Brothers

                I’ve had a day to sort through my feelings now. To let the joy diffuse the sadness and give me a better perspective.

                 You see, as I sat by my father’s side at my uncle’s 90th birthday celebration yesterday, the echoes of the past stirred memories of places and happenstance both precious and searing to me.

                I found myself recalling the scorching summer days on Lake Terramuggus, where I learned to swim as a child and where I was reborn in the emerald depths at age 10… Reminded that I was never alone. An understanding that would soon  be tested on that fall morning in the marsh, as my tears fell into the turbid water and the creature tore into my flesh. It was the beginning of my education of all things evil and undeniable, that spanned the next 45 years.

                As my uncle’s voice washed over me yesterday, the memories triggered in rapid sequence and I found myself trying to recall his face during the happy times I spent on that lake with my family and cousins. It wasn’t hard. I had always been intrigued by him. He could be loving and cruel. A larger than life figure who commanded respect one moment, and in the next, a joking brawler who loved to drink and mix it up with the little ‘uns. He had always been a free spirit in that respect, and I suppose I inherited that part of his personality. Minus the drinking.

                 I remembered that he had blond curly hair. Muscular arms and legs. He wore a bathing suit like an athlete, and by late June, the summer sun had already left him tanned, not only because of the weekends at the lake, but because all the ‘guys’ worked the building sites shirtless in those days, once the weather warmed up. At least in my experience. Me included. When I wasn’t on the farm, that is…

                 Yesterday, I purposely sat my dad next to my uncle, where I knew they both belonged. Side by side, as brothers should be. I sat next to my dad, at the head table, while my brothers and the rest of the family occupied the other tables that had been pulled together for the occasion. There were probably 30 people at the celebration including a priest, who gave an invocation prayer just before we ate.

                    I kept my focus on my uncle and dad most of the party, purposely avoiding any eye contact with my brothers, who were seated at the other tables with their wives. It is a great sadness for me, especially at an event like this. You see, it was my intervention that reunited my dad and my uncle after 15 years of estrangement. I was a bit devious in my methods, but in the end, it all worked the way I had hoped, and both brothers have been close ever since.

                     Of course, there was nothing remotely similar in their estrangement, compared to the nonsense I’ve endured with my own brothers since I came out.

                   And that is what put a bittersweet edge on all of this for me yesterday… There were pictures taken of the brothers. Some included me, because I have always maintained contact with my uncle. I have none to post, unfortunately, because I didn’t take them, and I didn’t have the foresight to ask anyone to use my camera for a few…

                   So, there we were. Two brothers with their arms over each others’ shoulders and me standing directly in back, with my right hand on my uncle’s shoulder, my left hand on my dad’s.

                   The uniter. The peacemaker. Me.

                   Alone, as I have always been.

tman<3

Friday’s Child

       

         The morning sun had just topped the nearby treeline as the door to my truck swung open, groaning as though it was not yet ready for the new day.

          I groaned as well, as I rotated my legs and stepped out of the passenger compartment and onto the pavement near the Citgo gas pump. At 7 A.M. it was quiet but cold. I shivered as I reached to my collar and tipped it up to cover my exposed neck.

           $3.85 per gallon! Cripes! Just a month ago, the price had seemed to be reaching more sane levels, but something had happened, and suddenly, fuel prices were spiking, as tho we had become engaged in another Mideast fiasco! God bless the USA!, was what I was musing as I shook my head and wondered if things would ever be better. I glanced behind me as a small car pulled into the empty space, creaking to a halt. Another ‘victim’ I thought, chuckling under my breath. Better to be in this together….

            I reached for the cold filling nozzle and opened the fuel tank door. Everything was frosty cold. I thought about the gloves I never wore, that were sitting in plain sight on the front seat, and sighed. My own fault if I was cold… I was in my usual pensive mood as I strained to see the prompts on the credit card scanner and to press the unresponsive numbers on the pad to enter my zipcode… My zipcode. Why in the heck did they need that? Didn’t they know who was paying the bill? Geezz…

             The nozzle  almost slipped out of its perch as I reached over it to throw my wallet onto the front seat of the truck, so that I didn’t accidentally leave it on my rear mounted job box like I had one time! I grabbed at the cold steel handle and repositioned it deftly, silently chiding myself for the obvious  clumsiness. ‘Calm down Tony’, I thought. ‘The day is just starting!’

               It was going to take a while to put 22 gallons into the dark blue Ford, so I squeezed the lever and leaned back against the bed, glad that my jacket was insulated enough to keep most of the cold at bay… The sound of rushing gasoline slowly faded from my consciousness, as I started my mental gymnastics…. My checklist for the coming day. There were a lot of details to remember, because one job would be coming to a close and another starting. Nothing crazy hard about that, but somehow, I had been managing to forget one or two little things, here or there, so this exercise had now become something more than symbolic. It seemed, more and more, to remind me that my mind was no longer the fine tuned computer I once considered it. It still retained the most critical things,  but maddeningly and most haphazardly, seemed to discard or misplace items on the checklists that left me muttering to myself when I finally realized what I had forgotten.

              I don’t know what really startled me out of that stupor, to be honest, but suddenly I had the feeling that one gets at odd times. The one where you think that someone is watching you. lol I don’t know. Maybe it’s just peculiar to me… I grew up looking over my shoulder, most of my childhood, for obvious reasons.

               Nonetheless, I felt the shock on the back of my neck suddenly and the sound of rushing fuel returned to the forefront of my mind. As did the urge to quickly survey my surroundings, in a way that was inconspicuous. I’m usually very calm on the outside. No need for anyone to see what occasionally rises from the depths!

               So, I casually glanced behind me at the random traffic on the nearby, mostly quiet side street. Nothing there of any significance. Nobody walking on the sidewalk either…

                My eyes scanned the building entrance as the door swung open and a patron tucked her newly purchased cigarettes into her ample overcoat pocket. She walked briskly, and glanced at me briefly, but never made eye contact. I didn’t know her. Even in this little town, I sometimes feel anonymous…

                 A throat- clearing cough from behind my truck interrupted my thoughts. I turned casually to look. It was the young man who had driven up in the little Nissan. A dark colored, sporty looking car of early vintage, with a broken headlight on the passenger’s side. I winced. The car was not street legal like that! Newington cops can be real dicks sometimes. (pardon my french) I looked at the driver to assess his age, but he turned away quickly and with the hoodie that he was wearing, covering his entire head, I only caught a quick glimpse. A very quick glimpse.

                    It was enough. My heart skipped a beat, even tho I wasn’t sure. Could it be??

                    I pretended to be nonplussed but the reality was quite different as the memories flooded my brain and sent my mind into hyperdrive.

