a short untitled poem

     The plan was to keep working on this poem and maybe submit it somewhere I might get paid for it.  I never get paid for my writing here because no one clicks on ads. lol.  I've started on a short story, though, that I think will turn out much better, and will be more likely to make me money, than this poem.  So you dear blog readers get the poem for free. I don't have a title for it.  Maybe someone could suggest one.  Also, in case anyone wonders, it isn't about anyone in particular.

     Her soft touch is like just before a thunderstorm when the breeze dies down but I still feel it blowing.
     When she embraces me it is like she is cocking a powerful gun without even knowing.
   
     Her soft kiss brushing across my lips is like feeling the petals of a rose with just fingertips.
     When she kisses me passionately my toes can somehow feel the curvature of her lovely hips.
   
     They say attraction is mystery but mystery cannot be unless I bother to ponder.
     When we are alone I can't think clear enough to question the sensations as through me they wander.

I Am An Ex-Husband

     A pretty cool exchange of messages happened between my ex-wife and I at the beginning of this week.  It's a conversation I think the two of us should be proud of and since not much happens between a man and a woman in the aftermath of a divorce that they can be proud of I figured I'd take the time to preserve it here.  I hope my ex won't mind but since I don't want to call her at almost midnight to ask and since her part of this was a public post on Facebook, I'm going to go ahead and assume she won't care.  I often made mistaken assumptions during my marriage, though, so I hope I'm not wrong.
     Our son was with his mother last weekend and when I met them to pick him up we ended up eating together at Waffle House.  During the meal we were discussing another couple we know going through a nasty divorce and my ex-wife looked at me and said that she had come to realize in our situation that the divorce wasn't really either of our faults.  We just went through some terrible times and we grew apart instead of together and we just weren't there for each other like we should have been.  She said she wanted me to know she was sorry that it happened like that and that she was sorry for her part in it all.
     I really didn't respond.  I didn't want to get too deep into the divorce with our son sitting there because when you start a conversation like that with your ex-wife you never know which direction it's going to go.  Also, it just caught me off guard.  I hadn't expected her to say anything like that just then.  Mostly though, I didn't say much because I didn't realize it was a big deal to her to say something like that.  What can I say?  I'm a guy.  We're often clueless about stuff like this.
     The next day I got a few messages from some of our mutual friends on Facebook.  No matter how many times I tell some people I don't need to know someone always manages to inform me of things my ex-wife posts.  The weird thing is it isn't the same people all the time either.  I wonder if she goes through the same things with stuff I post here.  I'll have to ask her sometime.  Anyway, I guess I'm glad they informed me this time because otherwise I would have never known about her status update.
     "Just ate dinner w my Ex and apologized for my part in our "Falling Apart" after losing Three Babies. All I can say is God heals all situations if we forgive others#feelinglikeaputz# LOL"
     Then later in the comments she wrote;
