Financial freedom comes to mind.
To just be.
To live freely,
without constraints.
If I went back, I would begin at the beginning,
When I got my first job, at age 16.
Because, then,
in the long run,
in the far distant future,
As in NOW!
Rudy and I would be traveling together,
to crazy-cool destinations.
To experience the world, in the simplest way.
We’d run wild,
carefree,
happily.
i know you.
you can do it.
you can be calm.
not stress.
listen.
with an open mind.
drop the anger.
you.
yes, you.
will appreciate it.
feel better.
lighter.
happier.
and more connected.
to everyone.
everyone that is important to you.
everything.
yes, everything.
will look brighter.
better.
and more worthy.
so.
do it.
i know you can.
live simply.
love hard.
and smile.
The young girl sat in the back of the classroom. Not by choice but rather by alphabetical order. Last name order. And that particular year, she ended up sitting in the fourth row, last seat.
She actually didn’t care. Didn’t even really notice. It was just the way the teacher chose to sit all the students. And, anyway, the girl made no issues with having to sit in the back. Like some of the other kids did.
One morning, after she had arrived to class and put her things away, the youngster sat quietly, in her seat, awaiting instructions. She felt tired. Assumed she probably didn’t sleep well the night before. It seemed that there was more noise around the house than usual. Just people, her family, talking into the night. About everything. And their muffled voices kept waking her. As the late hour progressed.
The girl yawned. As she had before. Like many people do. In the classroom. While waiting for the teacher to call them all to attention.
The boy sitting in front of her turned around, and looked at her. His mouth was open as if he were going to ask her a question. But then he closed it back up. And turned his whole body back around facing the front. Face toward the chalkboard.
Not a minute later, he turned again, and asked the girl, “Why are you always crying?” She said not a word, and just looked at him, confused. He continued. “Your eyes are always watering. Like you’ve been crying.” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and saw that, yes she did have tears. “Oh. I’m not crying, I just yawned. I guess it made my eyes water.” The boy just looked at her. Didn’t know how to respond, so he simply turned back. And faced the front of the classroom. Again. And she yawned. Again. Feeling the tears pool in her eyes. And wondered who else thought she was always crying.
when brad was a wee little lad,
about six years old,
he looked at me,
seriously,
and said
“i wish I could marry you when i grow up.”
“why?” i wondered.
“because,” he answered.
i looked at him
and smiled.
then,
he simply said,
“i like your face.”
When Roberto was born, his head was perfectly shaped. Perfectly proportioned. With perfectly placed facial features. He was, in my opinion, a natural born attention-getter.
When he was a very young boy, Roberto was guaranteed to hear how beautiful his big blue eyes were. How cute he was. Yet, I made sure to counter-comment, after he would thank them for the compliment, with an observation of my own.
“…and he is such a nice, kind person. Smart too!”
You see, as far as I was concerned, and what I’ve wanted Roberto to embrace was that more than his good looks, concern for humanity should be a top priority, along with respect for others.
No longer a very young boy, Roberto is now a young adult, and his handsome features have not wavered, and neither has his appreciation of human life, and accepting people for who they are. As has always been important to me, Roberto also believes everyone should live their own life, in the way they chose, as long as they are not harming themselves, or more importantly, not hurting anyone else.
Roberto is what many call the life of the party. The person you can count on to bring happiness to any situation. A true, loyal friend. Someone dedicated to improving his own life, while enhancing the lives of others. He’s respectful, complete with morals and values. A well-rounded human being. Someone who will bend down and look a child in the eyes when talking to him or her. He will listen, with enthusiasm, to an elderly person, gaining valuable insight from the life of someone who has a story to tell, memories of long ago. Roberto enjoys the company of family, as much as he does his connection with friends.
As his mom, I am impressed and proud of the open-minded person he is. So, when he told me, with no fear of rejection, that he is gay, I warmly welcomed him into my embrace, because of the young man I know him to be, and because of the love he shares willingly, without conditions.
