Things To Remember

I don’t keep a journal very well.  I never have.  What you’re seeing on my blog is what is in my journals.  Random crap.  Some confessions.  Nicknames for Non-Intimidating Gunslingers.

If anyone ever reads my journals, they will either understand nothing about me or everything.  They’ll know that I didn’t care about minutiae or collecting or wanting more.  The only thing I’ve ever really cared about is creating things.  That’s when life makes the most sense to me.  When I’m in the middle of putting something into being.

Edie is different because we didn’t create her.  She’s a soul our Father in Heaven loaned to us.  We provided her a body and a stable place to grow up.  And a lot of books and treats.  We’re always good for those. 

We’re just creating the world around her. She’s lucky our genetic grab bag made her so cute.  She could have had my caveman feet and broad shoulders. Instead she got my eyes and Valerie’s chin and Valerie’s nose and some random gene’s blond hair.  Her fat legs might be from me.

But I need to remember things.  Need to capture a few moments.  And I have with pictures.  But what about the words she knows right now?  This is the downside of not keeping a regular journal.  I’m not recording the day to day things.

Right now at 19 Months Edie can say:

Guck (Duck)

Eye

Nose

Rain or Raining

Wind or Windy

Up or Uppy

Happy

Cool

Whoa or Whoooooa!

Hand

Block

Rock

Cup

Coat

Cake

Pud-ding

Treat

Mommy

Da Da

Tree

Hat

Kids

Baby

Teeth

Snoo (Snow)

Why (Wall)

Ball

Sy (Sky)

Moan (Moon)

Tuh-ruck

Cah (Car)

Train

Suh-wing (Swing)

Bug

Book

  

Of course, I’m forgetting some.  She picks up new words every day.  It’s very gratifying.  To be able to help with a person’s development, to see results.  Can you believe I kind of barely liked babies about two years ago?  I’ve always thought kids were cool.  But babies? Blah.  Hand me a sack of flour with a face drawn on it.

Stupid dad instincts and all the stupid feelings that opened up inside of me.  Le sigh.  I guess my indifferent tough guy days are over.  Oh wait.  I was never tough.

I want to remember this step.  Not because “it’s going too fast”.  It’s not.  I don’t pine for the past.  I like new better than old.  I order new things at restaurants.  I hate trying to recreate the thing before.  It’s not possible.  Get over it.

I won’t try to recreate my childhood for Edie.  This is her childhood.  Whatever is created is what she’ll be nostalgic for.  Whether I raise her in New York or Michigan or London or on a planet made of candy, that’s what she’ll love.  That’s what she’ll think childhood should be.

For Edie, for Valerie, for any future spirit loaners, I just want to create memories worth having.

I'm Not Afraid of a Six Year Old

About three years ago, my friends Ben and Annie Howington moved from beautiful, industrial Brooklyn to beautiful, metropolitan Raleigh, North Carolina.  With them, they took Lila Howington and my best friend, Jack Howington.  Jack was three and I was almost 30 but we found our maturity level was about the same. That's me and Jack this summer.

Me and Jack's best friendship came to a grinding halt once he moved next to Max, his same age cousin.  Suddenly, Jack stopped writing letters. ( And by letters, I mean alphabet letters.  He would just send me a crayon drawn "B" or "K". ) Jack stopped calling me on his fake cell phone.  He stopped giving me recaps of Dora and as a result my Spanish suffered.

Because of Max. Stupid little Max and his stupid cute smile and his stupid friendly disposition.  I wrote some letters to him trying to convince him to defriend Jack.  You can see evidence of them here.  But it didn't work. They remained best friends.  And I had to hang out with adults. Until I found another child, Pete, to share my interest in trains, destruction, and general naughtiness.

Well, now Max has moved away from Jack. To LONG ISLAND.  We have started our correspondence again.  Here is the message I received on Facebook.

Annie Howington said she was coming to NEW YORK to visit her "FAVORITES".  Max wrote:

James. 


"Favorites" will always equal Colliers in the Howington eyes. I'm pretty sure I won this argument 3 years ago but whateves. Just want you to know there will be no bad blood between us this weekend. I'm mature now.


 Heart, Max






Well, here's my response to that, Gluteus Maximus.




Dear Max,


Everyone from New York knows that when people talk about visiting New York they never mean Long Island. That's just the vestigial tail of New York.  Oh, what's up? You don't know the word "Vestigial"? Why? Because you go to some kind of dumb kids school? Some sort of dummies' schoo....


I've just been informed that you're in Kindergarten.  Because you're only six.  I take it back.  I bet you're head of the class in naps and dinosaur recognition.  I would never impugn the name of Kindergarten.


But you're still only six.  You can't vote.  You can't buy dynamite.  You couldn't be President even if you passed the Presidential Candidate test.  Which is hard. And mostly consists of questions like: 1) Should a President always be rich?  2) Is Vermont technically a state? 


Here's a hint.  Number 2 is no.  It's a suburb of New Hampshire.