     "I look back and realize that we should have handled ourselves better but Hind sight is 20/20. and Poor Paul tried his best with me. Looking back, how many 16 year old boys do you know that would wipe the tears away from their crying girlfriend after her Mother died a horrible death, stick by her, get married and not very long into marriage get news of cancer and how many 22 year old guys would work all night at a gas station during the midnight shift (after being at the hospital with their wife all day) and go right back to the hospital without any sleep, be there through radiation treatments, and then I have the audacity to blame someone for not being perfect after losing three babies? Now it's like I'm older and realize how ridiculously high my expectations were. Sure, Paul may have gotten comfy and taken me a bit for granted and he definitely made his share of mistakes, but geez, he probably deserved that in hindsight. All we can ever do is own up to our mistakes, apologize, and repent to God and try not to make the same mistakes ever again."
     Now yes, I am a guy but I would have to be a complete imbecile not to realize how big of a deal it was for her to write that and I felt like she deserved a response.  I probably over thought my response.  I wanted her to know that I appreciated what she wrote, that I'm sorry for my part in it too, that she is forgiven for her part in our marriage failing, and that I hoped she could forgive me too.  I couldn't just write that, though.  I felt like that wouldn't be enough effort.  Also, if I'm being honest, I probably think too much about anything I write before I write it except when I don't like right now.  Anyway, this is what I texted her.
     "Just wanted to say that I appreciated your apology yesterday. I just didn't want to start a huge discussion in front of Brad. I hope you know that I'm sorry for my part in our falling apart too. We both made mistakes and hopefully we have both learned from them. Also, I saw your Facebook post because of course someone would tell me to look at it and I want you to know I'm touched. It's good to know that you haven't forgotten everything I did for you Even though things fell apart and I hope you know I remember and appreciate everything you did for me. There was a period of time I don't think we would have made it through without each other and it's a shame we didn't remember that time when the going got rough again. There's no going back but it's good to know that going forward we can both put the past behind us and maybe be as good of friends as we once were lovers."
And that was it really. Things were said that needed to be said and then we went back to talking about our son and the things he needs and how school is going and how much of a pain in the butt he can be. We could rehash things endlessly and be angry and hurt but there would be no point in that. I think we both knew for a while now that we needed to truly let go and move on but we both had to be at a point where we were ready to do that at the same time and I'm proud that we got there. I'm proud of her too that she was the one that initiated it. Mark that on your calendars, folks. It isn't often that you'll hear any ex-husband say he's proud of any ex-wife for anything.
Just a few more notes. For the few of you out there that may be still harboring any hopes let go. None of this conversation means in any way shape or form that there's a chance of us getting back together. What it does mean is that we both know we meant a lot to each other and in one way or another are going to mean a lot to each other for the rest of our lives. I haven't given this post the title it has just because it goes along with the titles of several of my other posts. I gave it the title because the title is true. I was with Sherri for fifteen years and married to her for ten. As she often says, we grew up together. I can deal properly with her and the memories but I couldn't get rid of them even if I wanted to. Maybe someday I'll be a husband again but even then I'll still always be an ex-husband.

