I've been wanting to write about this for a while, I'm not really sure why....I guess I just don't understand people like this.
There was a guy in our bunch that hung around together, who just wasn't comfortable no matter what was happening. He always had to be right, to have the last word, and he'd get belligerent if things didn't go his way.
We were always a pretty loose bunch-as long as you weren't hassling someone, you were cool. This cat never could leave well enough alone, always stirring something up somewhere.
You might ask, why we'd put up with this nonsense? He wasn't always like that. He was smart, could be really funny, compassionate, even charming at times. Sometimes, though, you just wanted to make him disappear.
Over time, everyone pulled away from him, as folks would reach their personal BS limit. Of course, it was NEVER his fault-people were out to get him, to use him, we were all laughing at him behind his back.
It's been nearly twenty years since I've seen him, and that's fine with me. I bear him no ill will, and I hope he's managed to get past all that baggage he's been piling upon his own back.
I've forgiven him, but I have no need to see him, hear from him, nor is he on my "thank-you-for-your-place-on-the-journey" list.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
If you've been on this trip with me from the beginning, you'll remember I used a quote, something about the "home in one's head".
Sometimes, when I get to wonder who besides Dan and my wife actually reads this stuff, I wonder what that phrase might mean to others.
Some may not have a home; when I was a ward of the Court, I met a lot of kids like that, who either couldn't remember, or the memories were too horrible to face.
Other people, and I suspect I'm one of them, re-write it as we go along, editing out the really bad stuff, and putting a Vaseline haze over the images that are left.
I look at that picture of our house-in my mind, it's nowhere near that shabby, and it's HUGE....I'd love to be able to walk through it now, just to see.
Were all those nice people really that nice? If I were to go back to Lorain, 1960, the age I am now, would I be greeted by smiles and welcome?
Would I find I'd outgrown the places, and the people I'd loved?
Would there be things that I remember, that never happened?
Might it even be possible, that all that has come since, is nothing more than the dream of a four year-old, who even now AWAKENS-