In honor of my 5,000th view here are just a few very random things from life as I've know it. Random.
My brother and both sisters took piano lessons. Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to take piano lessons. They had these things called "make-up lessons". I truly thought they had to go in and wear makeup during those lessons. I wanted no part of that, so the no-piano-lessons thing was OK with me.
Not necessarily from childhood, but when I was 19 and working my first real job in an office, there was a woman there who had a hysterectomy. Everybody was speaking of it in hushed tones and some were even talking about being "so sorry". She came back to work and walked like every step might result in bolts of agony running through her body. I, however, was quite confused. I could not understand what the big deal was about having hemorrhoids removed. In my defense, I didn't really know what a hemorrhoid was either. I just made it a point not to sit on cold concrete.
Back to childhood: Hell wasn't the only reason I was afraid to die. I thought they buried you naked. . . . laid you out for all the world to see. I didn't want to be in a funeral, but I did kind of want to go to one.
I was skinny, had skinny legs. I overheard a comment about my skinny legs from an adult one time. I was maybe 8 - 9 years old. I didn't wear shorts much before then. Except for swimming (which for some reason doesn't count) I never wore shorts in public again until a year or so ago. . . . and that was someplace where the same people will not likely see me ever again.
I almost shot my grandfather one time. . . . well, . . . the dove flew right by 'im. We met up with my cousin nearby. His daddy had already taken his gun away from him. A fellow can get pretty excited when there's a bird to shoot at.
I was never any good at sports. In junior high, our basketball team was playing in Satartia, MS. Coach says to me, "Can you stay on that number 4?" It sounded easy enough to me even though I had never played in a "real" game. Stay on number 4. That's what I did. I was in number 4's face. I think I lasted almost 5 minutes before I was taken out. I didn't understand. Number 4 was always in my zone. I followed him all over the court. Covered him well. Some years later I realized that basketball has an offense and a defense. . . . somebody should've told me.
Like most, for me any soft drink was a coke. This worked out fine as long as I was the one leaning over into the drink box or putting my 6 cents in the machine. There was a time when we drove up to Uncle Ray's store and Pop went in to get us something to drink. He asked what I wanted. "A coke." Of course. He came out with a Coke. I started crying and carrying on because that wasn't the kind of coke I wanted. He tried to figure out what I wanted, but I couldn't tell him I wanted a "Sprite coke". The Coke coke had to do.
I waited 6 years for a girlfriend. 6 years! Finally, one afternoon I was sitting in my 6th grade class, and this note comes across the room to me. It said, "I love you. Keep this. Keep. Keep. I love you. P.S. Don't tell xxxx." - (verbatim!) Don't tell xxxx? I could live with that. After all, it had been 6 years! The rest of that afternoon and night I was on Cloud 9. Had me a girlfriend! Well worth a 6 year wait. When I got home from school that day I climbed up on top of the chicken house and sat there daydreaming of all the possibilities. I was supposed to keep the note so I found a jar to seal it up in. I dug a hole and I buried it. I could hardly sleep that night because I couldn't wait to get back to school and my girl.
Talk about struttin' in! Things were great. Then the bell rang for our first little 15 minute recess. XXXX corners me and asks about OOOO. (Get it? X . . . O???) I have since come to wonder if a 3rd party did a little pot stirring. Well, I couldn't lie. Besides, she picked me, didn't she? I gave XXXX my sincere sympathies. So, everything's good again. Right? An hour or so later the bell rang for lunch. Outside after lunch I'm walkin' on sunshine when I hear that voice from alllll the way across the playground, as does every other kid outside and those inside the classrooms on that side of the building. "I hate you, Dennis Manor! I hate you!" Well . . . we had a good run. 22 hours. 22 out of 8,760.
Yep. It was crushing. Tragically rejected at the height of my most anticipated acceptance. At that moment I wouldn't have cared if I died and they buried me nekkid. But, I got over it. 'Course, it probably ruined me for what would have be a primo relationship in the 8th grade. (And I mean p-r-i-m-o!) But, I got over it. It probably was still rollin' around in my head when I was finally able to ask a girl out in the 10th grade, but that date ended before 10 o'clock without so much as a one-armed side hug or a fist bump. It was on me. Just too shy and scared. But I'm so over it. . . . can't you tell?
I suppose that's enough randomness for now. If any more of this stuff comes back to me I might do a volume 2. By then, though, I might have figured out what drove me to do this one!
Connected,
Dennis
PS In honor of angst, here are 2 angsty songs from "the day". . . . and one about a funeral, complete with clothes. Don't worry about looking it up. Of course "angsty" is a word.