My Son Is A Lineman

     My son was on the ground.  He wasn't bouncing back up like normal.  The coaches gathered round him, unsnapped his helmet, and took it off.  One of them looked like they said "breath."  I didn't panic.  That's a luxury a man can't indulge in.  I didn't worry either rather I started thinking about worrying.  It wasn't time yet to worry but it was time to find out what was going on.  I reluctantly walked onto the practice field to where my son still lay. He wasn't holding a body part but he was in obvious pain and seemed to have trouble catching his breath.  By this point it had become almost a scary moment.  "He got hit in the balls," I heard one of the coaches say.  I laughed and my son, seeing me laughing, smiled. He was up soon, I told him to get back at it, and practiced resumed.  I felt sympathy for his pain but pretty much felt relieved.  A nutshot, while painful, isn't often serious.
     This is my son's first year of tackle.  I didn't agonize over the decision to let him play.  I'd actually made the decision a few years ago when I first let him put on a helmet and play flag; when I first saw the gleam in his eyes as he did the dirty work on the lines and fell in love with the game.  I've never tried to discourage or deter his feelings towards the sport even though I was always a baseball man myself.  He has his own personality and football fits it.
     That doesn't mean I don't second guess my decision.  There is growing evidence, and more evidence, of the long term health effects of playing football and sportswriters are questioning the morality of watching football and writers and players both are questioning whether to let their children play the game they make their living off of.  Long before I ever had a son I had a doctor I trust, a doctor who played college ball himself, tell me he didn't think kids should play football when he looked at the number of people with permanent pain in their knees and backs from their glory days of high school football.  He didn't think it was worth it even in the days before we learned more about concussions and other brain injuries.  The risks of the sport are great.
     It's a personal concern for me too.  It isn't just an abstract idea.  My brother is walking around with knee and back injuries partially caused by football.  Neither of my grandfathers were football players but they did both suffer from Alzheimer's and because of watching their declines that disease is probably my life's greatest fear.  So given his genetic predisposition, why would I let my son do anything that would increase his risk of getting something I fear so much for myself?
     I could rationalize the risks away.  Thousands of football parents and fans do that every day.  I could say that more kids get brain injuries from riding bikes than they do from football and I wouldn't be lying.  I'd just be ignoring the fact that that's because a whole lot more kids ride bikes, and for longer periods of time, than play football and that riding bikes is therefore far less risky.  I could say that everything we do in life is risky and that my child has as much of a chance of getting hurt during the car ride to his game tomorrow as he does playing in it and I might not be lying.  I'd just be ignoring the fact that car rides are a risk I have to expose him to while football is not.  I could share an amusing anecdote about how in the middle of my son's first season of flag football, when the decision to let him play was still fresh and weighing heavy on my mind, he broke his foot not during football but while playing on the monkey bars at school and it would be true.  I'd just be ignoring the fact that its is an ironic coincidence and nothing more.
      I sort of envy the parents that can ignore the risks of their children playing football by using those methods and the parents that are ignorant of the risks in the first place.  I'm not a stick my head in the sand can of parent or person, though.  If I'm going to put my son at risk, or let him put himself at risk, it is going to be because I've carefully considered the risk and decided the benefits are worth the risks.  I've decided football is worth the risk for my child.
      A few days before the nutshot he was playing in a scrimmage and getting bounced around like a pinball.  He's big for a third grader, if a bit short, but he plays in a league of third and fourth graders so he isn't often among the biggest players on the field.  He is often lined up across from the biggest players on the field and he tries his best to block them or get around them depending on what he's supposed to do.  Sometimes they knock him down, although not as much as they should given the size differences, but he gets up and goes back at them.  Mostly he makes the plays he should make and he does it with a smile on his face.
     I tend to parent differently than most people and sometimes I explain to my son the way I'm parenting, and why, when I'm doing it.  It's an approach that wouldn't work with most eight year old kids but it works with my thoughtful son.  After that pinball practice I broke a sports parenting rule and actually told him why parents encourage their children to play sports.  One, it gets the kids they hell off our backs for awhile and burns up some of their energy.  Two, it's a way for them to learn lessons they don't even know they're learning.  I told him playing sports was sort of stealth teaching of life lessons.
     "If you approach life the way you approached the scrimmage tonight," I lectured, "you'll have a good life.  You got back up when you got knocked down and tried again.  Whatever obstacle was in front of you, you tried to go through it and if that didn't work you tried another approach.  You did everything you could to do what needed to be done and, most importantly, you did it with a smile on your face and said it made you feel like a boss.  If you live your life the way you played football tonight you'll be in good shape."
     Ultimately, football isn't the riskiest thing I let him do.  We go rock climbing as often as we can and I let him take try things sixty feet in the air that are risky so that he can know the exhilaration of doing something he thought he couldn't and appreciate the rewards of effort.  Of course, while rock climbing I can be right behind him.  I'm teaching him to handle firearms and how to hunt so that he can understand how a disciplined approach can make him safer and better at some things and so that he can share the bonding experience of hunting and shooting with myself and the other men in his life.  Of course, while shooting I can be right beside him.  I can only watch the football from the sidelines.
     Could he learn the same lessons and get the same benefits from less riskier behavior? Most kids probably could be my son wouldn't.  He plays on the line because when he played flag football he saw right away that the line was where kids made the most contact with each other and he likes contact.  He like physicality.  That's why the only other sport he still competes in is wrestling.  He likes the line mostly because of the contact, sure, but it's also because I've explained to him that the line is a dirty job but someone has to do it.  Lineman don't always get the most recognition and most kids don't want to play there.  My son, though, likes the idea of doing things that have to be done that no one else wants to do.  He takes pride in his own accomplishments and it doesn't much matter to him if anyone else notices or not.  That's who he is.  That's his personality and I try to let him be who he's going to be.  So for better or worse, I let my son play football because he is who he is; my son is a lineman.

