Born of Swedish and Apache blood, on the same day as the great Gandhi, I was a product of young love. I was the first of a generation.
The Great Divide came and with it a foreigner started living with us. That and the lack of snow on our California yard during Christmas, created confusion that was only subdued by long weekends in my room creating Lego masterpieces. I was the next great architect.
The Family Voyage, a large-scale game of Follow the Leader, had us traveling to the Land of Potatoes. There – surrounded by three generations of relatives, clean air, and clear night skies – the seed of the Small-Towner was planted. I was the next big fish in a little pond.
The Sandlot days emerged. Mother, the President of the household and Little League, conjoined the family and the diamond as I got lost in the mix spending four days of the week absorbed and in love with the game. I was the next Ken Griffey Jr.
The Sandlot days emerged. Mother, the President of the household and Little League, conjoined the family and the diamond as I got lost in the mix spending four days of the week absorbed and in love with the game. I was the next Ken Griffey Jr.
The Fellowship formed and bonded around a table on which art was birthed. Timeless talks on the decorative difficulty of dungeons, the connection of Ka and karma, the fatal finesse of females, and the elaborate effectiveness of espionage filled our hours together. I was the next Hero of Time; the next Gunslinger; the next Galaxy’s Greatest Bounty Hunter; the next Big Boss.
The days of the 4-Year Drama Land came and went, the best of them filled with endless sparring sessions on the table of tennis, otter pops in hot tubs, and bonfires – all enhanced by stargazing and sing-a-longs. I was having the next great day of my life.
The Last Summer came and went. I fell in love with Miss Cook, lived in The Dorm, and found myself in situations too immense for my maturity. I failed my first semester and proceeded to get a Resort Golf Course job. I was the next directionless College Drop-Out.
The Breakup left me confused, lonely, and crying in the corner of an empty room, while The Crash had me guessing the metaphysical. A long mid-summer walk, a change of character, and an indulgence of music made me a Lover of Wisdom. I was the next great philosopher.
Miss Ticket-Booth came and went, showing me a world of Vulcans and Waking Life along the way. The Hippie Festival showed me the openness of people and how much more fun a drum-circle and dancing around a bonfire can be with a brownie in the belly. Boredom struck me and I drove to the City of Sin and Sand to learn about the world. I was the next great adventurer.
The Big-City tearing up my Small-Towner heart, one last failed attempt at college, the Renaissance Fair on no sleep, two amazing trips to SoCal, being jobless and moneyless, the Interfaith Council of Southern Nevada, and the fun Snail Mail between Miss Unexpected and I have given me direction in life. I think I’m starting to learn my lesson.
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