'member berries.

Oh, America.  I remember you when you were a bad motherfucker.  You didn’t have to tell everyone how bad you were, though, because that wasn’t the classy move.  You always had a gleam in your eye and a slight smirk, just under the surface.  I mean, you’re my favorite - if I don’t count summers in PEI, Canada.  Those are remarkable, too, but no comparison to what you have to offer year round.

I remember when as a youth, you grew tired of the yoke that was placed across your back.  You rose up!  You cleared the board, with a little help from some friends, but you did most of the hard, back breaking work yourself.  You were too young to realize just how big a feat that was at the time, but you know.  You created a new paradigm.

I also remember that time when you had some leadership issues on the team, but with due diligence, your best always rose to the top.  You are so beautiful when you exceeded your goals and rose to greatness!  

Remember that time when you were torn in two?  And what did you do?  You fought.  Hand, tooth, and nail - by God!  You fought and you pulled through.  Although the infection was deep, you barely flinched.  Happy to be whole again, you grew.  

You grew by creating shelter for the tired, the poor and the huddled masses.  You extended your heart to the victims of tyranny worldwide.  You began to reach out, and in the name of Freedom and Justice, you lashed and railed against evil, and you always won.  You.  Bad.  Motherfucker.  You.

Remember the first time you heard the world cry out in pain?  You assessed the situation, calmly.  Once you had your bearings, you reached out.  Not with a swat, but with a fist.  You once again broke the back of tyranny, against half of the world, and you rose once again to the occasion.  You brought with your fist and fury a backlash of kindness, caring, and understanding.  You helped fix what others broke.  You showed your heart.

Oh and I remember that other time when the world once again cried out in turmoil.  You heard the call but you tried not to get into someone else’s fight.  You tried to remain neutral and allow others to do unto themselves as they saw fit.  You did try.  But they didn’t let you.  You took the first punch, square on the jaw.  It stung, we all saw it in your eyes, but the rebuttal was ferocious.  You unleashed hell upon your enemies until they were not only beaten but broken.  You crushed empires.  

One would think that’s what makes you a badass, America.  But nope.  That’s not it.  This next part is.  You took the broken bits of the world.  The deepest harmed from the ravages of war, and you rebuilt them.  You took the pieces that were left, and you polished them and set them aright amongst the rest of the world.  You led by example.  You bad, bad motherfucker.

But America, it’s time.  We must talk.  You don’t seem yourself these days.  I don’t think it’s due to your friends’ influence.  And although you deny it, I don’t think it’s because of how much time you spend at church (but let’s be honest, you’re kind of bipolar on that issue).  Genuinely, I think you’re sick.  You got really good at war, which is great if you have an enemy to face, but in order to stay good at war, it seems you started looking for a fight where ever you could find one.

Now - wait.  I haven’t forgotten what they did you.  I know about your towers.  My heart breaks into tiny pieces every time I am reminded of that savage act.  You were pissed.  You got even angrier, but then something changed.  You got cold, America.  You got mean and you got very selfish.  It’s as if you forgot your upbringing, how you were able to grow like you did when you were younger.  

I know, they hit you first.  I get it.  But come on.  You got yours in.  You overturned a regime that had nothing to do with it.  I mean, in all fairness - you did get the bastard that did it, but you had to be a jerk about it.  You gloated like an asshole, and you taunted that guy’s friends.  How old are you?  You were raised better than this.

This new American attitude of Right by Might is so out of character for you.  It’s like a big orange wig.  It’s blatantly obvious to those of us that love you.  And baby, I do love you with all of me.  You haven’t been yourself for some time, and at this point, I’m worried about you.

I see the inner struggles you face daily.  While I know your heart, your actions are not portraying the nation I grew up loving.  I miss the old you.  The you where kids would play on the streets until the street lights came on.  The you where paths to innovation were wide open and not heavily regulated.  The you that left other nations alone, because you know you have no business being the world police.  

