Yearly Archives: 2021

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The Junkie Stories: The Night I Scratched the Surface

I suppose what happens is we grow tired of waiting for change. Perhaps this is why we remain the same. Maybe this is where the internal conflict begins. Maybe? Who knows?

Maybe I just wanted to feel something. Maybe I wanted to find something that could speak for me without even saying a word. Or, maybe none of this was so deep or difficult. Maybe I just wanted to feel something good and that’s all there was to it. Perhaps there was nowhere else to go at the time. Aside from where we’ve been, there was no place else to go. For example, maybe this is why our view is limited. Maybe we only know what we see and therefore, all we know is what we’ve experienced. Or, maybe I was blind or missing something. Or again, maybe none of this was so deep or systematic.

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Hope: A Catalyst for Change, Not Shame

I was listening to a Mother talk about her child. She was talking about the people who were involved with his program and how they let her son down. We talked for a while. We spoke about the needs of kids that face trouble or live through challenges. We talked about arrests and the bad behavior. Or, more accurately, we talked about the symptoms over the problems and the reasons behind the behavior.

I have been to town hall meetings where parents argued with teachers. I listened to the blaming that went back and forth and yet, I never heard anyone say, “Hey wait, what am I missing here?” or, “What can I do to help make things different?” There was only one time that I can think of where a Mom stood up and asked what she could do to improve things in her own home. Aside from this, I never heard anyone else mention their own role nor was anyone interested in talking about what they could do at home. Instead, I saw angry parents pointing fingers. I listened to teachers and administrators defend their positions. I heard law enforcement defend their positions while parents spoke, accusing them of not doing their job. I witnessed parents speak from the crowd as if they were to grandstand before an audience and impress everyone with their brilliant responses. By the way, none of this was productive.

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A Definition of Self

There is so much more beneath the surface. And sometimes, we barely scratch it. There is more to us all than meets the eye. There is more to us, such as the unspoken or the uncovered, the undiagnosed, or the unaddressed parts of our life, which we’d prefer to keep hidden Ah, but the mind is such an incredible place.
We remember far more than we think. This is the storage unit where pasts behind the eyes of each and every one of us. 
There is more to us all. There is more to our fears and there is more to the ideas of our loneliness than simply being alone.  In fact, lonesomeness is not always synonymous with the lack of company. As a matter of fact some of the loneliest places I have ever been are places where I was absorbed by a crowd.
But no one talks about things like this. No one really speaks openly or honestly. No one dares to be truthful about themselves because why? Is it too raw? Is it too real?

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The Product Is Not Finished (Yet)

We are all a product in progress. I know this. I know what this means to me but then again, I come from a different time. I come from time before technology took over the world. This is a time before the internet. I come from way back when people used their home phones. I remember when answering machines came around and when rotary phones became a thing of the past. I remember music and music stores with albums and record players.
There were no cell phones or phones with cameras or video. In fact, I come from a time when there weren’t cameras everywhere you turn.
I can say that my youth was fortunately before the blitz of what technology has become, which is almost everything. I came from a time before the cell phone craze. There was no texting or Facebook messaging. There was no such thing as social media. There was only talking and personal interaction and, therefore; there were fewer moments of misread intentions.

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A Copy of Today’s Endurance

Just to live. Just to breathe. Just to go outside and feel the sun on my face. Just to feel the wind in my hair. Just to be somewhere. You know?
Just to step away for a minute; to detach and disconnect. To put the world on hold and regroup; to find my balance and restore myself so that I can come back and get back in the game.
What an idea. To be away. To find a place where I can rest or put my arms down. And ah, the beach. The warm sand. The sound of the waves and the calls from the seagulls.
This is one of my spots by the way. This is one of my go to places. Then again, there’s the rooftop. This is another place of mine. Both of which are places that I’ve been connected with since my childhood. 

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Wednesday Morning’s Charge: Sound the Horn, Kid!

Do you know when it hits?
It hits the moment you cross the finish line. The feeling hits you when everything comes to fruition. No matter if it’s first place or last, you did more than anyone ever said you could. You defied the odds. You stood tall when everyone else predicted you’d fall. That’s something.

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Keep it Level

I have driven all over my city. I’ve been to different places and followed different directions. The one thing I’ve learned is there’s often more than one way to get someplace. And, depending upon who you ask, someone will tell you that their way is always the quickest. I’m sure this is true.
I’m sure this is true, the same as it’s true with doctors or car mechanics. According to most, “Their” guy is the best guy (or woman, if you prefer). Meanwhile, with the preferred pronouns being excluded, as good as anyone is in this world; the truth is we’re all human. No one walks on water. No one is above mistakes. And put simply, no one is perfect.

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Why I Journal

Life happens in phases and episodes. This is like chapters in a book and at the end, hopefully, we can leave something behind that is worth telling. Again, I say to each their own. To each are the chances and opportunities. To each are the moments in the fast lane. To each are the wild nights of summer and too all are the memories of our youth. To all are the memories to comfort us after we age beyond our prime. 

There are people we meet in this life. Some are certainly more memorable than others. There are the basic family models, which we are taught about from a young age. We are taught about our mothers and fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles. We are taught about the routine closeness of our cousins and the family lineage, the cultures and traditions. This is where we come from. This is where our earliest story began.

No one questions whether any of this was good or bad. At least not at first. No, we go along to get along. We live in our family and social dynamic until perhaps one day, we grow or reach a different level of awareness. We find ourselves at a turning point and question ourselves. For example, both moms or dads are not seen as usual people. No, they are the first initial teachers; however, not all lessons are meant to be taught because not all people are fit to be parents. And then we wake up. Then we realize that parents are people too. They have pasts too. They’ve lived. They’ve felt and hurt and like us, they have flaws and defects too.

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So, You Want to Talk About Hate, Do ya?

I was very young. I suppose I was about the age when I wore one-piece pajamas with little feet on the bottom. There was a fire on the neighbor’s front lawn. This was something that I didn’t understand. I was too young to know how fires started. I was old enough to know what fire is. I knew that fire was dangerous and that someone could be burned or hurt.

However, this fire was different. This fire was set by someone. More importantly, this fire was in the shape of a small, almost waist high cross that was made out of wood. It was planted in the front yard of my next door neighbor, doused with gasoline and then set on fire.

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