE pretty girls, Dad!"
I was both shocked and relieved. Had I been that obvious in my attraction to women? For a brief moment, a slight paranoia struck me and I began to pat down my shirt to see if it was wet from drool, and to look around me to see if some supermarket worker had placed any of those yellow cones around me that said "wet floor/mojado", either indicating excessive drool on my part or questioning my right to be in this country. I had always considered myself discreet when casting an admiring eye on a woman, so I just figured that my daughter was quite perceptive. She probably figured that there must be some reason we were always getting extra tokens from the female workers at Chuck E. Cheese. And I was encouraged that she seemed to be accepting that her single Dad would be attracted to women, and what's more, seemed to be more than willing to point them out to me. Not only was that a relief for me, but it seemed to have nice possibilities.
Years before I had become a father, I had been somewhat of a father figure to my youngest sister, who is 16 years my junior. I bought her first bikes, taught her to ride them (and file the serial numbers off of the frames), took her to parks, the zoo, and to amusement parks, and taught her some of the things that kids need to learn in their first few years. And unfortunately for me on one occasion, one of those things was self-defense. One of the unexpected benefits of being such a good big brother and taking my kid sister almost everywhere with me, was that many women find it appealing when they see a man interacting well with a child and being an active participant in their life. And like some perceptive young men, I sometimes used it as an opportunity to strike up chats with attractive women that I encountered in public. One of those occasions was when my then-5 year old sister and I were waiting in a check out line at the local Sam's Club. I wasn't 20 seconds into a conversation with an attractive woman in the next line, when my kid sister decided to demonstrate on me the effectiveness of a straight right punch to the crotch of an unsuspecting male. As it turned out...it was quite effective. Effective in causing me to lose my air, buckle my knees, change color a couple of times, and in causing the attractive young woman to cringe in sympathy before proceeding through her check out line. And of course my sister stood there with a smile on her face, as if expecting to hear a "Thatta girl" from me and encouragement to pick the candy of her choice from near the checkout stand. As if I would be capable of any kind of speech for the next 20 minutes. I think the only voice she should've expected to hear was the one over the PA system requesting a "Clean up on check stand 4."
So, flashing back several years ahead, and with my hands instinctively shielding my crotch area, my daughter and I proceeded through our supermarket check out line, and I pondered the thought that my luck may have changed, and that I just might now have an effective wingman.
That excitement was very short lived however, because not too long after, while taking her back to her mom's house after one of our weekend visits, I had to make an urgent stop at a bathroom, because I had made the mistake of drinking way too much liquid before the nearly 2 hour drive. Just before I burst into the men's room at the local Wendy's Restaurant and my bladder burst on me, I made eye contact with a very attractive woman who was standing in line to place her food order, and we exchanged smiles. Being that I had my daughter with me, I don't think that I would've asked her for her number or anything, but the thought of another quick exchange of looks and flirtatious smiles would've been a nice way to stroke my ego, so I was hoping that I'd see her again after my quick visit to the bathroom. I did, and slightly sooner than expected. Although I was in the bathroom less than 2 minutes, to a 5 year old who's waiting in the hallway and has no concept of time, that seems like an eternity. So when I exited the bathroom, and Lo and behold, made eye contact with the attractive woman from earlier, who was now on her way to her own bathroom break, my daughter promptly blurted out, "Man, Dad! You took a long time!!!" As if in very painfully slow motion, the attractive woman's smile transitioned to a look of embarrassment (for me), and she then averted her eyes away from me and down toward the floor. Of course, my smile quickly left my own face as well, and the only one in the vicinity who seemed to manage to hold onto theirs, was of course, my daughter. In fact, I could've sworn her smile got wider...like a Cheshire Cat. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia kicking in. Probably.
But being the kind of person that tries to remain positive, and who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I chalked up the experience to mere coincidence and figured it might've been a fluke. But then a couple of months afterward, while innocently joking and chatting with the young lady working at the Burger King drive-thru, I turned toward the backseat to hand my daughter her kids' meal, and was met with a look that was both quite suspicious and cynical for a 5 year old. A look and a smirk that said, "Why don't you just quit your job so you could flirt full-time?" Sigh...I was beginning to think that the days of my daughter being my wingman were over before they even got started.
And I became positive that this was the case when after watching a Shakira music video, I turned and asked my daughter, who up until that moment was orchestrating a lively discussion between 2 Barbie dolls as to who would get to go with Ken and Scooby Doo to the movies, "How would you feel if your Dad decided to get married?' The way that my daughter dropped her Barbies (and her jaw dropped too) indicated that they were now probably headed to the Mattel Emergency room instead of the theater, and that she really didn't like the idea of her father having a female companion. I was joking of course, but she obviously didn't find anything funny in what I had said. And I was a little surprised at such a reaction. I then half expected to later find her cutting letters out of a magazine to paste them on a piece of paper, spelling out subtle threats to be mailed to Shakira. Of course, she probably receives plenty of letters warning, "Stay away from my Dad!" And probably mailed by their mothers...
