Underlying Issues Series

(Un)Lone Bone

(Un)Lone Bone

Audio version now available.

 

Middle school is brutal. In all the states where I have lived, both growing up across the Midwest and East Coast, and as an adult in the Midwest and Mountain West, middle school is three grades: sixth, seventh, and eighth. Elementary school is kindergarten through fifth, and high school is ninth through twelfth. I am convinced that middle school is the shortest experience because neither the parents nor the students could survive more than three years being subjected to the cauldron of hormones, body odor, and curse words. The gymnasium during a middle school dance smells like the violent collision of B.O. and Axe Body Spray. If the only risks to unsupervised middle school dances are teen pregnancy and burning down the gym, it might be worth rolling the dice to spare the parent and teacher chaperones from the exposure trauma.

Bitch

Bitch

Audio version now available.

 

“You a bitch!”

 

I answered a call from a restricted number after 10pm on Saturday, and I immediately wished I had not. It sounded like a young man, and my first thought was to applaud the gender fluidity of his insult. When I was a teen or a young adult, insulting another male was to call him a dick or a prick or an asshole. I would never have dreamed of calling another man a bitch. That open mindedness aside, I was concerned about the caller’s grammar. Maybe I am a bitch, but it’s definitely not correct that I a bitch.

Marriage Rash

Marriage Rash
The First 25 Years

Audio version now available.

 

I was chatting up a couple of fourth-grade girls at the back of the church on Sunday. I know that sounds creepy, but honestly, they are way more interesting than most adults. They always have something on their minds, and they have only budding little undeveloped conversation filters that they aren’t jaded enough yet to use even if they worked. For someone who thrives on authenticity of any kind, these are my people.

Keep My Food Out of Your Mouth

 

Keep My Food Our of Your Mouth

Audio version now available.

 

I don’t think people should ever comment on each other’s food. “You must be hungry.” “You’re eating now? Didn’t you just eat a while ago?” “Seconds? You must like it.” “I see you don’t like vegetables. Hahahaha” “Sweet tooth, huh?” These are all societally innocent comments. They are conversation gap fillers. They aren’t meant to harm, but they do irreparable damage.

 

From skinny people who battle body image issues and associated eating disorders, to people dealing with obesity and diabetes, these little throw-away comments create shame. And shame gets medicated. Whether the medication of choice is vomiting, compulsive exercise, alcohol, or comfort calories, harmless little digs about other people’s food are far from harmless.

Numbers

Numbers

Audio version now available.

 

I went for a walk in socks and sandals.

 

I remember when I used to see old men in socks and sandals, and think how sad that was. How sad that they were oblivious to the unfashionableness of their choice of footwear.

 

It was an epiphany for me to realize that old men do know how unfashionable socks are with sandals. They just don’t give a shit what people think about them. Wow, I thought. They aren’t oblivious, they’re ambivalent. And ambivalence is a powerful indicator of self-actualization.

Hug, Act II

Hugs, Act II

I like hugs. I am not very good at the bro dap half hug, half handshake thing. I always mess up the hand part. But I nail the hug. I have long since shed any stigmatized reluctance to hug other dudes. If I like you and I trust you, you will know it, because I will hug you. Big smile, verbal greeting at a volume too loud, arms open, comin’ in hot.

Red-Eye

Red-Eye

Underlying Issues Series

 

I forgot my earbuds, which was ironic since I spent 2 ½ hours on video calls on the day of departure about the dangers of the constant distractions of technology. We were taking the red-eye to Miami, so I needed to sleep rather than watch Insta reels anyway. My wife offered me lavender spray to put on my wrists to help me relax. We’ve been married 27 years, and she still loves me enough to waste her breath with that offer.

 

Our seats backed up to the bulkhead which cost us that glorious two inches of recline that might have facilitated sleep. I eventually emerged from my groggy, uncomfortable head bobbing and got pretty excited about watching a sunrise from 35k feet. After a cold-water sink splash and a Peet’s in the airport, the terror about losing a night of sleep gave way to something different with the plane from Miami over the shallow waters of the Caribbean in January. The transition was like whiplash without the neck brace.

 

I don’t know if what I felt was peacefulness, since I’m unfamiliar, so let’s use what feels like a watered-down descriptor like contentment. My feet were in the cool, off-white sand as I watched the Atlantic waves gently lap the shore. It was a few ambient degrees over 70 with a noticeable breeze, and the sun warmed my skin through a wispy cloud layer. I was keenly aware that any combination of a one-degree drop in temperature, a slightly stiffer wind, or a minor thickening of the clouds, and the glorious warmth would have turned uncomfortably chilly. I was on the razor’s edge of bliss, and the tenuousness of it all was not lost on me.

Hugs

Hugs

*Underlying Issues Series

 

He was coming at me covered in sweat. It wasn’t just his sweat. It was his sweat and his opponent’s sweat and the sweat of dozens of others who came before him. His arms were open wide and his smile was as big as my sudden panic. He was no longer walking. He trotted toward me, bouncing in victory, droplets spraying from his face, arms and shoulders. I was so proud. I love him so much. But he was…well…soggy.

Why Merry Christmas?

Why Merry Christmas?

*Underlying Issues Series

 

Merry Christmas!

 

I don’t say that as a political statement, or because I am ignorant to our melting pot’s religious and cultural diversity. I say it because I love Christmas, and because I am selfish. Since I spend something like 98% of my time thinking about me, and I am typing within ten feet of a Christmas tree, I have Christmas on my mind. So, Merry Christmas!