                     No! It couldn’t be! And yet…

                       I was suddenly back three years prior, in this same location, only it was nighttime. Probably nine or ten o’clock, as I walked around the back of the building, searching the shadows for the young shirtless and shoeless boy I had stumbled upon earlier. I actually recounted the experience in a post I wrote early on in this blog. October of 2009. ‘Transitions’.

http://wp.me/p1qe2i-2D

                Where does the time go?

                 I had spent the next few years trying to catch a glimpse of the boy, praying that he had weathered the abusive environment that had scared him enough to run from the house that cold October night, nearly naked, save the meager sweat pants/ pajama bottoms I found him trembling in…

                  I had seen him twice– once at a distance as he scurried along in a pack of teenaged boys, and once as I drove right by him on a neighboring street, as he walked along with some of his friends. We made eye contact that time, and he recognized me. He had smiled, as did I. I think. More likely I was grinning ear to ear, feeling relieved that he seemed to be all right!

                 But now… Could it be him?  My heart knew but my mind was racing, telling me to be calm. If it was him, he had a right to his privacy. My heart sank, to think that I might have to endure an eternal mystery… I glanced his way again, unable to help myself. I had to at least know that it was him! I looked at the car. A typical ‘hoopda’ that a kid from a poor family might be driving… I gave the boy a once over. He would be about 17 years old now…

               It was hard to tell, but the build was the same- slender, but taller than I remembered. Still, the last time I saw him was over a year and a half ago! I felt the handle of the gas nozzle suddenly release as the audible click echoed through the small filling station area.

                  It startled me, but more importantly, it startled the boy as well! He turned to face me and we made immediate eye contact. I was frozen in my tracks. I’m not sure what I did with the filling nozzle, to be honest, as the realization swept over me and I felt a smile break out on my face…

                    I was not alone. Justin smiled shyly and pushed the hood back off his head. Justin. I know him by that name now, because he told me as we shook hands and then embraced. I think his heart was pounding as hard as mine, because I felt it right though his thin sweatshirt- type jacket.

                    It’s mostly a blur after that. I don’t know how long we stood there, catching up, but I did understand that he was off to school after the pit stop for gas, and that his father had found a new job. Not right away, but he had finally found one. His brother had not thrived quite as well. He had been caught burgling a house and was now on probation in a treatment center/ half way house, by the way Justin described it.

                     It was all too brief, but as I talked to the handsome young man, I felt a real warmth inside. I was getting a little emotional as we finally parted, this time with a longer hug. He really put his strength into that one, and then he said something to me with his head resting on my shoulder… “Thank you for helping me that night. I was SO scared and nobody else seemed to care.”

                   I didn’t know what to say. I’m not good with words at times like that, so I hugged him tighter and told him that ‘it was OK… and that if he wanted to make me proud, he would promise to do the same thing for someone else who might need HIS help someday…’

                  We released each other and he made that promise. I swear he had tears in his eyes, but I wasn’t seeing that well myself, at that moment… He turned to head into the building to pay for his fuel as I patted him on the back and got into my work truck.

                   There was nothing more I would have liked better than to just sit there to see him get into his car and drive away, but I started the Ford and slowly turned it onto the road, and drove away. I kept looking in the rear view mirror to catch a glimpse of the young man with the old size 13 leather tennis shoes. The ones that had always been too tight for me, but had served a very important use in the end.

                    After all, a young boy had grown into a man wearing them.

                    I drove to the Falls, parked my truck, and had a good cry to get it out of my system before I headed to work.

                    I haven’t shared that with anyone until now, but I thought I should note it here… Life has a way of completing the circle, no?

love to all, tman<3

Assh*les and Elbows, Angels and Demons

 

             And so, we leave behind another year and start anew…

             First of all, I hope the picture I posted offends noone. I decided to insert it in this post as a nod to the past and to the fond memories that have brought me to this point in my life.

              No, I have never stood on a train track, naked with only my beloved cowboy hat or the twin, Roy Roger’s guns in their holster, strapped on, ready for what was to come. But, I actually did, in my backyard, more than once ! Noone witnessed it, however, or I might have been disciplined.  But now I’m digressing. Again.

             Perhaps the train bearing down on me, at that point in my life, had the momentum and the power, but I had something on my side that it could never comprehend– pure will. The will to be human. To laugh. To love. To find my way through this life, despite the terrors that awaited.

               It has been a long journey. One that I described in an email I just wrote to a reader in Boise.  I hope he won’t mind if I share a  portion with you…

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           … You have been thru a lot and it may take a long time for your spirit to heal and for your new life to finally take control over your former life, and put that finally where it belongs– in the realm of  the ‘Others’, where darkness holds sway and the things that make us less, reign. It is where the things that children should never see, find refuge.

             I lived there once, and for too long, mostly because the shadows wouldn’t let me escape. I sought the ‘light’, but was surrounded by treacherous cliffs… jagged precipices that became the walls of my prison. I peered out from my hiding place and waited for the day of my rescue because I felt powerless to fight… alone.

             Over time, I started to understand that  which the voice inside of me told me, over and over again… I was NEVER alone, even as I cried for help. That the reason for my salvation would be made clear some day, and that the path to that understanding would be a journey shared by the people I chose. The people I loved who would stand beside me because of who I would be. The rest was illusion wrought in the fires of hell, designed to test me. To test my will and the reason for my existence. To mock me when I was sad, and to torment me when I felt weak.

            At first, I doubted. How could something so seemingly powerful be illusion? How had I accepted its role in my young life?

           In fact, the words became puzzles to me and I struggled for years to decipher them, until I took the chance to peer out from my place of refuge one day and feel the warm breeze of love wash over me.

           It would change everything.

           It was only then that the light was able to find me. I started to trust once more. To let certain people touch me in ways that I had once vowed to be too dangerous.

          The journey from there has been incredible. At times I find myself marveling that much of it has happened. I look back and much of it seems like a dream that has been lived in minutes, yet it has happened over decades! It is almost inconceivable to me that I opened that door, but I did. Slowly, and in stages, but I did.

         Your journey is just beginning, ******. You will find your way, just like I have. You are in control of who will be by your side. The rest must fall away into the darkness where it belongs. Always reach for the light and live with hope. Joy. Remember, but do not go back. The years will pass quickly. Savor every moment of love and use the darkness to guide you to the light. Always.

          Nothing can hurt you in the light.

          You will become stronger and stronger as you take those first steps…

          That is my wish for you. I believe that is why we found each other.

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         That is the gist of the email I wrote and it left me deep in contemplation… Looking back, over the past year or so, as my journey has taken me to places I never conceived, but have done my best to embrace.

          As recently as last week, I found myself celebrating the Christmas holiday with friends instead of the traditional way I have for so long. As I sat there at the lovely dinner my dear friend put together, but of which I could not physically consume, due to my looming surgery, I felt the warmth that only acceptance can bring… Full acknowledgement of who I am and unconditional love despite that. Maybe even because of that…

          So, I sat there, eating the soup I had brought with me, and enjoyed the affectionate jabs from my Godson who was to be my chariot driver in the A.M. as I made my way to the West Haven VA, where the surgery was scheduled… He seemed jubilant that I had asked. I had hoped he would feel that way.

