What was the best day of your life?
Do you have one? Or maybe you have more than one.
Do you?
By the way, it’s okay to have more than one best day. Or we can put this in order from some of the best to the absolute best.
We can take this in any direction you would like.
At the same time, love is love, right?
Love for one person is not the same as the love we feel for our family.
Understand?
We have love for the friends in our life. We have love for our cousins and our brothers or sisters.
We have love for the people who somehow know when to show up.
We have people who seem to know when our life is not ideal and, out of nowhere, there are people who come to us like a beacon of hope—and somehow, they seem to know to reach out, just at the right time.
They know, as if something cosmic signaled them, and maybe this is instinct, or maybe this is proof that there is such a thing as angels on earth.
We have love for the kids we grew up with and, of course, we have memories with them that act as a record of our past. Whether the number of friendships are more or less, there are memories from our youth, which took place before the arguments or fallouts.
Even if nothing separated us but time, or if we moved away and never spoke again, there are times from our youth that we look upon with a loving regard.
We smile or we sigh with a sense of joy and say, “yeah, those were some of the best days of my life.”
Although life varies and all else is only relative, I am sure there is a time from your past, or there is a time when your young adulthood showed you a different kind of freedom.
Do you remember the first time you went absolutely wild?
Or maybe you might remember the first time you stayed out until dawn, or maybe you sat with a group of friends after howling, or going mad, crazy, like we are supposed to be when you break the threshold of youth to adulthood.
Ever gone crazy?
You should.
Everyone should go crazy.
At least once . . .
What was the best day of your life?
I ask this in fairness and with respect for an author and hero of mine.
I remember when The Old Man was dying.
I remember the book that was at his bedside before he was too sick to read.
I have told you about this book before. The title is All I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. The author and hero of mine is Roberth Fulghum.
There was a chapter where Fulghum talks about reliving a day, exactly as it was, with absolutely no changes.
I was young at the time. I was only 17 to be exact, and I had yet to have a day so beautiful.
I had yet to live. I had yet to understand the true value of time or how irreplaceable time can be.
I assumed there would be a million tomorrows which means I would have a million chances to settle my debts, or to be square with the house, or whole, or paid up.
I believed I would have a plethora of tomorrows, but time would show me that time keeps moving, and so do we. Age is more than just a number and, yes, the hour is later than we think. Rest assured, the clock is ticking and the meter is always running, until one day; it’s time, and then we’re out.
Oddly enough, or perhaps sadly enough, I had a conversation with my Old Man before he died, which was only between the two of us
We were able to settle our little disputes or, at minimum, we realized how insignificant things can be at times like this.
And no.
There is never enough time to say goodbye,
at least not at times like this.
I always wished I said more or told him the things I always wanted him to know.
There are certain moments that I wish I could relive, exactly as they were.
For example, there was a game of catch between The Old Man and me.
He was teaching me how to catch and throw a baseball. I was so small that the baseball glove was half the size of my body, but that was fine.
I can remember this, a day in the late 1970’s.
The world was brighter then. Colors were different. Everything was more vibrant. Life was simple. People were kinder, or so it seemed.
The ideas of society and the sense of community or the need for civic responsibility was different back then. I think the world was more respectful.
But then again, I am looking at this through the eyes of a child, which is fine because again, this is a time that I wish I could relive, without change.
This was one of the best days of my life. . .
It was springtime, and this was the opening day of little league baseball.
I had no idea what I was doing or how to play.
But I was about to learn.
The Old Man was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, somewhat bellbottomed, and he wore a faded blue sweatshirt that had seen too many wash cycles.
But that was okay.
The Old Man loved that sweatshirt. And so do I (now).
It was faded to a shade of color that was almost purple after bleeding in the wash.
The stitching in the band around the neck was sort of frayed.
I can see him this way.
His hair was shaggy and swept by the wind.
It was warm and the breeze was kind.
And yes, again, I can say that this was one of the best days of my life.
I will never have a day like this again.
I will never have another day with The Old Man while I am still of the flesh.
However, perhaps there is truth in what they say about the afterlife, and if so, I look forward to seeing him again for another game of catch.
What is the best day of your life?
Break this down.
Do you have a memory of when the sky was blue and the sun was high?
Do you have a memory of the beach?
Did you ever have a day, so perfect, that nothing else in the world mattered?