I Am Drunk

     I'm drunk.  Obviously not too type to drunk, drunk but still pretty drunk.  It occurs to me that I've never drunken blogged.  My spell check keeps wanting to correct blogged to flogged but I have drunken flogged.  That is, however, a whole nother story that I'm not drunk enough to tell.  Still, now I will drink and blog and this will be the first time that I've sat down to write a post with not even a clue of what I'm going to write.  It should be interesting.
     So what do I think about when I'm drunk? Women.  Women.  Norm from Cheers was right; "Women.  Can't live with them....pass the beernuts."  I passed up three or four women in the bars of Herrin tonight that I know I could have gone home with mostly because they were women in the bars in Herrin.  Still, it was partially because I was more concerned with texting a woman in Carbondale who told me two months ago that she doesn't want to date guys that are bald, wear glasses, have beards, smoke, or have kids.  Still,  I've become friends with her and was texting her tonight while she was out on a date and we were both making fun of the youngster she was on a date with.  Am I stupid?  Are women stupid?  Is the answer to both those questions yes?
     Maybe the whole thing about wanting what we can't have is true but I don't think so.  If that were true then why don't I want my ex wife?  She looks better now than she ever did when we were together.  That includes when she was sixteen and twenty one and all those ages when women think they look their best.  Still, when I look at her now there's just nothing.  Why the hell am I writing about any of this?  I'm drunk I guess.  Why don't I use the delete button in my moments of self awareness?  I'm drunk I guess.
     So I guess that begs the question who the hell ever begs for a question?  Wait, no, that's not it.  It begs the question; what am I looking for in a woman?  I don't know.  Love is like the Supreme Court justice said about porn, "I'll know it when I see it."  See, I don't want to limit myself, in love or porn, and I'll consider almost any kind.  They just have to be strong; women that is not porn.
     I like strong women.  That's what I grew up with and that's what I want.  Some assume that means I'm a weak man but you know what they say about making an ass out of ume. The deal is that I'm not going to fix anyone's life.  Hell, I've barely got my own life together. I don't expect anyone to fix my life, either.  When I find the right woman together we will makes each other's life better and that's it really but that's a lot I think.  I also think that the previous sentence's structure probably only makes sense when I'm drunk.
     That's another thing; writing.  I know I'm a pretty decent writer and a lot better than some people that make a living off this shit but get off my back about it.  I know those of you that are encouraging me only want what's best for me but I only want what's best for my son and I can't afford to take the kind of risk, i.e. quitting work and trying to write for a living, that would be necessary for me to write for a living.  So I'll keep writing this blog for the pleasure of writing, to help me sort out feelings, and for as much as it attracts women to me and that's it.  I'll write a story from time to time when I just can't get the idea out of my head but then I'll do nothing with it once I've written it.  If that disappoints you then now you know how my ex wife felt most of my life.
     So what do I really have to offer a woman then?  Not my writing because well; is this kind of drivel really much to offer?  Not a better life because she'll have to work with me to get that.  I'm a nice guy.  I'm a different sort of guy.  I am capable of winning the understatement of the year award.  I have a beard that I insist is kick ass no matter what anyone else thinks of it.  I'm an intelligent man.  I have a few other traits that I won't mention in a public forum even when I'm drunk that are a positive.  Oh and I've got blue eyes like the Colorado/Texas/Arizona sky or the Atlantic Ocean take your pick.  That's it really and if that's not enough then fuck it.  I'm drunk.

