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Stories from the files populated by sparklers, or perhaps distemper...
...Watching football with my father while lying on the floor in front of our beautiful Magnavox B&W stereo console. The same one where rock and roll record playing was frowned upon.
"We were almost rich", I thought. Now all we needed was a garage and a gas grill outside.
Kids tell themselves that life is this way, or maybe that. Then it changes in some ways planned, or others not.
Football.
Football in the 60's was kind of different. In my mind I'm that age always, and this is what I tell myself football is. A time machine.
All those walls and corners. All those thrills and thrill killers. All those warriors flying by.
So many heroes. All the teams. All those coaches. Theater.
Plus, The Baltimore Colts. Plus Johnny Unitas. Flattop. Black hi-tops. Hero.
A boy needs a hero
He needs to believe
No trap doors to fall through
No tricks up the sleeve
A strong back to ride on
A strong hand to hold.
A dream to live up to
A life long and bold...
In '17 my Father got away from me while he was right in front of me, and before I could tell him he was my hero.
Right in front of me, his last words on this earth and as bearing his agony were "I love you too."
My Father. Lean. Olive skinned. Flattop. Formerly green, now silver grey eyes. Stoic. Conflicted. Essentially fatherless.
I have and do occasionally suffer profound grief from time to time. Generally my 60's were all in the loss column. Marriage, parents, family, friends, beloved animals.
But, in the 60's, I was the future. I want to think that everything was to be different than that. Color, not B&W. That my future stood precariously still until I could breathe a deeper understanding.
Anyhow, in preaching to the choir, spread your love for life. For each other. For the opportunity while it lives and breathes. The rest is not what matters most.
Stories from the files populated by sparklers, or perhaps distemper...
...Watching football with my father while lying on the floor in front of our beautiful Magnavox B&W stereo console. The same one where rock and roll record playing was frowned upon.
"We were almost rich", I thought. Now all we needed was a garage and a gas grill outside.
Kids tell themselves that life is this way, or maybe that. Then it changes in some ways planned, or others not.
Football.
Football in the 60's was kind of different. In my mind I'm that age always, and this is what I tell myself football is. A time machine.
All those walls and corners. All those thrills and thrill killers. All those warriors flying by.
So many heroes. All the teams. All those coaches. Theater.
Plus, The Baltimore Colts. Plus Johnny Unitas. Flattop. Black hi-tops. Hero.
A boy needs a hero
He needs to believe
No trap doors to fall through
No tricks up the sleeve
A strong back to ride on
A strong hand to hold.
A dream to live up to
A life long and bold...
In '17 my Father got away from me while he was right in front of me, and before I could tell him he was my hero.
Right in front of me, his last words on this earth and as bearing his agony were "I love you too."
My Father. Lean. Olive skinned. Flattop. Formerly green, now silver grey eyes. Stoic. Conflicted. Essentially fatherless.
I have and do occasionally suffer profound grief from time to time. Generally my 60's were all in the loss column. Marriage, parents, family, friends, beloved animals.
But, in the 60's, I was the future. I want to think that everything was to be different than that. Color, not B&W. That my future stood precariously still until I could breathe a deeper understanding.
Anyhow, in preaching to the choir, spread your love for life. For each other. For the opportunity while it lives and breathes. The rest is not what matters most.
And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: âI am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you allââ If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: âThat is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.â
