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Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Get back to me, will you?

It was  hot today, so I decided to write rather than actually do anything productive.
 I'm pretty much an old geezer, and really need to stay out of the sun.
Looking back at how this post is constructed,
 I think I may have already had a little too much sun.

I am a Believer, and just as I believe what I believe, you have the right to believe whatever it is you believe. Some of what I believe is probably not the undiluted truth, and there’s most likely a couple leaks in your beliefs too, and that's OK.

 I’m not going to try to convince you of anything, and most likely will politely not listen if you start the sales talk. My beliefs—my faith—is mine. I like it that way because it allows me to pursue my goal of simply trying to be a decent person.

I’ve learned we all bleed red. The color of the skin, shape of the eyes, and the texture of the hair means absolutely nothing when it comes to equality. We all bleed red, and that blood is pumped through remarkably similar veins, capillaries and arteries, regardless of the area code. I’ve seen enough innards to know we all feel the same pain, and that the machine we occupy while on earth was designed by someone who understands math, physics, chemistry, and OMG! the plumbing , as well as all the other subjects we have yet to learn. Until the day comes when we don’t all bleed red, we’re going to have to keep trying to find new ways to get along. While we’re at it, we may as well stomp down the walls which separate us.

Why would anyone not welcome those willing to bust their butts to make a better life for their family, by coming to America? Isn’t that what brought so many to this country? The National Basketball Association hadn’t been invented way back then, and there was no fast food, HBO, iPhones, or Snuggies, so what was the hell was the big draw, if not a shot at a better life?

Didn’t those immigrants form the foundation of this country? Am I missing something here, Sportsfans? Has this country reached to point where we don’t need a contributing, motivated, adept and appreciative  workforce? Get back to me on that, will you?

( I've got this transition from one subject to another down to an art. Smoove !)

My family and friends know I married the right person. They're very concerned for her, but they know I managed to marry several steps up the evolution ladder. Her friends and family—well, I'm thinking they're  not sure she did as well.

 No one knows how  difficult it was for me to see her, being walked down the aisle by her Dad, at our wedding. My eyeballs started leaking. She was—and still is—beautiful. She was—and still is—the most gentle and loving soul I’ve known. No doubt about it, Buckaroos—I married the right person.

I know with absolute certainty, that my children can change the world—they’ve certainly changed mine. They have evolved from a small herd of myopic, muppet-loving cuties, into articulate, intensely intelligent adults. Don’t get me wrong—they’re all warped—but it seems to work for them. They learned patience, generosity, love and acceptance from their Mom, while I was installing and refining their warp.

 Really, we all should play to our strengths. It's what I do.

I have the singularly best brother in the world… no, actually, in the history of the world. He defines intellect, integrity and compassion. He’s married to a babe, and has a daughter. The daughter rows crew (Roll Tide!). Those who truly know the content of my heart will attest to the fact that I never exaggerate, but I’m thinking you could actually water ski behind the boat Kate is rowing. (Did I mention Roll Tide?) Yes, I have the best brother in the world, and if you know me, you most likely know him, and you know he’s squirming a bit as he reads this.

Both, yes, both of my parents were United States Marines. You do the math on discipline and work ethic. Feel free to get back to me on that.

(notice how I deftly move from one subject to the next? it's almost like magic)

I am as non-violent as possible, but will gleefully unleash an entire can of whup-ass (one of the huge, jumbo sized cans you get at COSTCO) on those who hurt children. No excuses, explanations or mitigating factors required. You are not to inappropriately touch, fondle, exploit, denigrate, hurt, harm, injure, damage or impair any child. Hey, you’ve been warned. Get back to me on that, if clarification is needed.

(yet another flawless transition)

Now, I’ll admit it. I am very fond of the entire love thing. It completes us and makes otherwise crappy times brighter. Obviously, love is blind to gender, age, ethnicity and the inability to hit the breaking ball, so I’m thinkin’ whatever affords comfort, trust and security is on the table.

Fortunately for all of us, it is those who know the least, who whine the loudest, and it’s best to simply ignore them. I like the thought of love, but have to admit, there  are folks out there who simply don’t feel it, don’t savor it, don’t understand or seek it, and in the end, don’t deserve it.

My lovely wife will attest to the fact that my understanding of love has evolved to this monumental level, all without the slightest understanding of romance.

(starting to sum everything up, here)

I learned early–the hard way—that I was not bulletproof, and my scars prove I keep the promises I make. The age and pain in my eyes tell the truths of my life, and I know those truths will never know words. But in spite of (or maybe because of) the lumps, bumps and bottomless abysses I’ve negotiated, I’ve come to understand that, in the end, my life is not about me. Rather, it about those I love and those to whom I can be of some assistance.

I’ve seen a heart-shattering number of people die,
and none of them took anything with them, 
other than the love they gave and the love they received.

Get back to me on that.

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