           My surgery was something petty compared to what most people endure, but I had no illusions that it would be easy or fun. In fact, because my digestive tract was involved, I felt like the recovery was going to be a challenge. I love to eat, especially around the holidays, but to get a realistic time where I could rely on my friends to transport me back and forth, I chose a date when they would be on holiday and able to help w/o the financial burden of taking time off from work.

              That translated into a date with destiny on December 26th. The day after Christmas.

              And so it was. That morning came quickly after the get -together at my friends’ house. It was a bleak and raw kind of day as we exited the Prius in West Haven, and hustled towards the huge facility on the hill. I had noticed the sparsity of cars. Usually, the place was teeming, but this looked more like a ghost town than the usual chaotic city it had become recently…

                I said my goodbyes in the waiting room, after getting dressed in a dark blue johnny and the pants with the snaps that always seem ready to pop. Open, that is!

                James and Edie gave me big hugs and I padded away in the grip- type socks that accompanied the other garb, slightly self conscious, but eager to get things under way. I have suffered from these doggoned hemorrhoids for far too long now!

                 So, I followed the slightly built Asian lady down the hall until we reached the doorway to the operating room.  To be honest, I was a bit surprised that I wasn’t already on a gurney but shrugged it off and followed her through the swinging doors and into the triage area. I’m calling it that, because it wasn’t the actual area where the operation was to be performed. That was only 25 feet away (roughly) through another set of swinging doors where I assumed sterile conditions were maintained and prioritized.

                  I had walked into the triage area only 6 feet or so when I saw the first staff awaiting my arrival… OMG. Wayne. lol

                    You see, it had only been three or four weeks since my last screening procedure in that same facility, only that time, it was down the hall in another room, and that was where I first met Wayne as he prepped me for the colonoscopy. We had clicked right away, and the last thing I remembered that time, were twisted jokes about the anesthesia I was about to experience. I had him in stitches and he had me groaning at the double entendres and the witty comebacks… A funny guy. Genuinely fuuny. A ‘people’ person.

                    Never to miss an opportunity, I turned on my heels, like I had been taught in the military and headed for the exit doors, looking back at Wayne and rolling my eyes. “Why me?” was what I offered.

                     Wayne had his own take… “Oh my God! Not you again! You must like having things shoved up your ass! Merry Christmas, buddy!”  He stood there, grinning away, while I feigned mock horror and reluctantly reversed direction once more. The Asian orderly froze in her tracks, unsure what had happened

                      Oh dear… That begin a half hour of laughing and banter. Some of it absurd. Most of it just fun, as we enjoyed the final moments of levity before I took the ride through the other doors.

                      Just as that was about to happen, Wayne leaned over me once last time, to ask me once more about any possible sources of metal in my body… I reminded him about the crazy mechanism in my left arm that was designed on the fly by an orthopedic surgeon as he reconstructed my shattered arm. “Ahhh… that’s right… We DID talk about that. So, to put it in a nutshell then… Assholes and elbows…”

                      I almost fell off the gurney. I reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “I gotta remember that… it’ll make a good heading for my next post. Remind me, if this anesthesia erases it, OK?”

                      “You bet, buddy… ”  We were in the room now, and the intravenous was taking control as he and the other orderly rolled me off the gurney. My johnny unsnapped and I think I mooned everyone in the room. {sigh} Wayne giggled and draped the warm blanket  over me. That’s all I remember.

                        I came to in the recovery room and realized that darkness had settled in… I could see the street lights through some high windows and there almost seemed to be snow flying in front of them.

                        There was… The snow I was worried about had just pushed into the area. It would ultimately dump about 8 inches around here. My hope had  been that I could complete my recovery and get ‘out of Dodge’ in a timely fashion, BEFORE the worst of it hit. All of us wanted that, altho James seemed unfazed. He liked driving in snow, having lived in Vermont while attending Middlebury College…

                       Well, we did make it back, and without incident. I spent about an hour in recovery and the staff couldn’t have been nicer. James was all smiles and so was Edie. It was nice to have them by my side. And, when I sent them on a ‘mission’ to intercept my prescriptions at the pharmacy, it gave me time to get dressed and to get my bearings again. I thought back, trying to recall anything during the surgery, but to no avail… The place was almost empty as I slipped my socks on and started to tie the laces on my sneakers.

                       ”Assholes and elbows, buddy.”  And then laughter, as the curtain parted and a familiar face came into view, followed by a snappy salute that I returned, grinning the whole while…

                       It has been an interesting journey, to say the least!  There is a long way to go from here, and I hope you will come with me, full of the hope and joy I feel right now!  2013!! It’s gonna be a GREAT  one!

                        Love to all,   tman<3

Feliz Navidad… Christmas musings

 Dearest Readers,

                 The final rush is over, and I’m sitting here, letting the quiet of the old farmhouse wash over me… So many melancholic thoughts have ricocheted through my head this year, I’m surprised I can find this moment of peace. But, even in that chaos, there has always been a glimmer. A ray of light beckoning me foward. Reminding me that I am on a Path, and that it is not mine to know every reason or outcome. That my journey has never been easy, but that my Faith has always sustained me.

                 And so it will, as I stiffen my resolve and once more serve the Light to the best of my ability.

                I am reminded,  that in my darkest hours, I have been continually blessed by the love I still have, all around me. It humbles me to feel that joy and shames me to have doubted that He is beside me…

                 The past few weeks have tested my faith once again, as I scratched and clawed my way to the ‘finish line’, in a superhuman attempt to complete impossible tasks before the holidays and a medical procedure force me into hibernation for a while. Everything was going reasonably well, until December 14th,  when the shattering news from Newtown tore my heart from my chest, leaving me wondering what had become of us… I can no longer see a youngster without flinching. Wondering if they’ve been told about the incomprehensible… the evil that has reached even the most innocent amongst us. That has muted the joy that I have tried so desperately to find these past months.

                 Now, a light winter snow has fallen, and brought a smile to my face … If the memory of those tiny fallen angels is to be honored, we all have a duty to move foward, and  make the changes that have been neglected for far too long. 

                 So, on this Christmas day in the year 2012, I resolve that I will push aside the failures of the past and the sadness they have wreaked upon me, and focus my efforts in a positive way– to live in the Light and lead by example… We all must do our best now. History beckons us. Those little lives demand our devotion to a cause bigger than our own petty tribulations.

                 I ask that you all make this journey with me. There is no room for failure if our children are to live the lives they are entitled to. 

                 I wish you all the love and peace that this holy day represents. Hold your little angels close and make them feel safe. Cherish them and lead them to a better way of life…

                  Merry Christmas! I love you all!

tman<3

p.s. Wonderful to hear from you after all this time, David! I hope your Christmas is joyful and that you, your brother and the rest of your family, including your darling little ‘creatures‘, are all safe and healthy! Feliz Navidad, sweetie!