And on another occasion, while my daughter was again playing with her Barbies on the floor of my bedroom, and Shakira was again letting people know that her "Hips don't lie", I jokingly made the remark to my daughter, "Look at your future step-mom, dancing on tv." My daughter then turned towards the tv, and stared for a while before turning back towards me. I don't know what she was thinking while she was staring at the Colombian beauty dancing, although something to the effect of "That tramp?!" probably wouldn't have been out of the question. My daughter then turned her look towards me and sat there without a word before turning her attention back to her Barbies. I realized that "Daddy's Girl" in her mind, meant that there really wasn't any room for others. At least not any time soon. So I sat down with her and assured her that I was only joking with my remark, and that she would always be Daddy's number one girl, no matter what. And we both then decided together that it would be a good idea for Barbie to put on her Mariachi hat and sunglasses before jumping into her jeep to drive herself and her friends to the beach.
And it's always been that way, with my daughter being my number one girl, and everything in my life, whether it be work, dating, or whatever, being secondary to, and revolving around my time with her. And that's how it should be. A few years later, when my daughter was 10, and we were sitting on top of the Ferris wheel at Knott's Scary farm, admiring the night lights, I mentioned to her that this might be the last time we do this together. She laughed, as if I were joking, and asked, "Why?" To which I responded, "Because even though you don't understand this right now, there's going to be a time soon, when you're not going to think it's so cool to hang around your Dad, and you're going to prefer to visit places like this with your friends or cousins. Instead, you're going to be asking me to drop you off, and telling me that you'll call me when you're ready to be picked up. You might even ask me to duck down and drop you off around the corner." My daughter giggled in amusement and gave me a look of "Ok, Dad...Senility is hitting you early..."
My daughter is going to be 13 soon, and as predicted, Dad isn't quite as cool to be around as he used to be. She still hasn't handed me a Chauffeur's hat yet while I drive her around, but she definitely enjoys her alone time and she opts out of some of the things that I suggest we do together. She still laughs at my stories though and listens attentively when I teach her life lessons, and I am still convinced that she probably respects me more than any one else in the world. And while I loved and miss my role as her oldest playmate, I take most seriously my roles as perhaps her most influential teacher, and the primary male figure in her life. And hopefully, the many by whom all future men in her life will be measured, because they sure don't seem to make them like they used to. I'm sure that by now, she'd be better accustomed to the idea of there being a special woman in her Dad's life, although still, my daughter would be the priority.
Life is a cycle, and our roles, and sometimes the nature of our relationships, have to change somewhat. We hold our children tight when they are young, only to let loose our grip when they grow older. We look forward to the the day that they can walk, only to see them eventually walk away. But hopefully, the ties that we have with them, the connections that we've made and strengthened, are like a bungee cord, allowing them freedom to roam, but the with the prospect that when they reach their limits, they can always return.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Song of Gratitude
Thank you...for another day of life, something that thousands who were here yesterday are no longer here to appreciate. For I know that this day represents more time. More time to become the person that I am capable of being, to take another step towards fulfilling my purpose, to come closer to reaching my goals, to express love and appreciation to those who are important in my life, and to perhaps invite new ones to enter it. And it means more time to experience, learn, understand, and grow.
Thank you...for those that I have loved, and have been loved by, both in the past and in the present. Thank you for my child, who represents the love I have to offer, and a version of me that the world has yet to see, while making her own unique and special mark on this world.
Thank you, for those who have come before me. The ones who thought out of the box, who dared to risk, who dared to be great, who dared to be the first, who dared to question what could and couldn't be done, who dared to say "Why not?" The ones who lived the life they loved and loved the life they lived. For it is as Isaac Newton once wrote, "If I have seen a little further, it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants." And thank you, for instilling in me that inherent desire to always walk my own path, regardless of the opinions of others. And thank you for granting me the perspective to see, that with mistakes and accomplishments alike, that was really the only way for me to go. And thank you, for the understanding, that the voice that speaks loudest in my head, and is the most critical to listen to, is my own.
Thank you...for the privilege of being born in this country. For while it is far from perfect, it still offers opportunities and freedoms which have thus far, escaped some of the other areas of the globe. Opportunities and freedoms which many of us here take for granted, sometimes feeling that we are "owed' something, and forgetting that with freedom comes responsibility. I will not make those mistakes. Thank you... because unlike some, I didn't have to work my way here, win a lottery for the opportunity to be here, or risk my life to get here. I was simply born...And who I was born to, and where they were living at the time of my birth, was not an accomplishment on my part, or anything that I had any control over. I will not forget to appreciate that fact.
Thank you...for my health, for the clothes on my back, for the roof over my head, and for the food in my belly. Having these things gives me less to worry about, so that I may further concentrate on my goals and purpose. I will not forget the fact that not everybody can say that. Even if these things are not in the perfect condition that I would like, I will not forget that things can always be worse. I will not forget the Persian proverb that say, "I cried because I had not shoes, until I saw the man that had no feet." And I will not forget that while in this country, we often fret about the decision as to what we shall choose to eat for our next meal, while in some other places, some people fret as to whether they will have a next meal at all. And for some, even when they can expect a next meal, a "choice" as to what it might be is something that they cannot comprehend.
And while I am grateful for what I have, I am also thankful for the knowledge, that it's perfectly alright for me to want more, providing that those things are in harmony with my purpose, and that the the pursuit of those things will not inhibit me from increasing the quality of person that I am. We are all goal-striving beings, and we are made to stretch the limits of our potential, and it is in harmony with our purpose to do so. Jim Rohn recognized this, and wrote in his book "The Five major life pieces of the life puzzle", "The ultimate reason for setting goals is to entice you to become the person it takes to achieve them." And I am grateful that I have come to understand this fact of life.