As far back as I can remember writing had never been my thing, the thing one thinks of as a passion, a lifeline, something one needs to do to feel whole. I have always loved the written word, yet I never considered myself as a writer.
I even proved as much when, during a teacher prep course in college, I wrote a very mundane story about me, a bathroom, nine brothers, a sister and a waiting line. I had no clue how to make what could have been a hilarious tale into an interesting read.
Years had passed since that book was turned in, and the only writing I had done since was scribbling my thoughts into a personal journal.
Until one day, several years later, when Rudy moved to Arkansas, to take a job out of necessity. My writing journey unexpectedly began with stories about us, living separate lives. My thoughts, tingling to my fingertips, spilt onto the page, revealing true, heartfelt bona fide affairs.
It was then that I knew I could write, pulling from emotions that are always on the edge of my mind, waiting for their turn.
The following conversation occurred several years ago. It still holds true today. Writing isn’t a quick job, or hobby, but rather it takes time to ‘Get to the Point’ as multiple thoughts are jotted down. Which are then arranged and rearranged appropriately, followed by tons of editing. And editing is what takes the most time before hitting the PUBLISH button. I applaud those who have written and published their work, garnering a reader’s want for more. Bravo.
“Are you done yet, Mom? You said we would watch a movie together.”
My son was sitting, waiting patiently on the couch.
“One minute. I just need to edit this. Make sure it makes sense. Includes all the important details,” I respond, not looking his way.
“It really has surprised me how much time it takes to write one piece,” I add, to myself.
I finish. Half an hour later.
“Movie?” she questions.
“Yeah. But hold on. I am working on something.” His eyes are focused on the laptop’s screen.
“Okay. Let me know when you are ready.” I walk back to the desktop computer. Open my post. Re-read it for any errors. Make sure it’s coherent.
I find a flaw. Or two.
A misspelled word.
A sentence that needs a pronoun.
“Mom? I’m ready,” my son says.
“One minute. I just need to edit this.”
If I could fly, I’d be happy. I’d like to soar overhead to view life from above. To see the beauty of the world without the jumble of noise. To float above all the negativity. And, instead, enjoy the cool breeze.
I’d love to fly around the world. At my leisure. A day here. A day there. Discover virgin land. Hover above. Honing in. Discovering unknowns. All without interfering with natural settings.
I’d grab the hands of those I love and glide along with them. Enjoying the world, in a positive way.
One afternoon, late in the day, Brad walked into the living room, stood in front of the TV, yanked his phone out of his pants pocket, and as he was stating “I’m gonna head out to LA with my friends…” he looked at the face of the phone and finished with, “Never mind. I guess they left without me.” He went on to tell me that the plan was that a few of the guys were going into Los Angeles for about an hour simply to sell a much-wanted backpack to an interested party somewhere on Melrose.
He finished his story saying he was going to meet up with another friend at the park to ball-up while they waited for the other guys to return from their quick trip.
A few hours later I sent Brad a text asking “Sup?” in which he returned my response with a call back. He was upset. Not five minutes before my text, the friends who had driven in to LA, or rather were driven by a friend of a friend of a friend, contacted Brad pleading with him to pay for an UBER to take them back home. Apparently, their original driver had other things to do and didn’t mention she wasn’t planning on returning to town that evening.
Brad is a very generous kid in that he loves when he can pay for things, especially when he knows his friends carry empty wallets. He’ll buy them food, clothes, tickets to concerts, etc. because he is given a regular allowance. And I have no problem with his kindness as long as it fits into his budget. Plus, as his mom I seriously love that he thinks about others and sharing the wealth.
But, that evening when his friends needed a ride home from Los Angeles because apparently they hadn’t planned how they’d return, Brad was the first person they thought of, which sort of questioned the value of his friendship with them (because, remember they left without him, for no reason). To add to that his anger was exasperated when he told them he didn’t have enough cash in his bank account and one of the guys said, “Ah, man, don’t worry, the amount of the ride will go through. It’ll just leave your balance as a negative.” These dudes managed to make him feel bad so he gave in, and it was right at that moment he had returned my text with a call, which in turn pissed me off, not at Brad, but at his friends motives. I kept the thoughts to myself, wanting Brad to work through it on his own. To figure out how to handle his feelings, and the situation that has made him wonder what a good friend really is.