The Farewell, Part 18

December, 1975

           The first three weeks in his new home had made the boy feel more relaxed. He had been nervous at first, but slowly, the sun and the turquoise waters had melted his fears into echoes from a place far away, and the boy luxuriated in the extra sleep and the debaucherous lifestyle of an unemployed athlete. He had never experienced anything remotely close to this new way of life. In fact, because his childhood on the farm was antithetical in so many ways, he could not shake the feeling that he was becoming lazy…

             For about a week, he shrugged it off and spent his time exploring. Driving the sleek Firebird up and down the coast on a minor route that followed the Intracoastal. It soon became his favorite drive– the sparkling waters teaming with wildlife and boats of all types… schooners that harkened back to a more interesting time, at least in his mind, when sea travel was in it’s heyday and pirates traversed these waters in large numbers. A time of excitement and danger. Of brash men who lived and died paving the way for ‘civilization’…

              Often, Matty would drive the A1A route for 45 minutes, with the thoughts spinning thru his head as the road wound before him and the twin air scoops on the hood became nostrils, perhaps of some mystical creature, atop which he rode to places he had only dreamed about.

                It was on one such morning that he drove that shaded corridor that he found himself crossing into another county. He had completely lost track of the time. Not that it mattered all that much, but he had wanted to start creating some sort of schedule and to implement a strategy that he had planned with Bobby some time ago…

                 They had discussed, amongst other things, how they would support themselves, and Matty had offered that because of his background in tennis, he might be able to find a job in one of the local resorts, where tennis was a focal point of the recreational activities. They had no idea what might be found in that area, save a few places Matrty had researched, but it did appear that tennis was extremely popular, so he was pretty confident that with determination, he could break into the profitable industry, even if it took becoming certified as a teacher, which he had not done at that point.

                 So, he sat on the sandy shoulder of the road that morning and read the sign diagonally across the road… “Turtle Cove’. There was a large, cream- colored stucco wall that effectively obstructed the view of what appeared to be an upscale complex with two story buildings that rose majestically above the barrier. Tall, royal palm trees lined the shell encrusted macadam that wound its way into the community past the guarded entrance. Inside a smallish but stout building at the entrance, an older gentleman in a guard’s uniform studied the boy in the shiny muscle car while he talked to someone on a black, wall mounted phone.

                  Matty looked down the winding road and saw the quaint sign. A marker with arrows pointing in various directions. It was perhaps 50 yards away but he could read the white notations on the dark background, and about halfway down, he saw what he had been looking for… There, a brief description directed the inhabitants to the left to what was represented as ‘tennis courts and pro shop’…

                   The tall, tanned boy felt the butterflies rise in his throat. Somewhere, out of view, there was a potential job for him if he could find a way to convince the right people of his determination and enthusiasm. He knew in his heart that he had the potential to become a good teacher of the sport he loved, but had no formal training as a tennis professional or certification as a result. His plans included a remedy for that-  A two week program of intensive training in Cypress Gardens designed for tennis pros who wanted certification and training in the various areas of the job, from hands on teaching techniques to pro shop and club management. It was a recognized program run by a maverick entrepreneur in the sport who Matty admired and would soon meet, but for now, he was on his own, trying to squeeze a living from something he had talent for but no credentials.

                   His stomach was churning as he turned the Firebird into the entrance to the wealthy seaside compound, and slowed to a halt at the security checkpoint. The well- groomed , gray- haired guard smiled at the nervous boy and listened intently as Matty inquired about admission so that he could talk with either the resident pro or someone in management about offering his services. The man was kind and non- judgmental, and heard the boy’s entire speech before nodding his head and instructing Matty to wait momentarily. He seemed to be pondering options he might not normally, perhaps sensing the sincerity in the young man’s voice or the enthusiasm borne of a dream that the unfaltering voice projected. Here was a boy, making his way in the world. Looking for a chance, and nothing more.

                It took a few agonizing minutes to make the necessary phone calls, during which the guard asked Matty to move the sleek Firebird to a small parking spot so that he wouldn’t be blocking the gate for residents. Well- dressed retirees trickled through in very nice cars, most of them of foreign origin or of a luxury class the boy had seen only at rich peoples’ estates. The smell of money was everywhere. He felt conspicuous, sitting in the muscle car while Mercedes and BMWs passed to his left, but he braced himself and took a deep breath. After all, there was nothing to lose, but potential unemployment. While his savings were still intact, he wanted to get the feelers out for what he was up against in this new environment where most everyone seemed to have wealth that he hoped to leverage into a decent living. Something to fuel his quest to play tennis on a professional level as he and Bobby had talked about once the war had ended.

                 Soon though, the elegant gentleman stepped out of the comfort of the air conditioned guard shack and walked briskly across the coral encrusted road and stopped near the boy’s car, smiling. “Sir”, he started, “If you would like to proceed, you may enter Turtle Cove, using Ocean Drive to the right…” He pointed towards the sign that Matty had noticed from across the road. “Follow Ocean Drive until you reach the stand of three royal palms at the rotary … You’ll see a road that continues towards the beach. Uh… East at that point, but instead , bear to the right on the road we call ‘Sandy Shoal Drive… There’s a sign that you can’t miss. Well, if you follow Sandy Shoal for about 100 yards, you’ll come to a small out- building with glass doors. There will be a sign to the right of the doors that says, ‘Turtle Cove Racquet Association’. You’ll see a four or five  parking spaces to the right side, near a larger building. You can park there. Mr. Delaney, our head teaching professional, will be waiting for you in the smaller building. He has his office inside and he’s expecting you…” He smiled gently and placed his right hand on  Matty’s shoulder. “Good luck, son! I hope you find what you’re looking for!”

             Matty smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, sir. I hope so too! Thanks for making the phone call for me… Maybe you’ll see me around here again, if things work out!”

            With that, the 21 year old youngster, turned the ignition key and the Firebird roared to life. The older man stepped back, and waved as Matty turned the shiny car towards the south and slowly throttled it up, as the pathway crunched under the wide tires with the shiny Cragar SS rims… That day would mark the beginning of a young man’s dream, as he struggled for recognition in this strange new world…

October, 1966

         ”Matty… MATTY!”

           ”Yeah… what? “

             ”If you get the rebound, check up court… I’ll make a cut as soon as you get the ball and head up the right side! I know I can beat the big galook to the rim! He’s big, but I can outrun him… Look for me and heave the ball a little ahead of me. I’ll catch up with it and probably get a layup out of it!”