And I am grateful that I've learned, that the more that I appreciate what I already have, the more likely that I am to gain those other things which I desire. For when we feel good, we're more likely to attract good things. Feeling good increases our enthusiasm, and when we approach life with enthusiasm, we create a vibe that affects the things and people around us in a positive way. We have all encountered a person with a magnetic personality, and we get the impression that life denies this person of nothing. That's because it doesn't. "Magnetic" is a very accurate way to describe this kind of person, because he (or she) truly does attract to himself the things he desires in life. For life is bargaining. We all want things in life, and we must all exchange something in return for the things that we want. We don't get something for nothing in this life. Nothing worth having comes easy, and few things that come easy are worth having. The loftier our goal, the higher the price we must pay to attain it. And just as we all, when bargaining for something we want, are more likely to turn our money over to a person with a smile on his face, someone who is enthusiastic and magnetic, so life, is more likely to turn over it's rewards to those who are enthusiastic in their efforts, and show appreciation in their life, and for all it has to offer. I am grateful for having learned this critical lesson.
And I will never cease to discover and reflect on all that I have to be thankful and grateful for. I will be thankful for the Sun that smiles down on me, for I know that rich or poor, big or small, young or old, meek or bold, the Sun smiles on us all. And likewise, I will give thanks for the rain that cleans and refreshes me, and the earth as well. I will give thanks for the birds that sing, and my ability to hear their song. I will give thanks for the people that add to my life, and the ability and opportunity to add to theirs, for the sounds of the ocean waves, the laughter of a child, the dog that greets me with a wag of its tail, the trees that bring serenity to my soul, the wind that brushes my face, the immense variety of both people and experiences that exist in this world, random acts of kindness, the smiles that others share with me, and the inspiration of the human spirit. And I will be thankful for the endless possibilities of things to be grateful for. I have so much to be thankful for, it's just a matter of whether or not I will recognize these things today. And my gratitude and appreciation for the things of today, will provide more for which to be grateful for tomorrow.
Thank you...for those that I have loved, and have been loved by, both in the past and in the present. Thank you for my child, who represents the love I have to offer, and a version of me that the world has yet to see, while making her own unique and special mark on this world.
Thank you, for those who have come before me. The ones who thought out of the box, who dared to risk, who dared to be great, who dared to be the first, who dared to question what could and couldn't be done, who dared to say "Why not?" The ones who lived the life they loved and loved the life they lived. For it is as Isaac Newton once wrote, "If I have seen a little further, it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants." And thank you, for instilling in me that inherent desire to always walk my own path, regardless of the opinions of others. And thank you for granting me the perspective to see, that with mistakes and accomplishments alike, that was really the only way for me to go. And thank you, for the understanding, that the voice that speaks loudest in my head, and is the most critical to listen to, is my own.
Thank you...for the privilege of being born in this country. For while it is far from perfect, it still offers opportunities and freedoms which have thus far, escaped some of the other areas of the globe. Opportunities and freedoms which many of us here take for granted, sometimes feeling that we are "owed' something, and forgetting that with freedom comes responsibility. I will not make those mistakes. Thank you... because unlike some, I didn't have to work my way here, win a lottery for the opportunity to be here, or risk my life to get here. I was simply born...And who I was born to, and where they were living at the time of my birth, was not an accomplishment on my part, or anything that I had any control over. I will not forget to appreciate that fact.
Thank you...for my health, for the clothes on my back, for the roof over my head, and for the food in my belly. Having these things gives me less to worry about, so that I may further concentrate on my goals and purpose. I will not forget the fact that not everybody can say that. Even if these things are not in the perfect condition that I would like, I will not forget that things can always be worse. I will not forget the Persian proverb that say, "I cried because I had not shoes, until I saw the man that had no feet." And I will not forget that while in this country, we often fret about the decision as to what we shall choose to eat for our next meal, while in some other places, some people fret as to whether they will have a next meal at all. And for some, even when they can expect a next meal, a "choice" as to what it might be is something that they cannot comprehend.
And while I am grateful for what I have, I am also thankful for the knowledge, that it's perfectly alright for me to want more, providing that those things are in harmony with my purpose, and that the the pursuit of those things will not inhibit me from increasing the quality of person that I am. We are all goal-striving beings, and we are made to stretch the limits of our potential, and it is in harmony with our purpose to do so. Jim Rohn recognized this, and wrote in his book "The Five major life pieces of the life puzzle", "The ultimate reason for setting goals is to entice you to become the person it takes to achieve them." And I am grateful that I have come to understand this fact of life.
And I am grateful that I've learned, that the more that I appreciate what I already have, the more likely that I am to gain those other things which I desire. For when we feel good, we're more likely to attract good things. Feeling good increases our enthusiasm, and when we approach life with enthusiasm, we create a vibe that affects the things and people around us in a positive way. We have all encountered a person with a magnetic personality, and we get the impression that life denies this person of nothing. That's because it doesn't. "Magnetic" is a very accurate way to describe this kind of person, because he (or she) truly does attract to himself the things he desires in life. For life is bargaining. We all want things in life, and we must all exchange something in return for the things that we want. We don't get something for nothing in this life. Nothing worth having comes easy, and few things that come easy are worth having. The loftier our goal, the higher the price we must pay to attain it. And just as we all, when bargaining for something we want, are more likely to turn our money over to a person with a smile on his face, someone who is enthusiastic and magnetic, so life, is more likely to turn over it's rewards to those who are enthusiastic in their efforts, and show appreciation in their life, and for all it has to offer. I am grateful for having learned this critical lesson.