See? I'm off topic. Because you drive me crazy!  I'm soooo glad that you're still best friends with Jack. It doesn't bother me at all.  Oh wait. That's sarcasm.  You don't get it because that's a higher brain function.  You need to eat something more complicated than mac n cheese to grow those kind of synapses.  You need to cut up some hot dogs in there, bro!


Let's review things you can do for Jack.  Buy him a matchbox car.  Well, isn't that special?  Because I can buy him a real car.  And I'll let him drive it, too.  Because I'm an ADULT.  And I'm IRRESPONSIBLE. And I will totally LIE TO HIS PARENTS ABOUT WHY WE WE'RE GOING TO THE ABANDONED STATE FAIR PARKING LOT.


It's so he can drive.  Did you put that together?  No? Is it because it's called Deductive Reasoning, Max? Can you say that?  Hold on. I've just been informed that six year olds can actually talk and say complex words fairly easily.


Fine, Max.  You're not going to win.  I'm an adult.  I'm superior.  I can run for mayor of your town and pass laws that all kids named Max have to change their names to even dumber names.  Like Snakebutt. And Barnaclepants.  I will do that, Max.  I will move to your town and start an aggressive campaign to be mayor.  Just to pass silly laws that hurt you.


Stay way from Jack.  Write him a letter post-haste explaining how you hate him now.  Tell him you're best friends with a girl now.  That'll show him.  And I'll scoop in with the used Nissan Sentra I bought him. Red. With battle damage.  From a really cool accident.


Suck it, Max.  I hope you cry.  Like a six year old baby.  And I've just been informed that six year olds have tear glands so you physically are able.




I'm happiest when you're sad,


James Best

Rebel Without A Pause

I didn't go through too much of a rebellious phase.  Oh, I'm sure I made my Mom mad but I never did anything too crazy.  I told my Mom I was going to move to Boston once, out of the blue.  Just pack up and go live with these two girls.  She was more worried that I would become an annoying Red Sox fan.  So here's how I might have acted out.

INT. LIVING ROOM

JAMES runs in with his girl ARROE, a bad chick who dresses in ripped stuff and whose real name is Erin, but totally doesn't answer to it.  James is wearing a leather jacket and his hair is long and despite his genetic inability, he has a soul patch. Because this is fiction.  Also, he doesn't know soul patches are lametown.

JAMES

What's up, 'rents? Yeah, that was my hog you heard up in the driveway.  Don't smile at me like you like hogs. Just because my grandpa and my uncle ride them.  What I'm doing is DIFFERENT.  It's CRAZY.  I don't even have an OPERATOR'S LICENSE.  I will not get a SMOG CHECK.  So suck on that.  This is my girl Arroe. We're lovers.

ARROE

Don't try to separate us.  We'll just run faster into each other's arms.  Like trains. With arms.

JAMES

Isn't that freaking beautiful? Arroe is a poet.  Yeah, that's right. I like POETRY now.  I know you wanted me to be a LAWYER but I'm not gonna.  We're going to go on the road and read poetry to each other until we're so hot for each other we have to french kiss.  On the back of my hog. While we're riding down a mountain. Because we put the US in DANGEROUS.

ARROE

Your son is ah-mazing. His words kill me. It's like his mouth is a blowgun.

JAMES

Don't try to stop us.  We're going to the Northwest Territories.  There's like two people there. And one of them is like whatever the moose version of the centaur is.  Don't correct me! I've seen pictures.  Oh, what's that?  What will we do for money?  Who cares? I'll sell my blood.  We'll make souvenir bandannas for bikers.  And we don't even need money. Both of us hate food.  Because it's FAKE.  THE MAN is in charge of the food. So we're sticking it to him.  Unless we see a Wendy's.  The number six combo is like a polka heaven in your mouth.

ARROE

Don't try to stop us.  We love each other so hard.  We make your love look like a sham.  Your love is like a paper pop up book and ours is like a metal pop up book. It can survive anything...can I use your bathroom? Thanks.

JAMES

If you want me, you won't find me.  I'm done with this butthole of a town. With these phoney Tonys and their bullcrap...ishness.  I'm leaving the nest!  Like a bird tied to a bottlerocket.  That doesn't explode because that would imply that I'm going to fail. Unless it does explode and I metamorpho-whatever into a pterodactyl! Don't look at me like that! You NEVER understood me.  I'm out of here.  We don't need passports for Canada, right?  Wait, why am I asking you?!  Our passport is OUR LOVE.  And the country that approves it is the Country of HELL YES on the Continent of DON'T CARE.  Later, 'rents! Kiss my wind!

ARROE

Bye! You have a lovely home! 

  

Sticky Notes of Love

If I had had a teacher crush in elementary school, these letters are what I imagine they would be like.  Also, I just published in Limestone Journal, and if you go here, you'll see it says 'featuring' writing by me.  I like the idea of being featured.  I'm going to have people start announcing me at places.  When I have dinner with you, it'll be your regular dinner but Featuring James Best.  Alright, letters.

