One of few I remember — and the only one I think about
Nothing can quite compare to the sulk of a 12-year old boy’s pity party. I know — I was a pro at it at that age (and beyond if I’m honest.)
What made this special, though, was our location. Summer of 1996, the Appalachian Trail in Maine, before cell phones, and — oh, about fifty miles from anywhere. Middle of nowhere.
And it was HOT and HUMID. Sweat poured as we swatted mosquitoes by the millions. Forty pound backpacks aren’t light.
The rest of the boys and…
Stories of boyhood
I grew up around lakes — and we used to love to go swimming.
The alligators have slowly migrated north — I grew up 100 miles south of Oklahoma and alligators were generally 100 miles south of me.
No longer. So I’m guessing swimming is now somewhat curtailed. Sigh.
The Bob Ross Problem
Have you ever seen Bob Ross paint mountains or happy little trees? It seems so effortless.
He did hundreds of these paintings in ~20 minutes via the Joy of Painting series from the 80’s. Just a couple of upswept brushes with some titanium white over a blended gray sky.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right?
The constant state of decline from age 7 forward
Several years ago while in Physical Therapy I was chatting with fellow torture-recipient on the table next over and we were talking about beliefs, and what we felt like when certain things we thought we knew for certain as kids turned out to be not-so-certain after all.
Of course, being the holiday season, Santa and the Easter Bunny came up right away — I remember exactly where I was when my best friend’s older brother Dan told me that Santa wasn’t real — I was probably 7.
The easter bunny’s demise…
Who doesn’t love a good girl scout cookie?!
But they weren’t selling enough of the chocolate mints — so they rebranded it the “thin mint.” They’ve since sold 57 quadrillion of them based on the lie that eating them until you get sick will make you “thin.” Right.
At only 375 calories a bite — and I can peel down two rolls / one box faster than it takes to fill up my truck with gas.
A life or service
He moved slowly… too slow for many in line at the airport. His cane made a creaking noise as he shuffled forward. Bent to the left, overweight.
Then I saw the hat.
A career grade E8 — a very senior non-commissioned officer. A leader. Someone people followed. Probably not a college grad, but the guy that held the entire damn thing together with courage, experience, and the scars to prove it.
Want something done right? Go see him.
Probably took him decades to make that rank.
He looked to be about 74 or 75, putting him…
Emotional adventurer. 🐢 I tell silly stories and write poetry about struggles and connection. 🦖 I’m trying to be a better human. 🐜