And I will never cease to discover and reflect on all that I have to be thankful and grateful for. I will be thankful for the Sun that smiles down on me, for I know that rich or poor, big or small, young or old, meek or bold, the Sun smiles on us all. And likewise, I will give thanks for the rain that cleans and refreshes me, and the earth as well. I will give thanks for the birds that sing, and my ability to hear their song. I will give thanks for the people that add to my life, and the ability and opportunity to add to theirs, for the sounds of the ocean waves, the laughter of a child, the dog that greets me with a wag of its tail, the trees that bring serenity to my soul, the wind that brushes my face, the immense variety of both people and experiences that exist in this world, random acts of kindness, the smiles that others share with me, and the inspiration of the human spirit. And I will be thankful for the endless possibilities of things to be grateful for. I have so much to be thankful for, it's just a matter of whether or not I will recognize these things today. And my gratitude and appreciation for the things of today, will provide more for which to be grateful for tomorrow.
The Scent of a Woman
Men and Women...Boys and Girls...The battle of the sexes...The birds and the bees. Sometimes it's very hard to imagine, how men spend so much of their time and energy, in doing things to attract women. I mean practically everything that we do either obviously, or unconsciously, done with the aim of attracting women. How we dress (well, some of us), what we drive, the words that we say, when we exercise to build our bodies, how much money we strive to earn, are done either solely, primarily, or partly with the aim of impressing and attracting women. I'm sure that some women would contend that the behavior of many men seems as if they're determined to repel women, but the fact of the matter is, they still find a way of making their way around to each other, regardless of how exasperated some women seem to be with men. "You can't live with them, and you can't live without them" seems to work both ways.
And when I say that it's hard to imagine why men do so much to attract women, I don't mean that women aren't worth it. I'd venture to say that there's some that are worth all that you can think of doing for them, and then some. A few in fact, are worth you getting the greatest minds on the planet together in the same room, plus George Clooney and Sean Connery, and pulling an all-nighter brainstorming, to come up with more ideas on how to treat them as they deserve to be treated, and what we can do to win their attention and hearts.
What I mean is, if we look back at how males interact with girls during their early youth, it's no wonder that accusing an 8 year old boy of having a girlfriend is likely to have you wind up with a bag of flaming crap on your doorstep. And yet that same reaction would seem rather odd coming from a 30 year old straight male. I mean, who could imagine that the 8 year old boy who puts lizards on the backs of girls, or place gum in her hair, and who pushes her down after belittling her, would grow up to pursue them with such fervor? Unfortunately, there are the Chris Browns of the world, and unfortunately, even worse, who still engage in such behavior as adults, but for the most part, guys try to give up such behavior before reaching adulthood.
As a young boy, I certainly had my share of "crushes" on the fairer sex. Well, to be more accurate, I was a bit of a "serial admirer", seemingly having a crush on a different girl or teacher every few weeks. For the most part, I just admired from afar, being too shy at the time to do anything about it, or else I probably would've had to live down the reputation of being a 7 year old male whore. Of course, being a comic book fan, I probably would've excused the Scarlet "A" on my forehead as my personal tribute to Captain America, but as it turned out, I had no "game", so it was quite unnecessary. If by some miracle, graffitti had appeared on the walls of the girls' bathroom saying "For a good time, call Freddie", it undoubtedly would've been followed by, "He has Legos! :) " So while I didn't engage in any misguided rude treatment of girls as an inept way of expressing affection for them, I still had my share of incidents that would cast doubts on a future as a schoolyard Romeo.
One of these incidents occurred when I was in the first grade, and it was during recess time on the playground. Now normally, my recess time consisted of either seeing how far I could kick the ball over the fend during a game of "kickball", or getting into a fight and seeing if I could kick someone's testicles over that same fence. But on this particular day, my thoughts were more concerned with being a lover rather than a fighter. I was standing on top of a metal platform that was about 10 feet off of the ground, and you would access it by climbing a ladder. Once on the platform, you could either hang around up there, or go down a slide, or slide down a metal pole, much like a fireman or a girl trying to work her way through college at the local Spearmint Rhino club. Being a spirited child, I think that I had been helping a couple of my peers disembark from the platform via the express route, without the use of the slide or the pole, and with their voices trailing off with the words, "I'll get you for thisssssss..." But suddenly, my focus shifted. Walking onto the sandy area where the platform was located was this cute little Cuban-American girl, named Arlene.
Arlene was adorable, with these cute little earrings, and her mother would always dress her in these cute little dresses. To me, she just stood out from all of the other girls, enough to make me just "freeze" where I was, forgetting all else. I was transfixed. She appeared as is she was walking in slow motion, although not in the "Baywatch" kind of slow motion, because she was only 6 for Pete's sake, but in a living dream sort of way. It seemed as if the world around me ceased to exist, and I wondered if that feeling would last forever, when...it hit me. No, it wasn't an errant playground ball that hit me, or a peer exacting his revenge on me...It was the horrible, rank stench of very strong, cheap perfume. Apparently, Arlene's mother doused her in it. If before that moment I had been hearing the sound of Angels singing, the stench of that strong perfume hitting my nose was like someone kicking the record player and causing the needle to slide across the album playing that heavenly music. That stench seemed as if it were everywhere, both around me, and seemingly inside me. It was as if it took form, and was an entity trying to cause me physical harm. It was very reminiscent of that scene from the movie "Ghost", where those Demons carry off that bad guy at the end, or worse, the scene where Demi Moore had to kiss Whoopi Goldberg.
