This week, I'm going to dedicate this digital page to three moments in my past that spun me around. Moments where I saw stars appear in the sky of my life. The stepping stones that brought me further down the path. Looking back, there were plenty of times, good and bad, that made me realize that my life was something special and unique. Oh, the stories I could share...
(Here are 3 of them)
A Humbling Moment
When I was twelve years old, I was a smart-assed kid. I was always smart and witty, but back then, I had this little tough guy attitude that came with it. I had to. It was survival. Anyhow, every summer, my dad would take my sister and I to Barrett's Pond in Myles Standish State Forrest. Those were the good old days. And we'd meet up with our camping friends that we'd see every summer. We'd meet up for mischief and adventure. One afternoon, the clouds rolled in and our summer day turned dark. We had planned on going swimming, but my dad warned us to stay out of the water. "Ya right, old man", I thought to myself, as my friends and I walked down to the empty beach, in defiance. It was raining lightly and everything was dark, damp, and grey. I felt the need to show off a bit, so I jumped right in. My other friends followed. We were goofing and splashing around when it happened. All I remember was feeling the jolt and my eyes closing - involuntarily. And then the bang. We all ran out of the pond screaming. We'd just been tapped by lightning! It was confusing. I thought we might be dead. The afterworld was this, but with no people. There were no other campers in sight, and despite being wet in the rain, we weren't cold. Not one bit. We walked it off, eventually rejoining civilization. But that day, I realized a few things about testing mother nature, and about being a little tough guy.
A Moment of Shock
The first death of someone that I knew was a serious blow to my reality. My grandfather had passed before I was born, and my other, older relatives were all still alive. As a kid, I never had to sit through a boring wake or a dusty funeral (not even my own - see story above). But the lessons came in their own ways. You see, In eighth grade I started seeing this girl, Stacy. You know how it works in eighth grade. You like a girl. You send a friend over to her friends. She might respond with a note. You write back. It's on. All of a sudden your "going out". The deal is sealed, and you're officially (and very publicly) "boyfriend and girlfriend". The gossip bells ring out. Stacy was a sweetheart; a simple, quiet girl. Her family owned an apple orchard in town, and they had a huge corn field where she and I, and our two close friends, would run through and stain up our clothes. I remember she and I kissed on my mom's couch that time. We'd started planning to go the same high school. But then, one day, as I was getting off the bus, a kid I didn't even know ran up to me. "Stacy was hurt!", he said. I shrugged it off, but got a bad vibe. I started sprinting home. When I got there, the house was filled with the parents of my friends: Stacy had been in a freak accident. That afternoon, when she got off the school bus, as she stepped off, her coat string got caught in the door. The driver didn't notice and started to pull away. Stacy was swept under. I didn't know how to react to this news. As a Catholic boy, I felt so much guilt: somehow, it was my fault. I struggled to make sense of it all. The world had changed. Everything looked different - harder and colder. I'm not sure what the lesson of this story is, but after Stacy's death, I felt like I needed to carry on and live life for her as well. I wanted to do things for the both of us. I wanted to honor her life by making mine extraordinary. That's what she would have wanted, right?
A Moment of Awe
When I decided to move out to California, it was a big leap. I had to give up many things. I had to sell off old furniture, mementos, clothes, and books. The possessions of my life were shrunk down to be able to fit into 2003 Subaru Forrester. And that thing was packed to the brim. My buddy and I hit the road. Heading West. Chasing the sun. We left on New Year's Eve. I wanted this trip to be a transition. I wanted to leave certain things behind and move into the unknown, where I could forge a new time in my life, without the baggage. I'd felt that my life in Massachusetts had gone stagnant. I knew there was more for me to explore. The trip across the US was filled with highway sights. We had a timeline, so we pressed on each day. But the one place I wanted to see the most was the Grand Canyon. By the time we hit Flagstaff, on the fourth day, the sun had gone down. Our GPS took us up this old, country road - obviously the road less taken. It was pitch black outside. The moon hadn't risen yet. We pulled over to survey the land. There was not a car in sight. When we stepped out and looked around, I was amazed at the wide open sky. Billions of starts faded in and out. All of sudden, a white bird blasted by us. It took me a second to realize, it wasn't a bird, it was a shooting star! We got back in the car and headed north. We knew the canyon was close. After twenty more minutes of winding up the road, we saw some signs and pulled over at an "overlook". We got out and fumbled over to the railing. There she was, the Grand Canyon! The best part was - we couldn't even see it. It was pitch black. But we could feel it. I could feel the the air open up, hear the wind whipping around. There was an immensity to the space that was before us. There was a rush of endorphins. One of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen - was invisible. This story, now that I reflect on it, was very symbolic for my trip. You see, I didn't know what was coming before me in California. There was just this big, open space that presented itself to my life. Even though I couldn't see the future before me, I could see the open space, and I could feel the excitement. Life was still going to be an adventure yet to come. There was still plenty of space to be explored.
This Week's Poem:
This week, I wrote a rap about the one of the hardest, worst jobs I've ever had - as part time postal worker.
Mailman Blues (a hip-hop verse)
inner city mailman
got a bag full of mags
and fist full of letters
city summer streets
so hot and so heated
sweat all down my back
while my knuckles bleeded
up and down blocks
every number / every street
while the weight of the world
pressed bones through my feet
I'm riding shotgun (bam!)
in a one seated jeep
I'm having showdowns (damn!)
with every dog I meet
(hey, yo)
I took the job back then
in the footsteps of my father
on my feet all day
pounding bottles of water
you see the lesson I learned
about my mailman blues
is that you're free to do your thing
but there ain't no bath-room
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