Answer the Question – Just to Dig it All

If I asked you a question, would you answer me?
For example, if I asked you something like, say, if you could go back and say anything to anyone from your past, who would it be and what would you say?
If you could go back to a person from your old life or from what might seem like a previous life; who would you pick first and what would you tell them?

It’s safe to say that if this were possible, most of us would have a list.
I know I would.
I can say this because I already do.
Some of the people would be on a good list.
Some would be on a bad list.

Some would be endearing and I would assume that some of the things I’d like to say would be somewhat redeeming. I assume some of the things I’d like to say to the people from my past would be linked to an unresolved tension or stressor.
Like to some of my old bullies, for example.
Or the people who I might have hurt or hurt me.
Yes, I’d have something to say. And I’m sure that I’m not alone with this.

I assume this might be something that we’ve held onto from an old conversation or a memory that was unclear or misunderstood.
I suppose I might pick some of the authority figures from my youth. I’m sure I have a few words for them.
Maybe a few teachers. Maybe one of my principals. There’s definitely an arresting officer who I’d like to thank (if you can believe that.)
Oh, and one of my old neighbors too, who I would say both good and bad things to.
I would probably let him know that someone like him should have never chosen to work as a child psychologist.
I would probably tell him to stick with rehabbing animals. But as for working with kids; I think I’d tell him he should pick a new spot for himself. A man like him could get himself hurt if he’s not careful. And I wouldn’t be threatening him. Instead, I’d simply advise him about a blade that I kept, just in case, just perchance, just if the occasion came about where he was within reach – I swore that after the way he spoke to me; I planned to plunge a knife into his gut and say, “Go ahead. Say that to me again. One . . . more . . . time.”

I know there are a few people who bullied me in my younger ages. I’d love to introduce myself to them now. 
In fact, there was a time when I had the chance to meet up with one of my old bullies. Only, he didn’t know who I was.
He might not have known my name. Perhaps, I was just one of many kids who he thought it was fun to kick around.

The thing about this is that I grew. He didn’t grow so much. He was short and small; and while standing behind him, I looked down in shock.
I was in total disbelief that I used to be petrified of this person. 

Unfortunately, in his case, he was still the same person.
He had a few comments while waiting in line at a fast food place.
I was behind him, jaw opened, eyes as wide as any surprise could make me.
He was complaining about the people behind the counter; and to him, since they were Mexican and since there was a line for them to make tacos and burritos; he thought it would be snarky and fun to let them know about their experience while making this kind of food.
Then he looked at me. But I was not laughing at his joke.

He said something. But I cannot remember what he said.

“I know you,” I told him.
“You used to kick the shit out of me when I was in seventh grade,” I explained.
“That’s in the past,” he told me. “You’re better off forgetting about that kind of stuff.”
I could almost hear him in my mind.
I can almost see his face; and while he spoke to me this way; I could literally remember a thousand different pictures in my head of past intrusions and abuse.
I could feel the energy in my mind as it went through a shift. I began to feel something old and familiar. Ah, it was rage, my old friend.
How I’ve missed you.

I walked outside before him.
I approached my car and all the while I was running the tapes of what this person just said to me.
“You’re better off forgetting about that stuff.”
Was this a threat?
Was he telling me this for my own safety?
Was he saying this as if he could turn on me at any moment and beat me up again like he did when I was little?
Only, I wasn’t little anymore.
I was also a much different person who, at the time, I was currently fighting a case of Assault with a deadly weapon (or Assault II) with the intention to cause serious or life-threatening injury. I say this to color the story and not to pad my ego or perform as if I was some gangster. No, I was callous and angry. I was burning from the wreckages of my past.
I thought about what he said to me.
I thought about his attitude and his snide propaganda as if to intimidate me.

No, not this time.
Not again.
Sorry.

I placed my bag of burritos on the roof of my car. I waited for him to walk out the doors and into the parking lot.
I was going to talk to him. That’s all, just a few words.
Just a few things I’d been thinking for a few decades and a few thoughts that I thought would be helpful to share with him
I just wanted to talk. I swear that’s all.