                  Matty glanced at the other boys in the huddle. Timmy was rolling his eyes, and Pete was white- faced and breathing heavily, the red mark on the side of his face still visible, where the ‘big galook’, a guy named Dennis, had landed a hard elbow. He looked at Cousin Mike and nodded… “OK, if I get the rebound. His buddy has been shoving me pretty good. I can’t seem to get a good position under the basket, and when I do, he’s either shoving me or trying to take my head off with his flying elbows… If the ref doesn’t start calling some fouls, we’re going to end up with stitches yet!”

                     ”He don’t give a darn,” Pete mumbled. “I think Dennis is his nephew…”

                      “His nephew?? Really? Goddamit! ” Andy retorted.

                        The boys looked back and forth at each other, and then at him, startled at the profanity.

                          “What?”… The 12- year- old boy reddened. “Well, he got me too, only in the ribs! Like you guys never swore before…”

                           Matty shook his head and glanced at the sidelines, where his uncle stood, holding the clipboard he always had. Their eyes met, and the 45- year- old man motioned to him to come over to talk for a minute. “Time out, ref…” Matty shouted. He jogged to the line of metal, folding chairs and stopped in front of his uncle. The tall man put his bony hand on his neck and guided him to an area out of earshot of the rest of the boys, who were warming the bench, and not paying attention anyways…

                          “Matthew”, the man begin, “I want you to tell all the guys to take the gloves off! I’m, tired of watching those cavemen beating up on you guys! How about dishing some out yourselves? The ref isn’t calling them for all the fouls, so you gotta take things into your hands! “

                          “But coach… They’re playing dirty! We shouldn’t do the same thing, just because they’re getting away with it! Maybe… “

                         ”Maybe nothing! ” Uncle Ed interrupted. “Goddammit… Those guys don’t belong on the court with you guys! We all know they’re too old. Why do you think Stein put them on the team? … I’ll tell you- he got tired of losing to us! After losing the championship to us last year, he found those giants and stuck them out there to scare the hell out of you guys, and it seems to be working! We’re champs! We’re the team to beat! You’re not gonna let him take that trophy from us, just because he knows the ref, are you?”

                        “No sir”, Matty replied haltingly.

                        “Well then, get back there and tell Mike and the other guys that I want to see some action, and if that big kid… what’s his name…”

                          “Dennis”, the blond boy offered…

                          “Yeah, Dennis… if that monster takes another shot at one of you, I want the lot of you on his ass! Right away! I don’t care if you get called for it! You have  to show him you’re not afraid!”

                           ”But…”

                           ”But, NOTHING!  I’m calling the shots here, not that goddamned ref or his goddamned jew buddy!”

                             Matty glanced at his uncle, startled. He had never heard him use religion  as an insult before. The man towered over him and it was apparent that he was becoming unhinged. His face was scarlet red and his left hand clenched into a fist as the clipboard in his right hand trembled near the young boy’s face. This was a side of the man that he had heard about in stories, but had never witnessed. Blood- drawing fist fights between brothers many decades prior while Matty’s aunts screamed in terror… On some level, the 12- year- old boy had filed those stories as exaggerations or even fabrications, because they supposedly happened so long ago, and his experiences with Uncle Ed had never exposed him to that kind of behavior.

                          Now though, something was amiss, and it was unnerving. He hesitated, and turned to head back to his teammates, but took one last glance at his tall uncle. The man was now glaring across the court at the other coach who was chatting up the ref, smiling and laughing, his arms crossed in a relaxed fashion. He looked more like a businessman in the tweed suit jacket. Matty nervously shuffled back to the group of sweating adolescent boys, feeling slightly sick…

                         ”Boy. He sure looks pissed”, were the first words he heard, and they came from Andy, who had captured the moment accurately. “So, what’s the goddamned plan?”

                          “Shut up, Andy!” Matty retorted. “We got enough problems without listening to your big mouth!”

                         ”Cripes! I was just joking, Matty”, the boy muttered. ” Besides, I could hear Coach Ed all the way from here! It’s not like I invented the word!”

                            “Yeah, great… Well, thanks for repeating it then… That makes us all feel better. ” Matty countered. The other boys fidgeted and seemed completely demoralized, pretty much like Matty was feeling.

                            Mike broke the silence. “So, what did my dad give you for a play?”

                           ”Play?  No play… More like a battle plan. We’re supposed to jump the next guy that throws an elbow to show him we mean business…”

                            “Oh my God,” Pete groaned. “You gotta be kidding! Look at the size of that guy! He could probably pretzel me like Superman does that gun every show…”

                             ”Superman! How about the Hulk! ” Andy chimed in. “If I jump him, he’ll just crush me like I’m dog meat! “

                             ”Dog meat? What the heck is that supposed to mean?” Will cackled.

                              Matty interrupted the banter, his hand clutching his forehead. “OK.. OK… Everybody just shut up. We’re gonna have to… ” At that moment, the whistle blared as the referee motioned for both teams to begin play again…

                             ”Look, just stay away from his elbows and try to keep the ball out of his hands..” Matty hastily added. “No war. We’re not jumping anybody…” He looked towards the sidelines quickly, feeling like a betrayer, as the boys took up defensive positions once more…

                             Within seconds, the echo of the rubber ball being inbounded ricocheted off the gymnasium walls and the screeching sounds of Converse sneakers and the grunting and gasping sounds of the battle once more filled the brightly lit battleground. Matty took up a defensive position about an arms length away from the much larger boy and tried to use his long arms to deny him the ball, and his superior speed to weave in and out of Dennis’ wheelhouse. Petey had taken up a position on the opposite side, despite the recent injury to his still reddened cheekbone. But this time, he was more tentative, and the double- team that had been a strategy from the beginning, had gaps in it, and Dennis seemed quite aware. He started motioning for the ball, waving his arms wildly, while Matty desperately tried to cut off the inevitable pass.

                                It came after only a few seconds and one or two fakes, as Petey avoided one elbow and then another. Matty tightened his position, but the pass came to Dennis’ other side, where his flying appendages had created the space. So, there he was, only ten feet from the rim, and vying for better position, against the blond boy who weighed probably 40 pounds less.

                              Matty rotated to cut off his direct lane to the hoop  and now had his long arms extended, as the larger boy held the ball at chin height and glanced over his shoulder to assess his options. He violently rotated his elbows as he looked, in an obvious attempt to land one on the blond boy’s noggin, but Matty was acutely aware of his tactics and avoided one and then the second try, but in doing so, was now ducking below the flying elbows.

                               The boy could see Will tentatively close from the other side, in an attempt to box the larger boy in. To create almost a triple team. Dennis saw him immediately, After all, he was facing him, with his back to the basket. His answer was more the instinct of a trapped animal, in that he did what he could to escape… And, that entailed going THROUGH Matty who was mirroring his moves and only inches way.

                                Matty felt the shift in momentum and stood his ground, perfectly aware that the rules allowed him that position, but on that night, it meant nothing…

                               Dennis dropped the ball to waist level and spun around at the same time, apparently intent on dribbling the ball towards the basket, but looking for a clear lane to do so… That, he achieved by throwing his right shoulder  into the blond boy’s chest and his crooked elbow into Matty’s midsection.