You’re a lover, not a fighter, America.  Just because you’re really good at fighting doesn’t mean you have to show the world, daily.  My fear is that eventually, you’ll forget how beautiful you are and take actions that will harm not only yourself but all of those that you hold dear.  America, it’s out of love that I ask you to please calm down.  You have definitely made your point.  It’s high time we get back to doing what you started out doing.  

Pursue happiness instead of trying to impose democracy.  Let’s focus more on creating and less on breaking.  Would it not be great, to be Great again?  I implore you, my dear friend:  Please get help.  Take up a new hobby.  Remember baseball?  That was fun.  

Anyway, I’m going to say good night, old chum.  It’s been a long day, basking in the glow of your freedoms, eating whatever pleases me, when it pleases me.  Bathing in water clean enough to drink and zoning out under the warm spray for 10 minutes, wasteful but bliss.  Thanks for being a real pal, America.  Get well soon.  You bad motherfucker, you.

Snowflakes and such.

So the current trend is to refer to our youth and our more sensitively tuned citizens "snowflakes".

I do understand why.  There is a sense that they are all individual voices (read:  not united, therefore not a force to be concerned about), who are offended at the changing of the shade of the sun and will run and hide and cry at the drop of a hat.

Is it a feminism thing?  Is that it?  I mean - I thought I had it understood, but let me poke this idea with a stick and see where I imagine the thread going.

People are most often called snowflakes, well recently anyway, when dealing with "lady" topics.  Not that it plays even a remote role in my own thoughts, but I am from "The South" and I did, in fact, grow up in "the Church".  So I can understand the divisions and distinctions that have been illustrated regarding the choice of abortion in particular.  Their reactions, in particular, are fairly vitriolic to any opposition.  It's a polarizing topic, for sure.

Me?  Hrm.  I don't see where my opinion matters.  Here's why:  I'm male.   I'm single.   I have a son, therefore my paternal ego/instincts are fulfilled - He's straight, he's my heir.  I've fulfilled my purpose in life.  I don't see myself ever pairing with someone for the purpose of procreation again, so I have no distinct need or desire to ensure my future children are given a chance.  Also, if I ever have a relationship with someone that reaches that point, and we do end up with a pregnancy, I really don't have an opinion.  I mean, would I like another kid?  Absolutely.  Kids are badass.  Do I need one?  Not really.

So - in closing on this point - my opinion is that it should be her choice, with his input.  What am I saying?  Sure, I'll clarify.  I'm pro-choice.  In situations of incest or rape or the mother's safety - I'm all for it.  In cases of an unwanted pregnancy - I have no issue with it, although I'd like to simply say that I'd love to hear about potential fathers getting a say - which I know is kind of stupid to even bring up, but many of my female associates/colleges/past lovers/ex-wives have had an abortion without ever mentioning it to the father.  I'm not offended, so much as disturbed by this.  It doesn't  trigger me, it just makes me sad.

So yeah, when you call a woman a snowflake because she wants the right to decide if she's prepared to procreate at that time in her life, it's pretentious.  It's just a dick move.  Nothing cool about it.  You're simply trying to impose your will on someone else's reality.  Too many unknown variables are flying through the ether for you to have any right to do such a thing.  Plus, you - nor anyone else for that matter - is qualified to do so.

In short, you couldn't be me, you wouldn't know where to start.  And the reverse is also true.  Act like you're aware of that and perhaps you'll be less of a dick.

Let's see, who else get's labeled as snowflakes unfairly?  Well, the next thing to come to mind is the gay community.  Let me set the record straight - err, allow me to establish a ground floor for my opinion:  I don't care if you're gay or straight.  It does not affect how I'm going to sleep later, nor will it interfere with the taste of any of my meals.  It has no impact on my income, nor will it ever affect me beyond the fact that when I see you with a member of the opposite sex, I won't wonder if you two are seeing each other.  In that, gay people are different to me.  And that's about it.