I became extremely nauseated, and my whole body seemed to lock up. And what was worse, Arlene kept walking closer. I started retching, and at the same time, Arlene looked up at me, and we made eye contact. And just as she flashed a very cute smile at me, I shot out a stream of vomit, a little of which managed to splatter on her shoes. I think after that incident, I was the only 6 year old that Vegas was already taking odds on the he'd never father any children. After all, that wasn't exactly a Rico Suave move on my part. Yet, it didn't discourage my fascination with the opposite sex. Sometimes this would involve crushes on girls in my class, or sometimes my thoughts ran along the lines of how I could get rid of my 3rd grade teacher's husband, taking his place at the breakfast table, sitting in my tightie whities while my teacher served me scrambled eggs while looking ravishing in her nightgown.
A few years down the road, when I wasn't being isolated from the rest of the classroom due to my delinquent behavior, I'd find myself more often than not, sitting where the girls sat during class. Some of my male friends would look at me curiously, wondering why I wasn't "chilling" with the guys, but I knew what I was doing. I already discovered that there would be plenty of time to hang with the fellas, but that spending time with the opposite sex certainly had its advantages. Oh sure, there were the obvious ones, being that they were much more pleasant to look at, coming with accessories that us guys just didn't have. But more than that, I just enjoyed their company, even as friends. For one thing, they often offered a wider range of subjects to discuss than most guys did. For someone like me, who always enjoyed conversation, it was very refreshing. And in some ways, I'd have to agree with the statement that girls mature faster than boys. And as I was always mature for my age, that was appealing as well.
And over the years, my confidence and proficiency in interacting with women would grow tremendously, as would my understanding and appreciation of them. A good woman is not only a great complement for a man, but a tremendous asset as well. And in spite of the fact that to one degree or another, we thing that they're all crazy, we men still need them. Very much. Sure we've come a long way since we first discovered fire, with the ability to launch man into outer space for extended periods of time, the discovery of cures for illnesses that would previously kill mass quantities of people, and the ability to create great works of art, whether they are in words, pictures, or music. But many of us are still inept at the art of communication, finding a tie to match our shirts, and we are still producing fine examples of our gender such as the male from "Jersey Shore". Not to mention the fact, that we see fire not only as a way to cook our food and keep us warm so that we may stay alive, but also as a tool to light our farts.
And it's very possible that all of our testosterone, as well as our lack of proficiency in positive communication and conflict resolution (again, only generally speaking) are at the forefront of the reasons why the vast majority of violent acts committed by men. If we men took a cue from women, there would be a lot less bloodshed. A man is a lot less likely to pull out a gun on another man, if instead of getting kicked in the crotch, he merely has his shoes criticized, or is told that his pants make his ass look fat.
Suffice it to say, I love women. And good women give us so many good reasons to feel that way. And I definitely count as part of my evolution, both as a man and a human being, the understanding of that fact. And while I may not know my wines, or be able to identify most styles of art, I consider myself a bit of a connisseur, having a keen eye for woman with fine qualities. I deserve nothing less, and thank goodness, I know they're out there. And even though the company of an appealing female can still be exhilarating and intoxicating, just as it was when I was a kid, I've grown in my appreciation of them, and in how to express that apprecation. So if I ever have the pleasure of your company, don't worry, you can leave the extra pair of clean shoes at home.
And when I say that it's hard to imagine why men do so much to attract women, I don't mean that women aren't worth it. I'd venture to say that there's some that are worth all that you can think of doing for them, and then some. A few in fact, are worth you getting the greatest minds on the planet together in the same room, plus George Clooney and Sean Connery, and pulling an all-nighter brainstorming, to come up with more ideas on how to treat them as they deserve to be treated, and what we can do to win their attention and hearts.
What I mean is, if we look back at how males interact with girls during their early youth, it's no wonder that accusing an 8 year old boy of having a girlfriend is likely to have you wind up with a bag of flaming crap on your doorstep. And yet that same reaction would seem rather odd coming from a 30 year old straight male. I mean, who could imagine that the 8 year old boy who puts lizards on the backs of girls, or place gum in her hair, and who pushes her down after belittling her, would grow up to pursue them with such fervor? Unfortunately, there are the Chris Browns of the world, and unfortunately, even worse, who still engage in such behavior as adults, but for the most part, guys try to give up such behavior before reaching adulthood.
As a young boy, I certainly had my share of "crushes" on the fairer sex. Well, to be more accurate, I was a bit of a "serial admirer", seemingly having a crush on a different girl or teacher every few weeks. For the most part, I just admired from afar, being too shy at the time to do anything about it, or else I probably would've had to live down the reputation of being a 7 year old male whore. Of course, being a comic book fan, I probably would've excused the Scarlet "A" on my forehead as my personal tribute to Captain America, but as it turned out, I had no "game", so it was quite unnecessary. If by some miracle, graffitti had appeared on the walls of the girls' bathroom saying "For a good time, call Freddie", it undoubtedly would've been followed by, "He has Legos! :) " So while I didn't engage in any misguided rude treatment of girls as an inept way of expressing affection for them, I still had my share of incidents that would cast doubts on a future as a schoolyard Romeo.