                                 It was like being hit by a train, and Matty flew backwards, caught completely off balance because of his wide, defensive stance. The elbow took the wind out of him and the shoulder drove him backwards, until he was lying on the court gasping for air as a large body stepped partially on him and completed the move to the hoop.

                                 The blond boy lay there on the cold maple floor, in a fetal position, trying NOT to get stepped on again, as all hell broke loose…

                                He could hear the commotion as his uncle yelled at the top of his lungs, “FOUL! FOUL!”  There was the squeaking of sneakers and the closeness of teammates. A hand on his back, one on his waist, as the other boys crouched down to check on his ‘vitals’… Petey was breathing heavily, and muttering profanities, as the din increased and Matty tried to focus his eyes. He had hit his head  on the floor at the same time, so the ‘fog’ had momentarily muddled his perception, but he was aware of the loud and increasing level of discourse, as the boys yelled for the ref to call the obvious foul and his uncle did the same… There was the violent  sound of a clipboard as it was thrown to the floor, and then his uncle was standing over him, but not for long, as he pivoted to face the referee and the other coach who had made his way onto the court.

                           Somewhere in that confusion, Dennis had been ‘corralled’ by the arm, and Coach Ed was reading him the ‘riot act’ about sportsmanship and  playing by the rules… It was then, and only then, that the whistle finally sounded, as Matty struggled to get off the floor with the help of his teammates, still trying to find his breath and clutching his bruised ribs…

                         He reached his feet in time to see the struggle as Coach Stein and the referee tried to step between his uncle and the now scared ‘galook’.  There were a lot of commands being thrown around, and now both teams quieted as the incident escalated towards violence.

                        Dennis was now free, but Coach Ed was face to face with both Coach Stein and the ref, and he was looking livid!  He demanded to know what constituted fair play… when or IF the ref ever intended to call another foul on the obviously overaged Dennis… How things had ever been allowed to reach this point, where a game was perverted into warfare… Something he knew PLENTY about, having served, UNLIKE the two of ‘them’…

                         Matty and his teammates stood there in a tight group until Mike tried to pull his dad away from the worsening confrontation. Then, they joined him, instinctively, as the situation reached ‘critical mass’, but it was too late.

                         Coach Stein seemed to be smiling, and the ref was walking away, as though the basket would count, and nothing inordinate had happened!

                         It was too much to comprehend, but there it was… And, we’ll never know how the game might have ended, because of the next two words that echoed through that boy packed gym on that Friday night…

                        “GODDAMNED JEWS!”

                        For a moment, Matty could hear the sound of his own breathing as everything went quiet and 20 boys looked on in horror…

                       What had become of us? This was supposed to be a game. But now, it had taken on the most ugly ramifications. Some that I feel to this day.

                          I did not understand the viciousness of Dennis, or the patronizing sneer of the other coach, or the demands placed on 12- year- old boys to ‘go to war’.  Or, the agonizing complacency of the referee who allowed everything to escalate.

                         I will never understand any of that, but I will also never forget the look of shame, on the faces of my teammates and friends, at that one moment, before my uncle was thrown out of the league, and our days of glory ended in a pile of adult manure that had been disgorged from some unknown past origins.

                          We were children, deserving of better. Better guidance, better justice… better love.

                         Matty never picked up a basketball again to play in an organized league, until high school, when he was in his junior year and decided to try out for the team. Coach Reisner watched him scrimmage with the other boys and finally called him to the sidelines. He seemed astonished at the raw ability of the tall 16 year old boy he had never seen on his court before…

                      “Where have you been, son.” was all he could manage at first…

                      “Around… playing tennis mostly…” Matty had replied.

                        “Why?”

                         I never answered that question, because the tears started to well in my eyes. I asked Coach to excuse me, and went to the locker room to change.  I never returned even tho he sent word I had made the squad. It brought back too many bad memories…

tman<3

Honor and Duty

Dear Readers,

            As we remember the men and woman who have served this country and protect this nation at the cost of life and limb, I send this heartfelt prayer out to you, in the hope that it serves to bind us together. One nation, one flag… Under which, every minority has served despite the sacrifice asked. We owe all of them a payment that will never be made. That is impossible to make…

            Lord, on this day of remembrance, let us sit down and break the bread of  communion, and contemplate the path foward.

             A nation of diverse, but loving people, asks for Your blessing, as it struggles to understand its role in a changing world. Our men and women in uniform represent us on every rocky outcropping  of that tumultuous terrain, and so we pray that our pursuit of higher ideals will arm them with the sword of Truth and propel this nation down the path of enlightenment. Today let us remember those who gave every bit of their effort and no longer walk amongst us. To them we owe our devotion to this higher calling. We are united and at our best when the blood of their sacrifice nurtures the tree of freedom for EVERYONE.  

            Black, white, hispanic, asian, gay or straight. Our veins carry their blood. Our hearts cry out for freedom and justice so that our children will harvest the fruit of that sacrifice and make this world a better place. Together, we will find our way, with Your help. Amen.

tman<3

Tír na nÓg… for the warriors amongst us…

         

         You asked me whether it is real, this place where joy lives. Where the darkness gives way to the light. Where the princes sought each other, as the Others mocked and warned of despair and tore at their flesh until hope was nearly vanquished. 

          It may well have been. Save the remnants of two pieces of silver, made separate but meant to be one. If it were not for that magical place…

         For it is there, dear child, across the great divide, deep in the valley of  of Tir na nÓg, where the Silence died, and  two young warriors met after many moons had crossed the midnight sky…

        One was called  Ivadd, who heralded from a land far to the north, where the winter winds blew early and the great waters became like molten glass upon which faeries danced and cast their spells as night descended.

        The other was called  Darchir, and he rode a black stallion whose hooves were said to be of silver. They glistened as he galloped across the barren desert of the land  far to the west.

        It is in that special place by a babbling brook, where  their hearts found solace and they shed the armor of loneliness. For in this life, no man, or warrior walks the Path alone. He who is blessed with courage will never be alone…

      There, they embraced and the magical pieces of carefully forged silver were joined together once again. As they had meant to be. And then, the amulets were carefully hidden by that brook in the hope that eternity would bless that land, so that none who found their way there would ever feel that hunger again.

       And so it shall remain, in the hearts of all who live with hope. Forever young. 

       Never alone… 

love, tman<3

 

Columns, Gates… Boyhood

Dearest Readers,

           It is a gloomy day here, at least compared to the fine, fall weather we have experienced in the past few weeks.

            Today is the first real opportunity that I have had in months, to sit down and spend a moment of quiet contemplation with you… I suppose part of that is my fault for booking such a heavy schedule. Along with my other responsibilities around here, that has left me exhausted and with barely enough time to correspond with a few younger guys who’s  needs seem more important to me than blogging, to be honest.

