Lil Sis

"Just take my hand, lil sis.  I'll show you what I've learned."

Keep Quiet

"Keep quiet," I thought as I crawl quietly through the cemetery.

The stars were breathtaking, but the cold bit my fingertips like a trapped doberman.

Still, it was worth the trip.  I hadn't imagined the night alone would bring me to this, but I dipped further into myself.

No music, no talk radio, nothing but my thoughts to myself as I stared into the netherworld.  The night reminds me I once envisioned the dream my son holds in his sleep.  Nothing gains his interest like a night under the stars, peering through the telescope, finding Jupiter or Venus.

But school changed my ideas of space travel.  You see, to me, math and science were Latin.  My grades and desire reflected it.  My blank stares at the overhead projection were interrupted only by the punctuating rapt of my teacher's voice calling my name.

My eyes are open to the folly of my youth now.  Time doesn't change the mistakes of the past tense dreamer.

Like most parents, I turn to learn what churns my child's wheelhouse.  My love lies in writing, in photography.  But daily, I gain crumbs of science, math and the brilliance of mechanical minds whose bolts I couldn't replace.  Fascination with science plagues me now.  Consumes, really.  We're all carbon, formed in our own mould, yet their wiring sparks a little brighter.

I live for the day, when sharing what I've learned with my son gains his excitement, hoping he's one of them.  Believing it can be fostered from kindling.  Maybe his life will uncover the unknown.  Maybe his legacy will be a cure, an antidote or a discovery.

But then again, maybe the love of the unlearned will fade. Mine did.  Changed to athletics, then girls.  There it stayed, until he came.  For him, now the twinkle, like the stars tonight, is still there.  Unblemished like his sense of the world.

"Keep quiet," I remind myself.  It will come soon enough.  "Keep quiet."

Jammed

The day passes before I can look to see the sunlight. It's been that way lately. The lone illumination of the day sneaking through the blinds or from the LCD computer monitor.

Where I sit is a dead end, really.

Even the greatest of highways have a dead end, or at least a cul de sac.  From one, you can't turn back, the other you face the road you've taken.

I'm not sure which option is the better choice.

This exercise has been less of an idea exchange for me, and more of a search for inspiration.  The depth of my empty thoughts have been lost in dreary-eyed stares and hard-headed writer's block.  Yet, here I sit.  Staring. Staring.

Haste, Laid to Waste

Yeah....I'm behind.  I know.  I knew A/Z would be difficult.  It's not named "Challenge" for giggles.  I was hardly aware it would be this tough to find a route to the computer for 26 of 30 days to keep disciplined.  My mind has bounced from topic to topic, but nary a one can be deemed "right" to expound upon.  Instead, the lines have been blurred between hiding from QWERTY and showing too much of my soul.  Therein, I have discovered lies the balance.

Now, back to work.

Greatness

What makes a man?

Do ranks of achievement bestow the size of a man's worth or is it the depth of love?

Were halls of fame built for the fullest tomb? Or in the hearts broken in our wake?

Like billions of words written on slate and computer have shouted, the happiest life isn't built on achievement, nor possession. Rather, in the smiles you created. Rather, in the love you shared.

Falling Away

She looks uncertain under the right light.  I've seen the look.  An echo of her mother's, usually carrying a smirk.  This time, humor escaped her eyes as she fought past the tears.

"It's going to be lonely here," she said, emotions lining her cheekbones as she smiled, "Silly me.  Looking through the good for the bad.  This is your dream.  Go. Go!"

So I did.

The door shut behind me.  I left my home, back to it, I stared at the sun, placed one foot in front of another to the car.  Car in reverse down the driveway, I looked for pulled curtains.  Seeking her smile.  Hoping for it, really.  But nothing.

"I'm alone in this," I said quietly.

So was she.

Deposit

On my chest of drawers sits a small, black 35-year old bank book.  Well, it turned 35 in February.

It speaks for itself, really.  A gesture of young parents, desperate to make their child's life better than theirs.   It seems simple, and to some whose wealth is measured in dollar signs instead of love, it seems paltry.

There's nothing insignificant in this gesture.  Look beyond $20 being a good portion of my father's paycheck in 1977.  Don't stop at the incremental deposits, none more than the original, or even close for that matter.

What I see is what I feel.  The love of two young, nervous souls fighting against everything laid in their path.  I see the truth of love, mixed in second hand polyester bell bottoms and sail-sized collared shirts, spaghetti dinners, bologna sandwich lunches, Jackson Browne on the 8-track with the windows down and the untold future blowing through their hair.  

"We'll be alright," in her ear at midnight, he'd say as she fell asleep on his shoulder, unsure of the truth or a way to the next week's meals.

What I see in the savings book, I feel.  Not in the desperation, but in the determination. 

Being Home

Hugs from little arms greet my keys in the door.
A teasing kiss and smile.
A welcome and a wish to stay.
The days which entail me being home
Permanently...
Will be late as winter to Autumn's color, as summer's sun to spring blooms.
My empty mornings.
My fruitless nights.
All without them.
Slipping through my fingers
Like water from the faucet.