Now.  I do have negative opinions of members of the gay community.  And yes, they are petty, stupid opinions, but they are mine.  Not a fan of drag shows.  I don't approve of the self-implied license to be pompous and flamboyant.  Can I appreciate the art, design, and skill associated with shows?  Of course, I can.  I'm not saying these people aren't talented.  I'm saying I don't care to participate in them - not even as an audience member.  Why?  What's at the root of it?  I'll tell you what.  Peacocking, in any form, is nothing more than a base mating ritual.  I've transcended the point in my life, my personal journey, where I find that kind of thing interesting.  I'm not condemning it, I'm simply aware of my lack of desire to participate.

I'm also not a big fan of PDA.  But I gotta tell you, I don't get offended by two people, regardless of sex or race, showing basic affection to one another in what I think of as basic forms of endearment.  You know, holding hands, arm around a shoulder, sitting closely together on a park bench or in public in general, even kissing.  Now, I'm being conservative in my thoughts regarding kissing in public - A simple, loving embrace of the lips is lovely, and I get it.   I truly do.  I see no point in me having to see your tongue while you say goodbye to your lover.  That's gratuitous, and you know it
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So to put me back on point, I don't think it's fair to label someone as a snowflake because they're gay.  I mean, sure, they're special and unique in that there are less gay people than there are straight people per capita.  They're unique in that they've had to struggle for the right to be able to openly declare their basic love to one another in public.  A right that has been the basis for the arts and humanities since people first put pigment to surface.

Ok, so I'm going by a mental list here.  Women, homosexuals...that leaves the kids.  This is where I expect to not make new friends.  Why?  Well, as a parent of a millennial, I have this perspective:  we fucked up.  What?  How?  Simply, we gave our kids trophies for showing up and then gave them the internet as a nanny.

We fucked up.

Of course, our kids are going to rebel against their grandparent's rules.  It's been this way since before America was even a colony.  The youth understand the progress that's been made during the lifetimes of their parents.  It's inherent in their lives.  They also have ideas on how to streamline and enhance the technologies of their lives and ache to do so.  The tension is usually created when the parents, who also suffer in this cycle are at the primes of their lives and are finally able to incorporate the changes they have longed for since the age of their youth.  It's a cyclic situation, for sure, but we - Generation X - we fucked up.

Our parents gave us the internet when we were young enough to get on board and really understand and create our own world there.  We were so engrossed with our virtual lives, that we drug our children into them as well.  That's fine, on the surface, to encourage your children to explore with you, but many of us left our kids alone in this brave new world for far too long.  We gave them safe spaces to play.  We kept them sterile and unvaccinated.  We retarded their social growth and forced them to create a reality for themselves that transcends what we thought we wanted for us and them.
And now they're pissed because they're catching on to what really happened.  They're run amock and developed their own rules, their own social norms.  Tattoos and piercings are common, they are considered the norm.  Hair color is now a dynamic display instead of a staple.  What did you expect?  We, their parents, designed OUR heroes with these qualities.  Why wouldn't our children follow the aspirations that they've known since birth?

So now we have our children, multi-hued and spikily adorned, taking to the streets en masse as they figure out that they were dealt an unfair hand.  They want safe spaces because we didn't allow them to play after school in the empty lot down the street.  They were never truly challenged.  We, as parents, have decided that WE will protect our children from the bullies, instead of giving them the tools to stand up for themselves and form their own opinions.  So yeah, to us, they seem like snowflakes.  But hear me:  these kids are pissed and they are fighting back.  Right now they're using the tools that WE gave them to express their discontent.  But very soon, if we don't listen to them and educate them accordingly, we're going to see them evolve into a much more dangerous force to what we hold dear.
They'll think for themselves.  And they will act accordingly.