I wanted to explain that perhaps he should learn to be more sensitive to people.
I wanted him to understand that, in fact, he said hurtful things and that if it were possible, I would appreciate an apology because apparently I had carried around the burden of his insults.
I was just going to talk to him.
That’s all.
So . . .

As I approached him with the intention of peacefully settling this old ghost from my past, I must have forgotten my original plan of communication. I must have forgotten that I was just going to talk to him because when I punched him in his face and created blood, he seemed taken aback that I would do such a thing.

“Talk shit now!” I said to him.
“Go ahead, talk shit now!”
“Not so tough now are you?”
I made him beg.
I made him apologize.
I made him feel what I felt only worse because I literally threatened his life.

He explained that in order to grow, the past should be left behind.
Perhaps his words were not as well-spoken as that. However, he insisted that this is what he was trying to tell me.
He spoke very politely and humbly. He apologized. That is until I saw him once more, three days later.
Only this time, he wasn’t alone. He was with two others. Both very big and one was bigger than the other. 

He approached me in a local mall.
He said “Go ahead, talk shit now,” just like I said to him.
His friends looked at me as if I were lunch meat.
I swore I was about to catch a beating and a bad one at that!

So, now you’re tough when your friends are around.
I asked “how come you weren’t this brave when I walked up and punched you in the face the other day?”

The bigger of the two friends recognized how sad this was.
He decided to walk away and the other big friend went off to follow behind him.

It was interesting to see the expression of shame come across my old bully’s face.
I’ll fucking kill you . . .
I will end your life.
While I am not that person anymore and although I am not for violence by any means, there’s a piece of me that ended an old feud in my head and settled the bouts with old shames that were no longer applicable. Sure, I got my revenge. I still wouldn’t do that now. But at the same time, I understand what I did.
( I hope you can too.)

I suppose if I could go back to say anything to anyone perhaps I would go seek out The Old Man.
I’d like to tell him that certain things were unnecessary.
I’d probably tell him that had he taken better care of himself, we might have had a shot to enjoy more time together.

I’d probably say that although he was short-tempered; I know this was less about me and more about him. I understand more about this now.
And I’m sorry, I really am.
I wish we were more in touch with our feelings at the time because maybe we could have talked about this instead of arguing about who was right or who was wrong.

I know that at the time, I swore that all of the problems in my household were problems that stemmed from me. In some cases, this might have been true. I was disruptive. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I was in the newspaper for no good reason. I didn’t know how to fit in or where to place myself. I never fit well with the athletes or the jocks in my town. Truth be told, although I was a troublemaker, I never fit in well with the troublemakers either.
I didn’t know where I fit.
I was unaware of my own genius.
I didn’t know what I had going for me nor was I aware of how capable I could become.
“You’d be proud, Pop.”
I really think he would be.

I was never a brain in school. I never knew how to interact comfortably with people. I had this thing in my head which suggested that as hard as I try, there was something different about me.
If I could tell The Old Man anything, I suppose I would tell him, “I know that you’re frustrated with me.”
I’d tell him, “And I get it!”
I’d say, “I’m frustrated with myself too. But yelling doesn’t help me. To be honest, I’m not even sure what would help. I just know that blame and shame, fault, guilt and regret are no way to walk around. Yet, I still have to live with myself”

I’d probably tell my Father to look within himself. I would say that the problems you have with me or my behavior stem from a frustration that goes on within yourself so “Stop being mad at me!”

If I asked you a question, would you answer me?
For example, if I asked you something like if you could go back and say anything to anyone from your past, who would it be and what would you say?
If you could go back to a person from your old life or from what might seem like a previous life, who would you pick first and what would you tell them?

Safe to say that if this were possible, most of us would have a list.
I know I would.
I can say this because I already do.
Some of the people would be on a good list.
Some would be on a bad list.

Some would be endearing and I would assume that some of the things I’d like to say would be somewhat redeeming. I assume some of the things I’d like to say to the people from my past would be linked to an unresolved tension or stressor.
Like to some of my old bullies, for example.
Or the people who I might have hurt or hurt me.
Yes, I’d have something to say. I’m sure that I’m not alone with this.