One of these incidents occurred when I was in the first grade, and it was during recess time on the playground. Now normally, my recess time consisted of either seeing how far I could kick the ball over the fend during a game of "kickball", or getting into a fight and seeing if I could kick someone's testicles over that same fence. But on this particular day, my thoughts were more concerned with being a lover rather than a fighter. I was standing on top of a metal platform that was about 10 feet off of the ground, and you would access it by climbing a ladder. Once on the platform, you could either hang around up there, or go down a slide, or slide down a metal pole, much like a fireman or a girl trying to work her way through college at the local Spearmint Rhino club. Being a spirited child, I think that I had been helping a couple of my peers disembark from the platform via the express route, without the use of the slide or the pole, and with their voices trailing off with the words, "I'll get you for thisssssss..." But suddenly, my focus shifted. Walking onto the sandy area where the platform was located was this cute little Cuban-American girl, named Arlene.
Arlene was adorable, with these cute little earrings, and her mother would always dress her in these cute little dresses. To me, she just stood out from all of the other girls, enough to make me just "freeze" where I was, forgetting all else. I was transfixed. She appeared as is she was walking in slow motion, although not in the "Baywatch" kind of slow motion, because she was only 6 for Pete's sake, but in a living dream sort of way. It seemed as if the world around me ceased to exist, and I wondered if that feeling would last forever, when...it hit me. No, it wasn't an errant playground ball that hit me, or a peer exacting his revenge on me...It was the horrible, rank stench of very strong, cheap perfume. Apparently, Arlene's mother doused her in it. If before that moment I had been hearing the sound of Angels singing, the stench of that strong perfume hitting my nose was like someone kicking the record player and causing the needle to slide across the album playing that heavenly music. That stench seemed as if it were everywhere, both around me, and seemingly inside me. It was as if it took form, and was an entity trying to cause me physical harm. It was very reminiscent of that scene from the movie "Ghost", where those Demons carry off that bad guy at the end, or worse, the scene where Demi Moore had to kiss Whoopi Goldberg.
I became extremely nauseated, and my whole body seemed to lock up. And what was worse, Arlene kept walking closer. I started retching, and at the same time, Arlene looked up at me, and we made eye contact. And just as she flashed a very cute smile at me, I shot out a stream of vomit, a little of which managed to splatter on her shoes. I think after that incident, I was the only 6 year old that Vegas was already taking odds on the he'd never father any children. After all, that wasn't exactly a Rico Suave move on my part. Yet, it didn't discourage my fascination with the opposite sex. Sometimes this would involve crushes on girls in my class, or sometimes my thoughts ran along the lines of how I could get rid of my 3rd grade teacher's husband, taking his place at the breakfast table, sitting in my tightie whities while my teacher served me scrambled eggs while looking ravishing in her nightgown.
A few years down the road, when I wasn't being isolated from the rest of the classroom due to my delinquent behavior, I'd find myself more often than not, sitting where the girls sat during class. Some of my male friends would look at me curiously, wondering why I wasn't "chilling" with the guys, but I knew what I was doing. I already discovered that there would be plenty of time to hang with the fellas, but that spending time with the opposite sex certainly had its advantages. Oh sure, there were the obvious ones, being that they were much more pleasant to look at, coming with accessories that us guys just didn't have. But more than that, I just enjoyed their company, even as friends. For one thing, they often offered a wider range of subjects to discuss than most guys did. For someone like me, who always enjoyed conversation, it was very refreshing. And in some ways, I'd have to agree with the statement that girls mature faster than boys. And as I was always mature for my age, that was appealing as well.
And over the years, my confidence and proficiency in interacting with women would grow tremendously, as would my understanding and appreciation of them. A good woman is not only a great complement for a man, but a tremendous asset as well. And in spite of the fact that to one degree or another, we thing that they're all crazy, we men still need them. Very much. Sure we've come a long way since we first discovered fire, with the ability to launch man into outer space for extended periods of time, the discovery of cures for illnesses that would previously kill mass quantities of people, and the ability to create great works of art, whether they are in words, pictures, or music. But many of us are still inept at the art of communication, finding a tie to match our shirts, and we are still producing fine examples of our gender such as the male from "Jersey Shore". Not to mention the fact, that we see fire not only as a way to cook our food and keep us warm so that we may stay alive, but also as a tool to light our farts.
And it's very possible that all of our testosterone, as well as our lack of proficiency in positive communication and conflict resolution (again, only generally speaking) are at the forefront of the reasons why the vast majority of violent acts committed by men. If we men took a cue from women, there would be a lot less bloodshed. A man is a lot less likely to pull out a gun on another man, if instead of getting kicked in the crotch, he merely has his shoes criticized, or is told that his pants make his ass look fat.