I Tell Myself To Remember This

     Here I'm am again awake when I should be sleeping.  I couldn't tell you if I feel like the days just blur together or it all just seems like one long unending day because I'm too tired to tell the difference.  Even my whining has become repetitive.  Still, I fight sleep like a little kid and rebel against nothing and I just don't care.  Even my faults have become boring to me.  I want to write, though.  I want to write.  It's been seven days since I posted anything and I received a wonderful compliment from a complete stranger on my last post and the motivation is always there anyway.  I have plenty of things to write about too. There's how quickly a day of remembrance turns to crass commercialism in this country but everyone knows America is too materialistic.  I went on two dates with a woman and then she decided she doesn't want to see me anymore because of something she knew about before we ever met.  That should be good for a diatribe or two but I would just be writing once again that women are hard to understand.  We have an employee appreciation day coming up at work and I'm ready to rage about about the irony and fallacy and farce that is but...well actually that one I'll probably write but it needs to marinate in my mind another night or so.  Still, it seems like even my writing, my escape from the same old song and dance, has become repetitive.
     It is easy to see why some people think it's all meaningless and on a night like this, as I listen to the water from a leak drip without any motivation to fix it, that is a tempting philosophy to embrace.  We wage slaves go away from our homes everyday and slave away just to pay the car payments that let us keep doing it.  We shuffle our kids to and from school and their activities and shovel food we can barely afford into their mouths just so that they too can grow up and do what we do.  Life is hard and it comes to the same end for us all no matter what.  It is almost understandable to think that the grind never ends up grinding anything to anything resembling a point.  In the middle of a night like tonight the meaning of life seems as thin and easily vanishing as the steam from my coffee and the smoke from my cigarette.
     Still...
     Last week one evening when I wasn't feeling good my son put down his video game controller and asked me if there was anything he could do for me.  I see him look at me a certain way sometimes and I know he's wondering if I'm okay and if he can help in anyway. He wants to take care of me almost as much as I want to take care of him.  Sometimes I think about myself and my ex wife and the ways we've fucked up his life and I wonder where the hell this sweet boy came from.  I wonder about a lot of things he does and I mean that with the emphasis on wonder because that's what he is.  This past Friday my ex had to cancel visitation because of car trouble and I could see the disappointment in his eyes but he told her it was alright because he didn't want her to feel bad.
     I tell myself to remember this.
     That cancellation lead to some scrambling.  I had to work Saturday and had a date and night out with old friends planned for that evening and no babysitter because I wasn't supposed to have Brad.  My biggest worry, though, was the disappointed child on my hands. Forget my stuff.  I needed to find a way to make him feel better.  My family rode to the rescue.  They took Brad for the weekend, I was able to do everything I wanted and needed to do, and since he was getting a weekend with Grandma and Grandpa Brad wasn't disappointed anymore about not seeing his mom and he didn't miss me one bit.  I don't think he'd care if he missed meeting the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles if he was with Grandma and Grandpa.  After all the fighting and cussing we did when I was growing up my family will still do that much for and mean that much to my son and I and my parents are still trying to take care of me.
     I tell myself to remember this.
     During that Saturday night out with old friends I had a blast.  My one friend took the opportunity to ask me, as he always does, if I was ever going to write a novel.  I can't help laughing at him because he's stupid enough to still believe in me.  My other friend shocked us both by showing us something we never thought we'd see from him.  I can't really go into details but I'll just say that I can't help laughing at him because he's stupid enough to still believe in love.  Yes, I just called my two oldest friends stupid mostly because they must be to still be friends with me.  They'd say the same about me and we'd all laugh and know we meant it as a compliment.  I'm pretty sure we did say such things to each other that night just not in so many words.
     I tell myself to remember this.
     Monday, at work, the heat and the stress and the overtime got to myself and a coworker of mine.  We had an argument that almost came to blows.  Two guys with ginger beards arguing is almost as bad as two women.  We barely spoke to each other the rest of the day. Still, as we walked out of work we were joking and laughing and he still called me at four in the morning the next day to make sure I was awake and coming to work.  Stuff happens and then you forget it because if you don't then you can't work together and tell me if that isn't just the way life is supposed to be.
     I tell myself to remember this.
     Just since I've last posted I've marveled at how defensive my friends became of me when I told them the way that woman I dated treated me, even though it didn't much matter to me.  I've had a complete stranger compliment my writing and yes I was just looking for an excuse to mention that again.  All of these amazing little moments of meaning have happened in the last week that, until I thought about it, seemed like a meaningless slough to me.  If this is how everyday is going to be the same and how my life is going to be repetitious; I should be thankful for this.
     I tell myself to remember this.
     Yesterday, when I picked Brad up from school he threw two books he'd borrowed from the library into my truck and exclaimed, "BOOKS," with a smile I recognized from the mirror on he face.  Tonight, he had a football scrimmage and went against kids bigger and older than him.  At times he resembled a pinball but he got by them when he was supposed to and they didn't get by him.  At the end, when I usually give him my tips and pointers I only had one thing to say.  "The most important thing is Brad; did you have fun?"  "Dad," he shouted with that same damn smile on his face, "I feel like a BOSS."  I laughed and smiled that same damn smile and knew life couldn't possibly be pointless when I can see myself in him.  It all begins and ends with my son; my happiness, my joy, my stress, my exhaustion, my purpose and my meaning.  Everyday begins and ends with him.  I wake him up in the morning and tuck him in at night and I know that any day that begins and ends that way can't possibly be meaningless.
     I may have to remind myself from time to time but I remember this.