              I have only now returned from my Saturday chores that started at my barber’s for the monthly shearing I have undergone, like clockwork, for nearly thirty years. Thirty years… Where does the time go?

              Anyways, after I got spruced up a bit, I decided to make my way to the local Lowe’s where I had plans to purchase some porch column bases and caps for a good client whose front porch is in need of repair. It seems that Mother Nature has taken her toll on the two column bases that sit on the brick landing and upon which rest the support columns for the gabled roof.

             It’s funny- I spent the past few weeks, in fits and starts, trying to locate the two column bases that I bought a few years ago but never used. You see, in a strange sort of irony, if that’s the correct term, the porch directly across the street was in need of column caps of the same size, but since the caps and bases are sold together, I purchased two sets but never used the bases. Instead, I ‘saved’ them, hoping that the day would come when I would find a use for them on another house. I hate throwing things like that away, so I didn’t.

             Only thing is, I now have NO idea where I stored them, and am starting to wonder if my brain is firing as efficiently as it once did. It seems easier to forget little things like that than ever before…

             So then, why does the past seem so very fresh in other ways? But, I digress…

              I paid for the new sets of column caps and bases in a store that seemed full of little kids. Little boys mostly. With their dads and granddads, shopping for all sorts of things, but mostly just spending time with the real men in their lives. It made me smile to see the happy faces and I started to notice little things and became quite pensive.

              At the cash register, directly in front of me was a little guy with his dad. I don’t know, but I suppose he might have been 6 or 7 years old. Cute as a button, clutching two hand- carved pumpkins, one in each hand. They were quite small, like his hands. He glanced up at me and smiled, as his dad started to pay for an assortment of other things. I’ve been told that I smile most of the time, or appear friendly, so I seem to get that kind of reaction from people. I often wonder if it’s true.

                  Anyways, he seemed excited and pleased that his dad was buying the tiny pumpkins for him and I glanced at his dad as he handed them over to be scanned, and saw the look of contentment and love on his face. The love a man has for his son. As it should be. He said something to the boy I didn’t understand, because it was in Russian, as I suspected… My brain was in that mode. Analyzing. It’s just the way I am. I think I smiled when I heard the words. They affirmed my ‘take’. Eastern European like I thought.

                 All of this only took a minute or two. Suddenly, I was paying for the column parts and the Simple Green gallon jug I had found on sale, in the paint department. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the father and son team head for their car as I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. As the doors opened to the outside, I caught a glimpse of the cub scout candy sale that had been set up in the airlock  in front of the store. Oh dear… I chuckled inside. You see, I rarely walk by a fund raiser of any kind without buying something. Especially when it comes to kids… I do remember what it was like to grow up always needing things.

                   So, it took me another 5 minutes to get out of the store, but it was worth it! I listened patiently to the wonderful rehearsed speeches that the boys had prepared. They were so eager. So hopeful. So young. So trusting…

                    I thanked them both for the little sticker I got for contributing and left the store finally, with my thoughts starting to spin out of control. It’s just the way my mind works… How one moment I can be smiling and happy and then something triggers the pensiveness. I used to call it melancholy, but I think that was wrong. It’s not like those moments are all sad. In fact, usually, I remember things quite fondly.

                   Lately tho, I suppose it’s safe to say that the moods I have, tilt me nearer to sadness than joy. Maybe it’s the things that have happened in my life in the past year, but I think it might be more than that. You see, I have spent a lot of time lately,  trying to support some young guys who have suffered quite a bit in ways that children should never experience. At least not in the world I imagine where kids are allowed to live lives of safety and grow up feeling loved.

                   So, I headed to my truck, trying to shake off the sudden thoughts. I took a deep breath and stowed the purchases behind the seat. I have one of those extended cabs with the extra door. I really do like that design in a truck…

                    Well, I got into my truck and glanced at the time. Wow!  It was already lunch time! Better head home…

                    I left the parking lot and headed for a major intersection where I cross the turnpike and leave the commercial district behind. The light was just turning red, so I had to stop and wait for the cycle to complete. I rolled the window down and took some fresh air into my lungs.

                    Simultaneously, a Honda sedan pulled up next to me, in the left turn lane. It stopped with the back seat even with my window. In the back seat, in one of those toddler safety seats was a young boy, maybe 2 years old. I looked at him and was startled… He reminded me of someone. Actually of a picture that was taken of someone long ago… Me, actually. I was on a tricycle and must have been about 2 or three years old. I had the same pug nose, the blond hair, the Eastern European looks about me. The one a young artist that I know, used to pencil a drawing for me. I do miss him…

                      I studied the little guy who was oblivious to my presence. He was staring at the tops of his new- looking sneakers, that he had placed on the back of his mom’s seat, bracing himself. Stiff- legged. Like every little kid does in the back seat of a car… He seemed deep in thought, and I found myself wondering what could be tumbling thru his little head. All kinds of thoughts were now flooding my brain. Correlating the recent letters I wrote to one young guy about bad things that he had suffered and to the responsibilities that adults have to nurture and not abuse…

                    Now, I was drifting off to the earliest days I remember in my life. To the tricycle I loved so much. The neighborhood patrols that I made so early on those warm summer mornings. Through my backyard until the sidewalk ended, and  down the pine needle -strewn path into my grandma’s yard. Stopping to admire the peonies that were taller than me. To smell the fragrance and to marvel at the perfection. Trying to whisk off the tiny ants that seemed to hide in the petals and failing that, to blow at them and admonish them to go elsewhere! I thought they were hurting the flowers. Noone told me differently. I was just a kid. I only knew what I heard or imagined.

                  I pedaled from there to the sidewalk in front of the farmhouse where everyone was still asleep, and headed for the iron gate that marked the outer boundaries of my allowed range, more or less. I was heading for my third birthday, after all! A boy needs to explore. To expand his horizons. To take chances. To learn…

                So, I sat in back of that gate, peering though the wire rectangles at the mysterious world beyond. The macadam street whose smell I can still imagine on a hot summer day. I reached up to play with the horseshoe- shaped gate latch, knowing that to breech that was verboten. It was cool to the touch…

                 I remember struggling with the latch. Lifting it up and letting it fall back into place as the inner turmoil churned in my stomach. I knew I was a good boy, so why was it so important to me that I go through that gate, against my mother’s wishes?

                  The feelings felt as fresh as any as I sat in my truck peering back into the past at the little boy in the jump seat, who was now peeling little stickers off his denim Oshkosh pants that someone had affixed. He had one stuck to the fingertips of his right hand, and one of the same size delicately teetered on one finger of his left hand. He was studying them intently and was now smiling.  He carefully placed both of the round stickers back from where they had come. He seemed contented. Safe. Happy. As it should be.