I assume this might be something that we’ve held onto from an old conversation or a memory that was unclear or misunderstood.
I suppose I might pick some of the authority figures from my youth. I’m sure I have a few words for them.
Maybe a few teachers. Maybe one of my principals. There’s definitely an arresting officer who I’d like to thank (if you can believe that).
Oh, and one of my old neighbors too. I would say both good and bad things to.
I would probably let him know that someone like him should have never chosen to work as a child psychologist.
I would probably tell him to stick with rehabbing animals. But as for working with kids, I think I’d tell him he should pick a new spot for himself. A man like him could get himself hurt if he’s not careful. I wouldn’t be threatening him. Instead, I’d simply advise him about a blade that I kept, just in case, just perchance, just if the occasion came about where he was within reach. I swore that after the way he spoke to me, I planned to plunge a knife into his gut and say, “Go ahead. Say that to me again. One . . . more . . . time.”

I know there’s a few people who bullied me in my younger years. I’d love to introduce myself to them now. 
In fact, there was a time when I had the chance to meet up with one of my old bullies. Only, he didn’t know who I was.
He might not have known my name. Perhaps, I was just one of many kids who he thought it was fun to kick around.

The thing about this is that I grew. He didn’t grow so much. He was short and small and while standing behind him, I looked down in shock.
I was in total disbelief that I used to be petrified of this person. 

Unfortunately, in his case, he was still the same person.
He had a few comments while waiting in line at a fast food place.
I was behind him, jaw opened, eyes as wide as any surprise could make me.
He was complaining about the people behind the counter. To him, since they were Mexican and since there was a line for them to make tacos and burritos; he thought it would be snarky and fun to let them know about their experience while making this kind of food.
Then he looked at me. But I was not laughing at his joke.

He said something. But I cannot remember what he said.

“I know you,” I told him.
“You used to kick the shit out of me when I was in seventh grade,” I explained.
“That’s in the past,” he told me. “You’re better off forgetting about that kind of stuff.”
I could almost hear him in my mind.
I can almost see his face. While he spoke to me this way, I could literally remember a thousand different pictures in my head of past intrusions and abuse.
I could feel the energy in my mind as it went through a shift. I began to feel something old and familiar. Ah, it was rage, my old friend.
How I missed you.

I walked outside before him.
I approached my car and, all the while, I was running the tapes of what this person just said to me.
“You’re better off forgetting about that stuff.”
Was this a threat?
Was he telling me this for my own safety?
Was he saying this as if he could turn on me at any moment and beat me up again like he did when I was little?
Only I wasn’t little anymore.
I was also a much different person who, at the time, was currently fighting a case of Assault with a deadly weapon (or Assault II) with the intention to cause serious or life-threatening injury. I say this to color the story and not to pad my ego or perform as if I was some gangster. No, I was callous and angry. I was burning from the wreckages of my past.
I thought about what he said to me.
I thought about his attitude and his snide propaganda as if to intimidate me.

No, not this time.
Not again.
Sorry.

I placed my bag of burritos on the roof of my car. I waited for him to walk out the doors and into the parking lot.
I was going to talk to him. That’s all
Just a few words.
Just a few things I’d been thinking for a few decades and a few thoughts that I thought would be helpful to share with him
I just wanted to talk. I swear, that’s all.

I wanted to explain that perhaps he should learn to be more sensitive to people.
I wanted him to understand that, in fact, he said hurtful things and that if it were possible, I would appreciate an apology because apparently, I had carried around the burden of his insults.
I was just going to talk to him.
That’s all.
So . . .

As I approached him with the intention of peacefully settling this old ghost from my past, I must have forgotten my original plan of communication. I must have forgotten that I was just going to talk to him because when I punched him in his face and created blood, he seemed taken aback that I would do such a thing.

“Talk shit now!” I said to him.
“Go ahead, talk shit now!”
“Not so tough now, are you?”
I made him beg.
I made him apologize.
I made him feel what I felt only worse because I literally threatened his life.

