As a Father, I must walk a path for more than myself.
I must make choices that could have life-long impacts for another.
I must be conscious of who’s watching.
As a Son, I have mammoth shoes to fill.
I need to listen and learn or I may pay a heavy price.
I look for guidance.
As a Father, my words can strike blows.
I’ve been married, officially now, for over 20 years so I feel the need to come clean on one particular topic. Actually, I didn’t even know I had my wife duped for so long but, honey, I’ve been faking it since before we started dating.
Romance is a big part of relationships (like I need to tell you that) but, in this instance, I believe I need to divide at what point romance starts for a woman and at what point romance starts for a man. Romance, for a woman, is the entire process leading up to sex. Romance, for a man, IS sex. Everything leading up to the moment is more like “fun teasing” except for one thing… slow dancing.
Now, the dancing isn’t the issue. Actually, it’s quite stimulating and, as a young man, somewhat over stimulating, as I recall (I openly apologize to those girls who’s slow dances I ruined). It’s the songs I’m subjected to that I have a problem with. I really don’t like them. In fact, I’m much closer to hating them. If it’s not Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight” or Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” I’m fighting off the dry heaves. BUT, in the name of romance, meaning the dance itself for you and the prospect of sex for me, I’ll move to the beat, whisper the lyrics in your ear, hell, I might even fake I’m moved by the story in the song, but I DO NOT enjoy the music.
So, do I want to listen to said music in the car? No. Do I want to put your play-list on my phone? No. Do I want to listen to all that sap once we’ve moved on to my version of “romance”? If it’ll make you do things you wouldn’t normally do in silence, I’ll fake I like it. It’s not like I’m faking anything else. How about you hun? Anything you’d like to admit too? On second thought, let’s just turn up your play-list. “Lady in red… is dancing with me, cheek to cheek…”
I’ve taken the time
to ponder about
what we’ve achieved
in 20.
We’ve defied the critics
the doubters and cynics,
outlasted the others
to 20.
We’ve created a life
we still nurture and coddle
but our work is not done
after 20.
We’ve learned what we need
yet discover all new things
love can still be a mystery
in 20.
We’ve laughed at the highs
held on through the lows
we’ve grown, we’ve learned
to 20.
But from here is the best
we’ll take our experience
and love that much better
after 20.
I love you so much
I can’t wait for what’s next
our lives, our love
past 20.
Love comes in many forms, some identified as thus…
Puppy Love – our first feelings that quickly fade with our attention span.
Tough Love – can be hurtful to both parties but the result is well worth it.
Burning Love – usually unsatisfying, hence the feeling left within.
Long Lost Love – feelings forgotten and rekindled again and then left to linger.
I’m tired of those living
With blinders on eyes
Who drive, oblivious
To me by their side.
We both need to turn
And the city provides
Two lanes for this purpose
And lines as a guide.
You line up beside me
On the far left-hand side
Our signals are flashing
But yours is a lie.
The arrow is pointing
Together, we move
Me on your right
But your eyes are glued…
To the lane that’s beside you
No wait, that lane’s mine!
You drift and you drift
Until I have to slide…
To the next lane over
Or into the ditch
You don’t even see me
Why didn’t you switch?
If you wanted my lane
You could have lined up
One space behind me
Am I asking too much?
But now it’s too late
Are you tardy too?
You’re in such a hurry
What’s there to do?
I’m buying a tank
Or some armored truck
If you want my lane now
You’ll be out of luck.
You’ll bounce off my side
And maybe you’ll learn
To stay in your lane
The next time you turn!
Sometimes, things happen to us all.
Sometimes, things happen to just one.
Sometimes, things happen for no reason.
Sometimes, that reason is just because.
We think, we can figure it out.
We think, we can find the answer.
We think, we are in control.
We think, it can’t be just because.
What if, we’re not smart enough.
What if, it’s beyond what we know.
What if, we’re not ready yet.
