relationships

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The Plumber

Years ago we had some issues with our plumbing, and because we didn’t have any specific company that we worked with that’d come our house, I simply looked in the yellow pages, found a local service, and phoned them. Whereby a young guy and his dad came over, fixed the problem, and have foreversince been the guys who are at the ready to fix our backed-up pipes.

This weekend, after almost three years of happy water flow, the Jones’ (to protect the innocent, names have been changed) were called and John, the dad, came by as soon as he had an open time frame. Friendly guy. Talkative. And interested in how our family was doing.

“How is everyone? How’re the kids?” he asked Rudy, while shoving a camera into the main pipeline.

“Kids are good, thanks. Every day is a new start, to begin again. You return home at the end of the day hopefully with everything intact…,” he commented. Then added, “…everyone’s fine, thanks for asking.”

John’s son Joe was the usual plumber that came by. A young man, working alongside his dad, learning how to work and run the family business. He always showed up with a smile, a readiness, polite conversation, and the determination to leave our home in better shape than before he showed up.

“How’s Joe?” Rudy asked.

“He’s fine, thanks.”

“Is he still working the business with you?” he wondered. “I haven’t seen him around town lately.”

John lowered his head. He didn’t say anything. Rudy wasn’t sure but he thought he saw John wipe away a tear. He pondered if he should say anything, or just wait.

“No,” John started. “About a year and a half ago, Joe went with some friends to a bar and somehow ended up in a fight. He was repeatedly kicked in the head, leaving him, to this day, with brain damage. He’s unable to work, or do most things on his own.”

Rudy was speechless. An image of Joe’s blue eyes and friendly face zoomed across his mind. He lowered his head, feeling John’s pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he managed to say.

His heart hurt, felt heavy when he realized how his previous statement is so true, that every day is a new start… with the hope of returning home at the end of the day.

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Attitude is EVERYTHING

Be positive. Find Avant-Garde people, those that possess innovative ideas that make the world an  interesting place. Let a Dilettante hold your attention as they dabble in the arts and fill you with knowledge that will enhance your good vibes towards humanity. Be Ubiquitous, while living a well-rounded life; live as if you are everywhere at once. Sneak in a Tryst with someone you love. Agree to meet, to enjoy an Idyllic location; somewhere that is carefree, tranquil, and picturesque. Think positive. Finding Equanimity will instill a sense of calmness and an even-tempered attitude.

Don’t be negative.

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The Turd

There’s this girl. A sixth grader to be exact. My former student. Her name is Cassandra. She has short wavy hair and wears glasses. She’s tall and thin. Quirky and confident. She’s awesome. The perfect description of a character in a book.

Anyway, she walked into my classroom – just as she alway does, every day after school, to say

“Hello, how’re you doing?”

or

“How do you like my haircut?”

or

“Do you like your class this year?”

or

“Oh, the state report, I remember doing those!” 

Things like that.

So, like I said, she came into my classroom and plopped herself onto the floor, her face buried between her knees. She was next to my desk, which is next to my chair, in which I was sitting and said,

“Do I look like a turwal?

I didn’t understand what she said.

“What?” I asked.

“Do I look like a turwal?”

“Do you look like a turd?”

Cassandra’s lump of a body quivered with laughter. She laughed and laughed.

“Okay, yeah, you definitely look like a turd lying there on the carpeted floor.” I stated.

Still laughing, she unrolled herself and looked at me with a smirk on her face and said,

“I asked, do I look like a tur-tle? Turtle.” I cracked-up

The next day, she repeated her pose, positioning herself into a lump on the floor and said, “The turd is back.”

I’m a teacher because kids are so great. They roll with the punches and are simply looking for fun, pure and simple.

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Imagine

You’re 16. A boy. Hanging out with your buddies that aren’t really your buddies. They are some dudes, gangster-like, having the potential of looking for trouble, who are actually friends of your real friends. And the reason you’re hanging with these hooligans is because your true-blue friends are out and about. Doing their thing. And you figure you know these people well enough, so why not hang with them. For a while. For only as long as it takes to walk to the local mom and pop market to buy some chips and an ice cold drink. Long enough to wait for your tribe to show up.

So what do you do when, after leaving the store, you become part of an encounter that has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with one of the boys you’re hanging with? He’s in deep shit because he’d been tagging the city and from what you can tell, and what you’ve heard, the guy doing the complaining is an infamous gang leader in town. It seems bizarre, unusual, and sorta thrilling, too, but you know you must keep your cool and act like this is just a typical afternoon. So when the leader suddenly  walks up to you and says, Hey White Boy, those eyebrows for real? you, without thinking, reach up and run a finger along a naturally arched brow. Yeah, they’re for real, you say as coolly as possible.

Right answer. Right tone. At least you assume so. Because that leader of the gang, the Boss, turns away, back toward the criminal who’d been painting up the city, and he wraps his arm around the chump’s neck, leading him around in circles and tells that thug-wannbe to keep his city clean, or else.

And, all you could do is watch. Stand still. Be quiet. And hope that nothing bad happens. While at the same time, wishing you could cheer the Leader on, telling him how cool it is that he’s concerned  about the city and its polished status.

Imagine that.