And to top it off, when they did return from LA later that night, the boys never told Brad what happened on Melrose, if they did indeed sell the backpack, if so, for how much, and worse “Thank you,” was never said, which irked Brad to no end. He ended up returning home that night because he couldn’t deal with these people. Sadly, he began to wonder if they really were his friends or if he was simply a cash cow.
As much as he loves giving, Brad’s realized that he needs to be careful with the way he shares his generosity. The next day, the day after the UBER incident, as he was sitting in someone’s living room with the guys, feeling cooled-off, in control, someone said they needed an UBER. Brad kept his mouth shut, didn’t offer… anything, didn’t say a word until one of his friends asked if he would pay for the UBER. He matter-of-factly stated “No.” And that was that. Lesson learned.
While talking, a man and his wife enjoyed their morning cup of coffee in their rather small kitchen. They were content there, with its cozy feel and just enough space for the two of them.
Their kitchen had become their place, a place to reminisce about days long past. And to dream. Dream about what will be.
They talked about how they had met fifty years previous, and were married within the month. They talked about their five children, each of whom had moved on, living their own lives, and how proud of them they were. The man and his wife talked about their love for each other. A never-ending endearment that began so long ago.
One morning, the man rolled out of bed, smelling the aroma of their morning brew. He gently guided his feet into his worn slippers then headed to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.
Not long after, he found his wife sitting at the kitchen table, with a pained look on her face, clutching her chest. He could see that she was trying to say something; instinctively he knew he needed to call 911.
She was having a heart attack.
While the dispatcher listened to the man, he rushed to his wife’s side, tugging on the coiled phone cord, willing it to stretch across the table. He pulled up a chair and sat, facing her, knee to knee. The man didn’t know what to do, how he could help, so he simply held her face in his smooth, wrinkled hands, while clinching the phone between his ear and shoulder.
Within minutes, he heard the blare of an ambulance’s arrival, causing him to drop the phone, and yell to the medical team, alerting them to their location. They rushed into the kitchen and quickly began attending to his wife, maneuvering about in the confined space. The man stepped back, almost into the adjacent room, watching, tears flowing from from his eyes.
His neighbors, a young guy and his pregnant wife and their two adorable kids, offered to drive the elderly man to the hospital.
“I love her so much,” he kept repeating over and over. “I don’t know what I would do without Anne.”
After having a stent inserted into her artery to prevent further heart attacks and a little over a week in the hospital, Anne returned home. Her husband cared for her, with the help of their children, who had flown in from various locations.
Post-recovery, after their children were gone, the man and his wife returned to their morning ritual, sitting in their small, cozy kitchen. Conversations flowed easily. They shared well-worn stories of their past, dreams about their future, and most importantly, conversations about the present moment.
One morning, after many mornings of enjoying each others company, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” they both hollered in unison, smiling at each other.
The door opened, and a small boy and his sister entered, holding a basket full of homemade muffins and freshly ground coffee. The kids’ mom, dad, and their newborn brother followed, greeting the man and his wife with a hug.
“Well, good morning!” the wife said, pulling the boy onto her lap.
“What’s this?” the man wondered, smiling coyly, when the little girl handed him a drawing.
It was a colorful picture of the man and his wife, sitting in their kitchen, drinking coffee, and talking. Over their heads was a big red heart.
“It’s you two. You are in love,” she giggled, looking at her brother, who laughed and proudly stated,
“We drew it together. For both of you.”
The kids’ mom and dad clasped hands and looked at the joyful man and wife, sitting comfortably in their kitchen. The young couple seemed to be dreaming about building a lifetime of cherished moments. Moments consistently filled with love.
BonaFideAffairs 