So, no.  I don't think we should call them snowflakes in an effort to offend them.  Because frankly, snowflakes accumulate.  And when that happens, things can get quite unpleasant.

Sometimes you fall down

So, I'm 40.  I'm 40 and I bought a new skateboard.

I rode skateboards throughout my teens and twenties, and even off and on in my early thirties, but I retired from that on purpose - I thought.

Something about the freedom of choice, the level of required control...it's the best analogy for life that I've ever seen in my life.  Sorry for the redundancy, but it's true.

So yeah, sometimes you get a great line and you surprise yourself with a quick movement or quirky trick.  Sometimes though, you fall down.  And it hurts.

But then you get back up, and you decide to move on past the pain, on towards the promise of better rewards.

See?  Analogy for life.

I remember she said 'cherokee princesses'.  That makes me smile.

Smells like a confession.

After number deux hit the bricks on me I never thought I'd be happy again.  It's not that I was scared to try, because I wasn't.  I put myself out there way too soon, trying to fix what was shattered.  I didn't really understand how organic a process healing a broken heart is.

Not to say that I have the answers to healing a broken heart, but in my case it was a long arduous, failure filled effort.  Being faced daily with reminders of days past, a life lost - all of it can really weigh you down.

But, here I am.  I made it.

I'm not perfect, but I'm happy again.  Yes,  I've met someone new.  My mother always reminded me that she felt I would.   I assumed that to be a slice of motherly kindness at best, but she has always maintained that I would eventually find the one for me.

I'm not trying to prophesize right now, but I'm excited.  I haven't been this excited in years.  I keep things a secret these days because I feel like if I share too much I may let the magic out of the bottle, so to speak.  Is that normal?

Anyway, there's a point that I wanted to wrap my brain around and that's guilt.  I feel none and it feels amazing.  That's how I gauge the depths in which I tread to date.  As that feeling of reluctance recedes, I find that there's this whole new person in me that is someone even I trust.  It's a whole new experience.

I'm not particularly proud of my failures.  I don't think I'd ever say that.  But I am proud that I tried and failed and got back up to try again as much as I did.  I never counted how many rejections I've faced, but I do cherish the acceptance.

There's something to be said for overcoming so many set backs.  From Christian guilt to psychotic episodes from others, I can say I've run the gambit.  Life hits hard and you can't really hit back.  You just gotta know how to either take it or bob and weave.  As for me, I've got no acrobatic skills so I just suck it up and plow ahead.

My heart is the best part of this story.  Stronger and fuller than ever, I feel like I have a new lease on things.  Life, love, happiness.  It's a good day to be me.

Finally.

This is why..

So whether it's apathy, mental illness, depression or whatever, I haven't run since Saturday.  I took Sunday off on purpose, couldn't get myself to go out Monday, and now look at me.  Dickered.

It's Wednesday, I haven't run this week and I haven't worked since I ran last.

Things must change soon.

Better work, better work ethic?

First day

Tomorrow marks the first day of school for the local youth.

Tomorrow marks my first morning run.  I'm not nervous, I'm just frustrated that I have to get up early.

That's all I wanted to fuss about..

Running... again.

I'm not unfamiliar with what it takes to maintain a certain level of fitness.  There is, however, a large gap between knowledge and practice.  Yesterday I took my first steps towards practice.  Today, I seconded that motion.

Currently I'm running slow.  12 minute miles.  2 miles.  I'm doing this every day until I can run the 2 under 18 minutes, then I will slow it back down and lengthen the path.  I have a route established from outside my home so no nonsense requiring me travelling to a place will work.  Sadly, now the largest hurdle in this path is me.

6 foot nothing of hurdle.  I ran two full half miles, but had to walk in between a bit today.  Tomorrow I'm still going to be dealing with muscle tearing, so I'll just have to pound it out and most likely walk more.

This is week one.  There will be more weeks.

All this, for a girl.

Just so a girl will look at me.

Roont.  Just roont.