He explained that in order to grow, the past should be left behind.
Perhaps his words were not as well spoken as that. However, he insisted that this is what he was trying to tell me.
He spoke very politely and humbly. He apologized. That is until I saw him once more, three days later.
Only this time, he wasn’t alone. He was with two others. Both very big and one was bigger than the other. 

He approached me in a local mall.
He said “Go ahead, talk shit now,” just like I said to him.
His friends looked at me as if I were lunch meat.
I swore I was about to catch a beating and a bad one at that!

So, now you’re tough when your friends are around.
I asked, how come you weren’t this brave when I walked up and punched you in the face the other day?”

The bigger of the two friends recognized how sad this was.
He decided to walk away and the other big friend went off to follow behind him.

It was interesting to see the expression of shame come across my old bully’s face.
I’ll fucking kill you . . .
I will end your life.
While, I am not that person anymore and although I am not for violence by any means, there’s still a piece of me that ended an old feud in my head and settled the bouts with old shames that were no longer applicable. Sure, I got my revenge. I still wouldn’t do that now; but at the same time, I understand what I did.
( I hope you can too.)

I suppose if I could go back to say anything to anyone perhaps I would go seek out The Old Man.
I’d like to tell him that certain things were unnecessary.
I’d probably tell him that had he taken better care of himself, we might have had a shot to enjoy more time together.

I’d probably say that although he was short-tempered; I know this was less about me and more about him. I understand more about this now.
And I’m sorry. I really am.
I wish we were more in touch with our feelings at the time because maybe we could have talked about this instead of arguing about who was right or who was wrong.

I know that at the time, I swore that all of the problems in my household were problems that stemmed from me. In some cases, this might have been true. I was disruptive. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I was in the newspaper for no good reason. I didn’t know how to fit in or where to place myself. I never fit well with the athletes or the jocks in my town. Truth be told, although I was a troublemaker, I never fit in well with the troublemakers either.
I didn’t know where I fit.
I was unaware of my own genius.
I didn’t know what I had going for me nor was I aware how capable I could become.
“You’d be proud, Pop.”
I really think he would be.

I was never a brain in school. I never knew how to interact comfortably with people. I had this thing in my head which suggested that as hard as I try, there was something different about me..
If I could tell The Old Man anything; I suppose I would tell him, “I know that you’re frustrated with me.”
I’d tell him, “And I get it!”
I’d say, “I’m frustrated with myself too. But yelling doesn’t help me. To be honest, I’m not even sure what would help. I just know that blame and shame, fault, guilt and regret is no way to walk around. Yet, I still have to live with myself.”

I’d probably tell my Father to look within himself. I would say that the problems you have with me or my behavior stem from a frustration that goes on within yourself. So, “Stop being mad at me!”

It’s not that I don’t (or never) love you. I do.
I’m your son.
But just to let you know, I have these thoughts in my head that steer me in a million different directions. It’s like I can’t sit still.
It’s like I must be crazy. I have to be, right?
I can’t get comfortable. I can’t calm down. I can hardly sleep. So please Pop, be more patient with me because I really don’t mean to upset or frustrate you. It’s just that sometimes, I can’t get away from myself.

I suppose if I could go back and say anything to anyone or should I say that if I were able to have a moment of bravery, there would be two people who I’d approach and explain the following: 
“I know what you did.”
You did this to me!
I’d tell them, “I know this had nothing to do with me and more to do with you and your needs at the time.’
I’d say, “I get that you had some kind of momentary lapse of perversion. Since I’ve done nothing but study mental health and the emotional mapping of our minds for the last several years, intellectually I get why you did what you did. Intellectually, I understand this from a clinical standpoint. I know about the boundary violations that happen and the molestation of others. I’ve spoken with countless people about this.
I know that I was merely a subject of collateral damage, which I might even believe you regret.
No, really. I do believe you feel shame or that you might feel sorry about what you’ve done.
Emotionally though, I was just a small boy who grew into a moment of awareness and recognized a familiar touch that is inappropriate especially coming from someone like you . . .