What if, it’s just because.
Are we, able to accept it.
Are we, willing to move on.
Are we, capable of understanding.
Because it may be, who we are.
A warning to all women who read this blog… the games I’m about to describe are juvenile, gross and completely revolting. If you choose to read on and you become offended, you’ll have no other person to blame than yourself.
I’ve written about bonding moments for guys before but I thought I’d share the three games my group of friends played. Believe it or not, these games helped shape what society would consider admirable character traits, all be it, in non-traditional ways. To play these games you needed trust, honesty and selflessness. First, the trust game…
Flinch
This game involved snapping your fingers, sharply and abruptly at the other guy’s crotch. The idea was to get as close to his ball sac as possible, without touching it, in the hopes he would “flinch”. If he did flinch, you’d get to punch him in the shoulder twice, as hard as you can. This could happen while sitting, walking, standing, driving, any time and a few times you’d get bagged but if you did get bagged you’d be able to punch the finger snapper in the shoulder as punishment. If you didn’t flinch, you were given the title of “Stone”. We all learned to trust in each other enough to know we wouldn’t get bagged so, eventually, we all became “Balls of Stone” so the game lost its challenge. On to honesty…
This Game Has No Name
You’re going to need a little imagination on this one. Hold up your hand and do the “ok” hand sign. Now drop your hand down in its natural position but keep holding the “ok” sign. Your “ok” sign is now facing the opposite direction of when you started and it’s below your waist. This is the key to this particular game. If you’re caught looking at the circle created by the reverse “ok” sign, below the waist, the holder of said sign gets to punch you in the shoulder, twice (just like in flinch). You can block the sign by raising your hand, fingers extended straight up, in front of your nose, splitting your eyeballs (like Curly would do to stop Moe from poking his eyes) and the signer can’t hit you. Further more, if you block and are able to stick your unused index finger through the reverse “ok” sign, you get to punch the signee. Following so far? Now, when signing, you can’t make it obvious you’re signing. You can’t call out “hey, look at this” or in any way force someone else to look at your sign but you can walk by while the guys are sitting down, watching TV with the sign below your waist and maybe catch a few non-blockers. Here’s where the honesty kicks in. There’s no way to prove if you looked at the sign or not, you just had to admit it and take your lumps. We all got pretty good at blocking and the game was going pretty well until one of my friends did the ultimate move. 5 of us were in my buddy’s basement, watching sports highlights when this particular friend ran into the room, jumped through the air, legs spread-eagle, ass facing couches and with both hands stretched down between his legs, sported a double-sign. Once landed, he turned around and, one by one, we stretched out our arms to take our punches. Our honesty led to the first and only clean sweep! Time for another game…
Blue Flame Tandem
It’s true. You can light farts. It’s methane gas and it burns blue. I don’t remember who started it but one of the guys decided to try and light a fart and poof, it lit! So, we all tried that night and a few went off and a few didn’t. We discover that lighters were more reliable than matches. Most farts would blow out the match. The hardest part was trying to get the open flame close enough to your asshole for the gas to ignite. (NOTE: We never dropped our pants. It was way too dangerous. The parents could walk down at any moment. What are you going to say to properly explain why your pants are on the ground, your legs are up in the air and you’re holding a lighter?) The only way to truly guarantee a good flame was to have the farter “assume the position” and point out to the lighter (the person doing the lighting) where his asshole was. We always lit from the side. If your face was too close to the asshole at ignition, you could lose an eyebrow or two. We were very successful at blue flaming. We even considered making it a competition. The prize? A trophy with a bronze on top of one guy, with his legs in air and the other, poised beside him, lighter in hand and a stupid grin on his face. True teamwork!
I’m not overly proud of participating in these games. We were in our early twenties when we played these games too (which makes it even more pathetic). But they did lead to some good times, great laughs and life-long friendships! Mind you, when we get together for poker, I wear a cup, never look below the waist and hide the lighters.