I Am Needy

     Here it is.  I'm going to be as honest and blunt as I can be.  I make a lot of jokes as if my heart has never been broke but it's just a cover, a front.  I talk more about my emotions than most men but I'm still uncomfortable with them.  I find it awkward to talk about my feelings or to even acknowledge them.  Still, here it is.  Here's the truth.  I am needy.  I want love.  I need love.  I love love.
     Sometimes since the separation I've been so lonely I could barely stand it.  Men have accepted ways of handling this.  We use work as a distraction but mentally my work isn't very distracting.  We turn to alcohol and meaningless sex but meaningless sex is meaningless and I couldn't take the chance of turning to alcohol.  If I became an alcoholic my love may never have been able to come back to me.
     I haven't told anyone this but my love did come back to me sometimes.  Gone for a week, back for a week.  Sometimes gone longer, sometimes with me longer.  Then my love was here longer and longer and gone for only short periods and I got used to love again. Then summer came but it was winter in my heart.  Love was gone again for so long it became possible to imagine a life without my love.  It wasn't a pleasant possibility.
     Love leaves us all I guess or we leave it.  There's some comfort, though, I think when it happens naturally over time.  It's the abruptness that kills me.  Even when I know it's coming it happens suddenly.  It sneaks up on me.  I should be used to it, immune to it, by now but love doesn't work that way.  Love always manages to get to you.
     I have to learn to accept it.  This is the way it's going to be.  My love will be here then gone.  It would help if I could tell my love everything I'm writing here but I can't.  Who can really say these things aloud?  Besides, right now it wouldn't be good for my love to hear and right now my love wouldn't understand.  Someday, though my love will read this and I know, I can hear clearly in my heart, what my love will say.
     "Wow, my dad was such a girl."
     There are all these romantic notions of falling in love, finding someone we can't live without, and spending the rest of our lives with them and some of those notions are probably true.  There's this concept of soulmates but I find it hard to wrap my head around it.  I can't imagine a bond deeper than the one I share with my son.  I can't imagine a love more true.
     Here it is.  Here's the truth.  I am needy.  I need my son, Bradley.  He needs me a little more I hope because I need that, too.  When he's gone I don't feel quite right, quite happy, quite me.  When he's here I often feel exhausted and frustrated but I'm most likely smiling, too.  He's most likely smiling also and the smiles and laughter of each other only makes us smile and laugh more.  When he's here we are happy, I am happy.  To paraphrase Edgar Allan, we love with a love that is more than love but it is not I and my Annabel Lee.  It is I and my Bradley.  If that sounds cheesy or trite or kooky or melodramatic, future adult Bradley, I hope you'll forgive me.  I told you I am needy and besides maybe this will guilt you into coming to visit me. 

At Work Today

I really wasn't at my work today,

but in a galaxy far, far, away.

I was with my son as he sat in school,
knowing he was daydreaming of Hyrule.

I was reliving a sweet, soft, sweet kiss,
a kiss that my lips do already miss.

I was singing at a Tom Petty show,
singing loud all about what you don't know.

I was debating whether war or peace,
as around me Congressmen took their seat.

I was riding along with gunslingers,
to kill King's king because evil lingers.

I was at home devising poetry,
that shamelessly ripped off Walter Mitty.

Still, I was able to do my job just fine,
and still able to claim my soul as mine.