LOVE LETTERS

Ms. Havershaw,

I'm sorry to hear about your divorce.  I bet it super blows.  I wouldn't know because I'm just a kid and my cognitive ability to understand long term consequences hasn't fully developed. But really, what a suckfest you must be having.  If you'll notice, I've left three sticky notes on the bottom of this note. Please respond with an answer as to how you will respond to my affections and a dinner date this Friday. I will have to be home by 8:30 though. Are you too sad to drive?

Love,

James

Dear James,

I have attached the "NO" sticky and underlined it twice.  Thank you for the thoughts on my divorce (it's a separation) but your letter was inappropriate.  Let's not bring your parents into this.  And please stop writing "James + Ms. H" on the chalkboard before I come in.

Mrs. not Ms. Havershaw

Mrs. Havershaw,

I looked up the word separation. Gotcha. So our love will be forbidden. Were you saying no to my affections or dinner? I should have left separate sticky notes options. Did I mention that this dinner was at the Great Skate roller rink?  I have saved up enough money from my paper route to buy us both two chili dogs, fries and refillable drinks.  They have pink lemonade on tap. It's like the only place in town. I'll usually drink like six of them and get so jazzed I can skate backwards at warp speed.

Skating to your heart,

James

To my student James,

I am writing you another letter since you pretended to be asleep standing up when I confronted you about this during recess. This has to stop.  You are a child. I am an adult.  I am sort of married to a man that used to care about me before Hooters was built near the airport.  I do admit that your devotion to me is cute but this is not right. Your letters must stop.  Thank you for drawing a picture of me eating a chili dog.

Your Teacher

My Love,

I loved what you said about Michigan history today. That was a very compelling story about the lumber boom in the Upper Peninsula.  Is there anything you don't know?  Speaking of history, I've acquired two flintlock pistols and I've contacted your 'husband' about a duel.  My crazy grandpa said I could use the pistols "as long as the love is pure enough". Ricky Turner is going to be my second.  We've been practicing with cap guns.  As soon as I blow away your buttbrains of a husband, we can be together.  I've drawn a preview of the duel.  I had to use two red crayons.

Your Gentleman Warrior,

James

James,

I called your parents and the principal.  We'll be meeting after school. This has gone too far.  I warned you and now this is going to go on your permanent record.  I'm sorry.  I know you mean well and you don't really understand the feelings you're feeling.  In a way, I wish you were my age.  I could use a man who stands up for me and doesn't laugh at me when the obscenely breasted Hooters waitress says, "Can I refill your A Cup? I mean your cup!"  You're a sweet kid.  I'd like to see Gary with a giant flesh crater in his chest like you depicted.  I hope your parents aren't too hard on you.  I've found our interchange to be creepy but sweet.

Ms. Havershaw

Linda,

Your name is so sweet on my tongue.  All day I wrote your last name over mine. James Havershaw, Mr. James Havershaw, Mr. Linda Havershaw.  I know why you did it.  I'll expect the firing squad at 2:45.  Propriety will keep us apart but at least I looked up the word propriety.  You are better than chocolate milk every day.  I will wait for you.  And if you are a thousand years old by the time I am twenty, than I will still marry your old bones.  Always, my love.

James Havershaw

P.S. I will be hiding in your car tonight in case you want to run away with me to Canada where there's no laws and you can love whomever you want, regardless of whether or not they have reached puberty.

Day 5 - Poem 2, A Jolly Roger and a Burrito

Second poem I wrote today. I actually have a third I'm working on as well. I had a lot of sitting time today before work. This one I wrote at a Chipotle. I learned a long time ago how to tune out music and chatter and just work.

My Skull

Let’s understand each other
I keep a totem, a grinning skull
that balances on the jaw
between light and wall
it chews my pens
it nods along for my story moods
we love to be wrong together
to love destruction, cherish doom
my laugh and his laugh are a merge
of macabre moods
I’ve had it long
Since when my mother said,
“I will die of this, soon or not soon”
and it appeared, following
on my usual home route, rolling
with the sound of a dropped bowl
let’s also understand
I know her ghost
always the same ghost
he wears his brown suit loose
he stretches into a father’s skin
I can hear him creak the porch
jimmy at the shingles
some nights his lips will find window seams
and he’ll inhale our home’s breath
taste the progression of her health
and that’s when my skull will tell me
of worse deaths than I know
than I will live, and we laugh enough
to fill the house again with rare air

Day 4 - Sometimes My Brain...

I had so many false starts this morning. Some days are easy. Even if I don't love what I'm writing, I finish something. This morning felt like I was pushing a sleepy elephant out of the way. I've never done such a thing. It just seemed appropriate.

Your One Person

When you found it,
you wanted to be ashamed
and want seems enough.
To keep one thing for yourself,
even if it’s death,
when home is so stuffed with living
seems an ok trade in the world.

It is just very medical,
so science class pull down chart colorful,
the way the skin gloved at the wrist,
the open labyrinth of guts.
The smell is not unlike the fetal pig
you and Jenny M. touched hands in.
Not unlikeable really.
Sometimes likeable is anything different.

Victim of the flood.
With the face buried, it could be
anyone you needed.
Even better versions of the living.
It’s ok to have one person
be just yours, be only for you.
In this life, a lot of things are ok.
Learn that here.