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Get Your Glow On, with instructions

Instructions are important, yes they are. But, boy, are they oh-so boring. It’s so much more fun to just dig in, and learn as you go. But sometimes, instructions, if not followed specifically, can really mess with the final outcome. Seriously, leave you, and everyone else involved, puzzled.

Like when presenting a How-To project to a group of very enthusiastic audience participants. You explain each step, then demonstrate exactly what you mean. You wait while the audience members repeat the process, step-by-step with you, using the materials you provided them. I mean, seriously, you know what’s up, you followed the instructions to a tee.

Or, did you?

glow sodaWell, imagine your face settling into a frown when the Glowing Soda project that you worked so hard to put together doesn’t even glow. You know the Glowing Soda project. And to make matters worse, the audience begins to shout out ideas, what needs to happen to get the glow on. Then, a random person, the least expected person you’d guess to come up with an idea, pulls up a YouTube™ video, just to see, to let everyone watch, if it was possible that the instructions weren’t followed correctly, or at all.

They weren’t (followed correctly). Just in general.  Not only was an ingredient missing, but  a very specific step was overlooked. Therefore, the soda remained mute, it had no personality. No glow.

Instructions, as boring as they may be, might hold the key to what’s up and help you proceed successfully. No gist about it.

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Lefty

IMG_7686When I was in 5th grade, it seemed we played softball every day. Yet, common sense tells me it was most likely a weekly occurrence. And, I seriously cannot remember if it was boys against girls, two predetermined captains picking players to be on their team, or maybe it was half the class playing against the other half. Anyway, no matter because what I do remember was that I always seemed to be chosen towards the end. Not the last loser in the class, but close enough.

One afternoon, I recall the teacher calling out “Today’s rule. You have to play with your opposing hand.” As in right-handers played left handed, lefties had to play right-handed.

Oh yeah! Was someone looking out for me, or what?

You see, and as pretty much everyone knew, I was a lefty. I mean who wouldn’t have noticed someone writing with their left hand while everyone else wrote right-handed? Right?

Right. But the thing is, and has always been, the only thing I do is write left-handed. Everything else I am stronger on my right side. Strange? Yes. But, whatever. It is what it is. (And for the record, I have made it a habit to eat as a lefty as well.)

So, anyway, there I was standing on home plate, batting right-handed, and I’m sure you can guess how amazed all the other fifth graders were when I smacked that ball out of the field and made a home run! I raced around those bases, laughing, and cheering myself on. So did my teammates.

I became a superstar that day. Unfortunately, in order for me to keep up my facade I had to have reasons not to play after that. I mean, seriously, there was no way, no how that I was going to admit my deception. Would you?

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Sensitivity Across the Genders

girl_boy talkingHere’s the thing… we are all sensitive, all of us, male and female. Yet, and I am speaking in the most general sense, females tend to show their emotions more. Males hold it all in, having been taught that big boys don’t cry.

Except when in a vulnerable moment. Like when a husband is sitting next to his wife, watching a girly show.

I was watching Project Runway, Jr. (Love it!) whilst drinking a cup of morning coffee, observing talented kids create amazing pieces of clothing, when Rudy wandered in. He sat, sipped from his steaming cup, and began watching the show with me. (Unusual, for sure.) No words exchanged between the two of us. Until, he became invested in what was happening, commenting on how extraordinary it is that designers are capable of making an outfit from a large piece of colored cloth.

“Kinda like you with cooking,” I said. “I’m impressed with how you can make something delicious from what looks to be nothing in the fridge.” He smiled and continued to zone in on the young teens entertaining us via the tube.

We critiqued the outfits the kids had dressed the models in.

“Whoa, nice outfit!” Rudy said. “Looks exactly like the style a teenager would buy.”

“Yikes! Those pants are way too big, aren’t they?” I wondered, as I watched a model strut down the runway. He agreed, saying that the wide-legged jeans looked very uncomfortable, and that that designer may be the one voted out because of it. (She wasn’t.)

As the judges began presenting their constructive criticism, before they decided who to boot off the show, both of us felt for each kid. So young. So enthusiastic. So worthy. And when it came to the two final designers, standing there, tears welling up, ready to spill out, but unable to due to the courage both kids showed, I heard Rudy sniffling, breathing in choppy breaths. He rubbed the top of his head, quickly, a gesture he does when he’s very emotional. And then he wiped his eyes.

And believe me, I was weepy, too. We didn’t want to see those kids not making it in the big-wide-world. We were behaving like parents, as if those kids belonged to us. So, when the judges didn’t just send one kid away, but both, Rudy lost it. He had to leave the living room and gather his emotions. Put them back in place, confine them. Man up.

He returned. Normal. Even-keeled, (on the emotional spectrum), and said (again) how impressed he was with the talent of such young kids. I agreed.

 

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The Beauty of Human Relationships

Someone said they saw someone, a twosome actually, talking, laughing, and looking at each other. He said in that moment he could see that the twosome shared something special, something loving, something like no other. A relationship between two people that is different than a friendship. Different than a relationship with a parent, a child, a sister, brother, or any other person one might feel close to. That someone said that the bond witnessed in that very brief moment was what he hoped to find some day. Some day in the future, making him and her a twosome.  He hopes that somewhere, somehow, at some unspecified time that he, too, will find a special person to share a very deep bond with. A bond like no other. Just like that twosome he saw, talking, laughing, and looking at each other.

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