It’s not about forgiveness with this.
No, this took years if not decades to create a sense of closure. In which case, it’s not that what happened doesn’t exist to me anymore. Instead, what happened is no longer something that defines me nor do I equate this with who I am or what I am or what I’m worth.

I know that because of you, I have had a challenge with understanding proper boundaries.
I know that once a violation happens, it’s impossible to uncross that line. I know this. I’ve studied this. 
I’ve also seen how this affects people on an intimate basis.
I just don’t want to be that person.
It’s not about yesterday anymore. It’s not about what happened or what you did (or why).
No, this is about me understanding the answer to a question which I have been asking myself for so long.
What the hell was I thinking?
Come to think of it, what the hell were you thinking?

Why did I own so many things that never belonged to me in the first place. Like you for example and your mistakes, why in the hell did I decide to make them mine?
Yes, this is something I would say (if I could) to two people who did something undefendable.

So, I’m letting this go out into the atmosphere to pass upwards and beyond the heavens into the universe.
I am leaving this here, all the weights and chains and thoughts of shame and regret. I am hereby forfeiting all of my past resentments and unresolved memories. 
I am thereby leaving this here (with you) because the only way to move forward is if I stop looking backwards.

And you –
Yes, you.
I have something to say to you as well.

You are the keeper of my secrets and the owner of my dreams.
You are more than just the reflection I see.
You are the hopes of my future.
You are the avenue of my happiness because without you, I might feel too alone and too scared to dare the line and be too afraid to experience what it’s like to stand in the dark.
I am leaving this part here for you because you are the person I wish I could go back and say anything to.
It’s you.

I’d like you to know that it’s not easy being scared. It’s not easy trying to balance the sides of the world. At the same time, it’s nearly impossible to be loyal to one’s self when gripped with the anticipation and the anxieties of failure. 
But wait –
I’m not a failure. I’m not a bad person, No, I am a person who acted out on behalf of my mistakes. I lived in accordance with my fears. Sometimes, I swear to the sky, I want to stand up and scream and say that’s it! I’m not afraid anymore.

I have scars. I have breaks and bruises and wounds that have impacted me as a moral injury.
But please understand me.
Don’t lose patience with me because I have this thing.
I don’t know what else to call it. All I know is that I’ve lived with this thing for as long as I can remember.
The only difference is, at last, I have you now.
So . . .
Maybe now I don’t have to be so afraid
To dance in the rain
To sing at the top of my lungs
To play like a child
To share and . . .
To walk in the sunset and hold hands with the most amazing person in the world.

That’s you.

I think today is best to close with a line from a movie.
This one comes from The Outsiders, which was me for a long time – an outsider, I mean. 

I think I’ll go with a line from Ponyboy Curtis as he speaks to Cherry Valance and asks, “Can you see the sunset from the southside very good?”
She answered him emotionally and somewhat lovingly but torn by the moment, Cherry answered Ponyboy, “Yeah, real good.”
Her hair was blowing in the calm wind, which can only happen at sunset.

In an effort of understanding the emotion; Ponyboy answered, “You can see it from the northside too.”
Cherry Valance laughs.  She smiled as if a weight had been lifted through the means of an unspoken understanding.
As if to understand and acknowledge that we all have hearts and they all break,
Cherry said to him, “Thanks, Ponyboy. You dig okay.”

That’s all I want. I want the dream. I want the fantasy.
I want these poems in my head to unwind and lead me to a night where the sky is gentle and the twilight is at the horizon.
The moment is full and alive with a symphony of color in the heavens above.
Any minute now the stars are about to come out and twinkle. And me, I can stand here and confess myself –
to dig okay
to be fine as I am and to follow the suggestion which we should all embrace:
To stay gold as long as we can.

I could never be tough,
At least not really.

It’s like that song from Van Morrison, Sweet Thing.
Ever hear it?
Well, there’s a part in which he sings, “Just to dig it all, not to wonder. That’s just fine. And I will be satisfied not to read in-between the lines.”

I think I get that now.
Now more than ever.
I hope you do too.