Do you know what I mean?
Everything was perfect, and in the moment, there were no thoughts about insignificant things.
There was no worry about the fights which were happening somewhere else.
Nothing else mattered.
What about the times when you felt love?
Or how about the moments when you felt so loved that nothing else mattered, and looking to your left, you saw the face of someone so beautiful, that you were more than mesmerized.
You were more then enamored. More than anything else in the world, you sat there, blown away, taken aback by someone so perfect and beautiful. In the moment, you found yourself drawn to the beauty of someone else, and in that second a tear of joy filled your eye with disbelief that said, “Holy shit! Someone in this world was put here, just for me.”
What was the best thing you have ever seen?
Where was this?
What was this like for you?
If you could choose somewhere, and this could be anywhere at all, where would you be right now, and what would you want to see?
I can say that I would like to be on the beach at Point Lookout right now.
I’d like to show you my youth and my fears, and I would like to show you the pain that I hid because it is gone now.
I would take you here to show you the times when all else was too confusing but, somehow, this place was like my church.
Yes, the beach . . .
The beach was my sanctuary and the sand dunes were the pews, the seagulls were the choir, and the sound of the waves were like the organ playing to move the congregation.
Amen.
I would like to show you the farm I lived on when I was young.
I lived here and, as well, I left a piece of me to die there.
I said goodbye to an old version of me.
I forgave the unforgivable.
I said goodbye to the moments of my scared and confused youth.
I asked for forgiveness and went to confession to clean the invisible blood and dirt beneath my fingernails.
I allowed myself to cast my sins to the wind.
I offered myself and recited, Oh my God, I am heart fully sorry.
I let go of the painful memories from an unwanted touch and the unspoken abuse. As for the scars which remain invisible, since only you know about this, I would like to share this place with you so you can see where the old bodies lay at rest and no one can hurt me like this again.
Not anymore.
I would like to take you to a hill which was just alongside the old main house, which is long gone since the year 1989.
This farm saved my life but there were some demons that seemed to escape.
I would like to take you to see someone too.
That is, of course, if you wouldn’t mind.
Perhaps I should say that if it wouldn’t be too much, I would like to take you to see Mom and The Old Man where they lay at rest.
I don’t go here often. I don’t like cemeteries.
This is where dead people live.
As far as I’m concerned, Mom and The Old Man are elsewhere and living their dream, which is leading me up to where I want to be now.
There is a purpose behind this entry.
I want to help people too.
But I will never be truly helpful if i cannot learn to help myself first.
Right?
What has to happen to make more days like the best days of your life?
What has to happen to make this a priority?
What has to happen to relive a moment, or be like it was on a rooftop somewhere, while the sky was bright, the sun was hot, and what has to happen to make nothing else matter?
I remember years ago, I received a card from a man named Kenny.
Kenny used to work for my Old Man.
Kenny knew that I was living on a farm and that I was in trouble.
Kenny was in trouble too.
He used to laugh and warn me about dabbling in the deep end of the pool.
Kenny sent a card and told Mom to forward the card to me.
This was long before emails were a thing.
Kenny said, “Tell Benny that my hair is shorter than ever.”
Kenny and I both had long hair.
This was a thing for us.
He said, “Tell him I think he’s doing the right thing.”
“Tell him I said to do whatever they tell him to do.”
“That life ain’t gonna miss him.”
“Tell him it took me finding out that I was going to die to know what it means to live.”
What has to happen to change our mindset and make every day the best day ever?
(Dear Kenny,
It’s been a long time since we spoke. I’ve sent letters before, but I’m not sure if they’ve ever reached you.
Anyway, I got your letter in November of 89.
I still remember what you said to me.
I was sorry to hear that you were sick, but for whatever this is worth, your words came at the right time.
They were lifesaving to me and just so you know, I never forgot what you said.
More importantly, I never forgot you.
Sleep well.
Your forever friend and kid brother,
B— )
Question: What will be the next best day of your life?
Also, do we have to be like Kenny and find out that we are going to die just so we know what it means to live?
I hope not.
For some reason, I feel the need to watch the movie, The Outsiders now.
Care to join me?
“When I stepped out into the bright sunlight, from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.”
Thank you S.E, Hinton.
You saved my life too . . .
The Written Addiction 