Suffice it to say, I love women. And good women give us so many good reasons to feel that way. And I definitely count as part of my evolution, both as a man and a human being, the understanding of that fact. And while I may not know my wines, or be able to identify most styles of art, I consider myself a bit of a connisseur, having a keen eye for woman with fine qualities. I deserve nothing less, and thank goodness, I know they're out there. And even though the company of an appealing female can still be exhilarating and intoxicating, just as it was when I was a kid, I've grown in my appreciation of them, and in how to express that apprecation. So if I ever have the pleasure of your company, don't worry, you can leave the extra pair of clean shoes at home.
Friday, April 13, 2012
In the Spirit of things
It's always interesting to see the various reactions that people will have when you mention playing with a Ouija board. Some will consider it harmless fun, while others will nearly pee themselves at the very idea, and still others yet, may try to pee on YOU, but are still intrigued with the idea that they may possibly be able to contact spirits of the dead. Myself, I've only played with it a few times (we're still talking about the Ouija board here), and my first experience was when I was 12.
It was on a Saturday night, and I was going to spend the night at my best friend Ronnie's house, as was another of our friends, Gilbert. We got called in from the park that was across the street, where we had been hanging out. I really didn't want to go, because in the park there were two chicks making out, and it was the first time I had ever seen chicks making out in person. Of course it could've been the 100th time I had seen that, and I probably still wouldn't have wanted to leave. But we all went inside my friend's house, where his parents were, as well as some of his relatives who were visiting. Soon, Ronnie's mom suggested that we play with a Ouija board. I had seen one in the movie "The Exorcist", but I had never seen one in real life, let alone played with one. I said to my friend, "Whoa! Is your mom serious?!" To which he nervously responded, "Yeah..."
So Ronnie's mom brought out the Ouija board and explained how it was used, saying that a spirit would answer any questions we might ask. I was both curious and a little unnerved at the same time. Would it really work? Would we really be in contact with the dead, or an evil spirit? Would everyone find out that "I" was the one who overflowed the toilet?
A few different people tried playing the game, and after various questions and "answers", she then asked if the "Spirit" could give us a sign to prove it was real. The spirit answered that it would and that we'd see the sign within the next 30 minutes. I was a little nervous but still not completely convinced of anything. Ronnie's mom then began to tell us stories of the supernatural, that she said she or her friends had experienced. Then, after about 25 minutes, the lights began to flicker off and on in the kitchen! Now I was starting to get a little freaked! But that was just the beginning. Ronnie's mom then convinced someone else to play the game with her, and she began asking questions like: "Are the boys going to see anything in the room (the bedroom where we'd be sleeping) tonight?" I looked at Ronnie and asked, "What's your mom doing asking a question like that?" With a sad look on his face, he just shrugged his shoulders. Then she asked "Is something bad going to happen to the boys tonight?" "Man! What's your mom's freaking problem?!" "Ouija, will it happen before 5 a.m?" "What's with your mom?! I swear, I've never hit a woman before, but..." My friends and I were all really starting to freak now!
After a while, since it was late, and the adults intended to keep partying, we were told to go to sleep. We kept stalling and making excuses not to go to sleep. Then we began to ask if we could sleep in the living room, reasoning that since "Ouija" said that we would see something in the bedroom, maybe we could somehow cheat our fate. Our request was flatly refused, and told that we had to sleep in the bedroom. Like "Dead Men Walking", we began to file into the room, dragging our feet. As we were preparing for sleep, Ronnie's mom then entered the room and began to move the iron, as well as all heavy and metal objects, saying "In case stuff starts flying around..." Now we really came close to crapping our pants!
The lights went out, and we made a pact, promising that if something happened while some of us were still asleep, we'd leave no man behind. And of course, our imaginations soon got the best of us, and when combined with our fear, caused us to imagine that we saw all kinds of stuff in the darkness outside, like severed heads in the tree branches, mysterious shadows, and so forth. There were four of us, including Ronnie, his brother Jerry, our friend Gilbert, and myself. We continued talking about our fears, and then Ronnie said, "Don't worry guys, my Dad's in the living room." To which Gilbert wisely pointed out, "What's your Dad going to do?! Beat up the Devil?!"
While that might've made an interesting pay-per-view fight, it didn't happen. We all eventually fell asleep, although we thought that it might be for the last time. I have always been an early riser, and when I was the first to awake, I immediately looked at the clock. 5:05! It was 5:05! 5 minutes passed the designated time for our doom! We were safe! I was so grateful to be unharmed that I wanted to kiss somebody! Of course, being in a room full of guys, that would've been really awkward. And all I could hope was the clock was not running fast...
You think I would've learned from that first experience, but that wasn't the case. 2 years later, Jerry, Ronnie, and I, were playing with the Ouija board again, and this time in the bedroom. To set the mood, we lit a candle, then turned off the lights...and then we began to explore each other's young bodies...Haha, just kidding! Seriously, I was only kidding.
Anyway, the lights went out and we began to ask Ouija some questions. Nothing dramatic happened with that, and after we had finished playing the game, it was late, and we were sitting around tired, seemingly out of conversation. I then looked up and saw Jerry's face, which was pale as a ghost, and his eyes were wide open in stark terror! He was sitting directly across from me, and as I had my back to the window, he was the only one who had been facing the window. As Ronnie and I turned in the direction of the window, to see what Jerry was looking at, we saw the dark shadow of a face in the window! We shouted out as we jumped to our feet! We opened the bedroom door, yelling, and running into the hallway and towards the front door. I was fumbling with the door knob, and Ronnie ran up, with a butter knife in his hand and asked, "What's your problem?! Why can't you open the door?!" "Open the door?! I'm trying to freakin' lock it! And what are you doing with the butter knife?! Are you going to make him a sandwich?!" We finally managed to open the door, and after looking around outside in bewilderment for several seconds, and seeing no one or nothing around, noticed... that someone had toilet papered the house! And I doubt that they were spirits of the dead.