                     The latch lifted once more, but this time I pushed on the gate at the same time. It creaked open, it’s rusty hinges betraying my delinquent behavior. It startled me for a moment, and I remember having second thoughts. But, the little voices in my head kept insisting that it was OK… That really, all I was going to do was to go through the gate, turn my three- wheeled bike around on the silent street and head back to the safe zone… At least that’s what MY voice told me…

                     I never saw the bulldog that waited in the brush on the other side of the street. The one that disliked me so. My Aunt Grace’s dog. He seemed to include the street as part of his territory. Or so it seemed, everytime I was led across that street by my uncle or mother to visit. Something about my pudgy legs was appealing to him, because he had tried several times to take chunks out of them, right in front of everyone! Of course, there were adults present, so I was relatively safe. As it SHOULD be…

                    What happened next isn’t really all that important, in a sense… I DID get bit. Rather badly, to be honest. It terrified me, but I knew that I had done wrong, so it all made sense. Even the inane comment from my uncle seemed trivial, as he pulled the dog off of me. He asked me what I had done to upset his dog so much. After all, I never trusted him. There was just something about him that… Well, he’s gone now, so I should let him rest in peace…

                       Anyways, thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings… I know they seem disjointed most of the time, but if you look for meaning, you will generally find some. I’ve done that all my life, and it does pay dividends.

                    Most things become clear after a while, but some never will. Like the betrayal of trust that happens to some children who only wanted to be loved. I suppose things like that will never change, but I will never get used to hearing about them. They cut me to the core.

tman<3

Absolution

        His lithe hands trembled before him. He was sure now. As the sun reached the top of the craggy outcropping, he remembered…

         In the distance he heard the drumbeats… the thuds. Stark. One… pause… another. The clacking of the hooves. Hollow on the cold pavement. The little hand rose to the tiny face. A salute  amidst the sea of tears. The tiny  boy stood tall in his blue suit. Daddy would have been proud.

           His eyes glistened as he felt the pain again, deep inside, where the beast had stabbed at him. The fetid water of the swamp rippled as he gasped his first breaths…

             The black stallion twisted and pulled on the reins as the young soldier carefully placed one boot in front of the other as death’s breath cut its swath and eternity embraced the words that a nation and little boy once believed.

              Home. To his Father, where he would be safe at last, from the clutching hands. The insatiable crowds. The venomous altar from which only hate took forbearance.

               It was done. Never was he more sure. He remembered.

               A life of remembering, lived in a cauldron of  derision and loss. Tied to memories of caissons and cold November days. Dancing jackrabbits and blue baseball caps. Twisted wreckage. The sharp metal severing his hope, so carefully entrusted. Gone.

                The last glow of the waning light quivered as the boy shut his eyes and placed his hands together. Far below, the darkness beckoned. From the lair of absolution where his urgent prayers echoed as the cold wind lifted the autumn- burnt leaf aloft. He stepped to the precipice.

                The distant voices never heard. The searchlight invisible  behind his closed eyes.

                His path was clear. It had been, all along. He had been too blind to see.

                The silence crushed him as he fell into the darkness.

               Forty seven years spared. The sword sheathed. The armor left to tarnish.

               A life never lived. Remembered only in words cut into cold stone.

tman 

Letter to My ‘Brother’

From: Anthony Redekas

Date: August 23, 2012 8:40:56 PM EDT

 

To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m wasting the time to respond to your letter. It is devoid of anything remotely supportive to your brother who took the huge risk of exposing his heart to people he once cared deeply about. My act of love has been thrown back at me and every attempt has been made to color me as evil or broken. In need of repair. You can NOT imagine how insulting that is to me.

 

I am greatly saddened that my orientation is simply too much for you to understand, but at this point in my life, I am not about to start educating you on such simple science that has been available and understood for decades now.

 

You find comfort in an absurd belief system that has no problem applying it’s evil doctrine to one of God’s children. Someday, if not in this life, you will be asked to explain why you questioned His Plan. I do not envy you. I’ll pray that He finds a way to forgive you.

 

Thank you for explaining to me how I should feel about all of this. Apparently, I am not allowed to feel angry about the treatment I have been ‘blessed’ with. It did not escape me that the ‘anger’ argument that my other ‘brother’ espouses has found its way into your letter. Congratulations. Both of you can enjoy your Dr. Phil moment, knowing that you have accomplished great things.

 

Two brothers I cared about have betrayed me at the most vulnerable point in my life. Thank you.

 

I could go on and on about the pain you have inflicted, but I’ve had enough.

 

You have both underestimated me.

 

I will move on with my life, knowing that I did His bidding. I have no room in my life for this poison. I gave you 17 months to digest this news and adjust.

 

I was wrong to expect anything from either of you.

 

I’m returning your letter. Perhaps it will make good reading in the future. I would like to think that someday it will embarrass you to read it, but I have completely lost any faith that you have the capacity or Christian understanding to ever really understand His words.

 

I am done.

 

Anthony Lawrence Redekas   23 August 2012

 

Editor’s note:  I received a letter from my middle ‘brother’ two days ago. He wrote to me apparently shocked at my response to his offer to celebrate my birthday. I was unequivocal during that conversation, that there was NOTHING to celebrate. At least not with him or my youngest ‘brother’.

 

In this letter he repeats his desire that I ‘change’, and admits that it would be a ‘miracle’, and offers his advice that once I open my eyes to God’s goodness, ALL things will be possible.

 

He also espouses his theory about my orientation. In his mind, it is a result of the violent act perpetrated against me as a child. The evil a heterosexual man nearly destroyed the boy in the swamp with…

 

It is the only way he seems able to accept my ‘unnatural’ state. It cannot be that God created me in his image, as He repeatedly states in that Holy Book. No, it Must be that something changed me.

 

I simply have no more stomach for this absurd viewpoint. He has obviously spent not a single moment reading ANYTHING that questions his backward rationalizations, and the end result is that he is little more than a bigot of the worse kind– a hypocrite that hides behind a flimsy and lazy interpretation of God’s Word.

 

I am done with him. It is terribly sad, but I have allowed this to wound me, hoping things will get better, and I was wrong. Only God can change his corrupted beliefs… ironically.

 

I have not yet replied to the comments from my last post, and I am sorry…  I have been working ridiculously long and grueling hours, trying to deaden my feelings. To exhaust myself so that I can sleep. It hasn’t been easy. Betrayal of this magnitude is life altering.

 

I’ll try to answer the comments this weekend. I am actually taking the weekend off.

 

I don’t want to end this post on such a sad note, so I will add that other things in my life are going quite well. I have wonderful and supportive friends and Godchildren, and I am making new friends daily. I feel unburdened, in a sense, and once the rest of this family chaos is resolved, I’ll move foward with a new perspective and take up the sword once again. There is no turning back and I must add that even tho some sadness has come from this, there never was another way, if I was to survive. And, rest assured that I have not traveled this far to be defeated by the Others now.

 

Thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you are all well and moving foward! Love you all!

 

tman<3