Time in a Bottle

"But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them..."



Over the last few years I have become aware that no matter how "young at heart" I feel, Time the Avenger is beginning to whistle his tune on a park bench somewhere in my neighborhood. As of this writing I am 54 years...old, but in fine health and good spirits. Good job, great family, own my house (in loose cooperation with The Bank, of course), and lots of fun things to do on the side.

Yet still strange thoughts have entered my cranium: I am a small boy in Connecticut and I am watching a young woman (Mom?) hanging the wash out to dry on a square clothes hanger outdoors. I can smell the clean, damp linen as it snaps in the cool breeze, hear the slight creak of each wooden clothespin as she attaches more items to the lines. The sky is impossibly blue, studded with puffy white clouds.

The woman is happy at her work, and she smiles at me from time to time. It must be Mom. that's the face that keeps popping in there. I am sitting on the green, green grass, thinking only of the very moment I keep remembering. The whole scene is barely five minutes or so but I could watch it for hours.

It occurs to me that this may be the last image I see before the guy with the scythe beckons me to The Other Side.

And that's.....OK.

Courage

"But I could show my prowess, be a lion not a mou-ess
If I only had the nerve."

Throughout my life I have considered myself to be a peaceful person. I do not go looking for trouble and tend to try to negotiate my way out of it when it finds me. As a kid I was bullied pretty regularly and that made life hellish at times but I learned to stay within myself and escape into the solace of literature. Sometimes it would be a classical work like Huckleberry Finn and other times I'd just read the first book I put my hand on at the school library. I spent many happy hours perched in the maple tree in the corner of our yard, letting the warm breezes of summer gently rock the leafy cradle that was my refuge.

One of my first friends there in Vienna was Billy, the kid across the street. Funny thing was, he was known as the neighborhood tough guy, but he never bullied me once. Even when the other kids on the 'hood were exploiting my pacifist nature, Billy was a true buddy. We even started smoking together at the age of 11. What a pal!

While I did get my butt kicked from time to time, there were also some key moments that stood out in my life as Underdog:

About age 8 in Rhode Island one of the local bullies decided now was the time to smack me around a bit right outside my own house. He advanced on me and tried to get me to the ground, but I lunged at him and pushed him into the neighbor's flower bed. Almost immediately he began screaming and flapping his arms then ran off home, never to be a bother to me again. I had, by sheer strike of luck, pushed him into a wasps' nest. Score one for the little guy!

When I was 11 years old I was at the local elementary school blacktop shooting hoops with a buddy. Enter Billy Ray Chappell, the redneck-est creep from the other side of the tracks. He started taunting me and roughing me up, finally reaching out and boxing my ears. I stood there for half a second, blinded by tears with my ears ringing and swung my fist at his face. I fully expected to be beaten to a pulp, but Billy Ray just walked away, his nose streaming blood. Lucky punch? Can't argue with results.

One day in Virginia my sister Leslie was with a girlfriend walking not far from our house. I was across a field from them and noticed a couple of boys giving them a hard time. Without even thinking of the consequences I ran over to them and stood between them and the girls, skinny little wimp that I was. And they actually backed down.

The list goes on. At different times in my life I've found the spark of courage that pulled me through. But nothing prepared me for how difficult it would be to be patient and forgiving with myself and the people closest to me.

After Lani and I divorced my two older kids and I embarked on a difficult journey. At first it was all weekend visits and going to the park, ice cream and watching movies together. But as circumstances changed so did our relationships. The emotional tug of war that always seems to surface in these affairs began to take its toll on the trust between us. The dysfunctional crap that I couldn't let go of from years before paralyzed me emotionally and instead of stepping up I stepped back, torturing myself for being so weak.

This caused the inevitable results: My kids grew tired of the act. It all came to a head in late 2005 when Jess sent me a scathing letter that confirmed everything I already knew about myself. I tried to talk to Peter about it but it was a total cock-up and only made that situation worse as well.

How do these things relate? It's easier to face down an armed bank robber than to step forward and admit the worst about yourself, finding redemption through patience and true love. A good friend of mine just lost a buddy. He posted on Facebook, reminding us all to always let the people in our lives know just how special they are to us every day.

It's just that easy and just so hard. But instead of dithering and worrying about it, I will have the courage to tell them all that I love them so very much.