It was on a Saturday night, and I was going to spend the night at my best friend Ronnie's house, as was another of our friends, Gilbert. We got called in from the park that was across the street, where we had been hanging out. I really didn't want to go, because in the park there were two chicks making out, and it was the first time I had ever seen chicks making out in person. Of course it could've been the 100th time I had seen that, and I probably still wouldn't have wanted to leave. But we all went inside my friend's house, where his parents were, as well as some of his relatives who were visiting. Soon, Ronnie's mom suggested that we play with a Ouija board. I had seen one in the movie "The Exorcist", but I had never seen one in real life, let alone played with one. I said to my friend, "Whoa! Is your mom serious?!" To which he nervously responded, "Yeah..."
So Ronnie's mom brought out the Ouija board and explained how it was used, saying that a spirit would answer any questions we might ask. I was both curious and a little unnerved at the same time. Would it really work? Would we really be in contact with the dead, or an evil spirit? Would everyone find out that "I" was the one who overflowed the toilet?
A few different people tried playing the game, and after various questions and "answers", she then asked if the "Spirit" could give us a sign to prove it was real. The spirit answered that it would and that we'd see the sign within the next 30 minutes. I was a little nervous but still not completely convinced of anything. Ronnie's mom then began to tell us stories of the supernatural, that she said she or her friends had experienced. Then, after about 25 minutes, the lights began to flicker off and on in the kitchen! Now I was starting to get a little freaked! But that was just the beginning. Ronnie's mom then convinced someone else to play the game with her, and she began asking questions like: "Are the boys going to see anything in the room (the bedroom where we'd be sleeping) tonight?" I looked at Ronnie and asked, "What's your mom doing asking a question like that?" With a sad look on his face, he just shrugged his shoulders. Then she asked "Is something bad going to happen to the boys tonight?" "Man! What's your mom's freaking problem?!" "Ouija, will it happen before 5 a.m?" "What's with your mom?! I swear, I've never hit a woman before, but..." My friends and I were all really starting to freak now!
After a while, since it was late, and the adults intended to keep partying, we were told to go to sleep. We kept stalling and making excuses not to go to sleep. Then we began to ask if we could sleep in the living room, reasoning that since "Ouija" said that we would see something in the bedroom, maybe we could somehow cheat our fate. Our request was flatly refused, and told that we had to sleep in the bedroom. Like "Dead Men Walking", we began to file into the room, dragging our feet. As we were preparing for sleep, Ronnie's mom then entered the room and began to move the iron, as well as all heavy and metal objects, saying "In case stuff starts flying around..." Now we really came close to crapping our pants!
The lights went out, and we made a pact, promising that if something happened while some of us were still asleep, we'd leave no man behind. And of course, our imaginations soon got the best of us, and when combined with our fear, caused us to imagine that we saw all kinds of stuff in the darkness outside, like severed heads in the tree branches, mysterious shadows, and so forth. There were four of us, including Ronnie, his brother Jerry, our friend Gilbert, and myself. We continued talking about our fears, and then Ronnie said, "Don't worry guys, my Dad's in the living room." To which Gilbert wisely pointed out, "What's your Dad going to do?! Beat up the Devil?!"
While that might've made an interesting pay-per-view fight, it didn't happen. We all eventually fell asleep, although we thought that it might be for the last time. I have always been an early riser, and when I was the first to awake, I immediately looked at the clock. 5:05! It was 5:05! 5 minutes passed the designated time for our doom! We were safe! I was so grateful to be unharmed that I wanted to kiss somebody! Of course, being in a room full of guys, that would've been really awkward. And all I could hope was the clock was not running fast...
You think I would've learned from that first experience, but that wasn't the case. 2 years later, Jerry, Ronnie, and I, were playing with the Ouija board again, and this time in the bedroom. To set the mood, we lit a candle, then turned off the lights...and then we began to explore each other's young bodies...Haha, just kidding! Seriously, I was only kidding.
Anyway, the lights went out and we began to ask Ouija some questions. Nothing dramatic happened with that, and after we had finished playing the game, it was late, and we were sitting around tired, seemingly out of conversation. I then looked up and saw Jerry's face, which was pale as a ghost, and his eyes were wide open in stark terror! He was sitting directly across from me, and as I had my back to the window, he was the only one who had been facing the window. As Ronnie and I turned in the direction of the window, to see what Jerry was looking at, we saw the dark shadow of a face in the window! We shouted out as we jumped to our feet! We opened the bedroom door, yelling, and running into the hallway and towards the front door. I was fumbling with the door knob, and Ronnie ran up, with a butter knife in his hand and asked, "What's your problem?! Why can't you open the door?!" "Open the door?! I'm trying to freakin' lock it! And what are you doing with the butter knife?! Are you going to make him a sandwich?!" We finally managed to open the door, and after looking around outside in bewilderment for several seconds, and seeing no one or nothing around, noticed... that someone had toilet papered the house! And I doubt that they were spirits of the dead.
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