So I just decided that I would jump into this as if you have all been reading it for months. Ok, I'll throw you a bone.
...yadda yadda... was going be a design blog...yadda yadda...whatever the fuck that means...yadda yadda... changed mind blah blah...working on novel. Thank you for understanding.
Today's question: How damaged are you?
Setting: Griffin, GA
Time: Between now and then.
Scenario: He always had it. The ability to listen. I mean as a kid it was almost all that he did. You know how most people hear things? Trivial things that we take no notice of, the sound of a dog bark, or wind blowing through the trees. Well this kid would actually listen. Attentively. He'd listen to the cars traveling past his home, going about their way. He would always think that they were off to do some important grown up work no doubt. He'd listen to the cracks of thunder which gave the clouds a a deep rumbling voice. Was he afraid? Sure, as most kids are. But instead of placing his head under a pillow in attempt to drown out the sound he would sit with his eyes fixed in a gaze reflecting a contemplation much wiser than his young face could then contain, his back erect, and listen. And tremble. And he'd listen to his father snoring. He heard his mother doing that thing that women do; that light breathing that is just barely audible. It's not enough to wake you from your sleep but it was enough to let you know they weren't dead. Yet. It's not quite a snore or maybe it is but either way you would still take it home from the bar and sleep with it because it was coming from a woman. In these moments the sounds were his parents. Teaching him things about the world, the symphony around us that if you weren't listening to, you wouldn't hear. The thunder had taking on the form of his father. And his father was pissed. "Boom!" it exclaimed, attempting command the attention of everyone in range but falling solely on the ears of the listening boy. "Should I go wake dad" he'd think. "Boom!" "I should go and sleep with them tonight." "Boom!" "I am alone."
So it should come as no surprise to know that chatter of others would find its way in. He wasn't much of a looker back then. If he was he didn't know it at least. He was too young to define himself. So like the majority of us, like you even, he would allow the things that he heard about him define him. His father, a large man both in stature and influence was his earliest source of inspiration. He would say to his son, "I am proud of you. You are a handsome little rascal." If this was said on a Tuesday, then the kid felt good on Tuesday.
But of course, everyday can't be Tuesday.
Mean little bastards. He did not posses the words yet to describe them but you could see them. School kids with that heir of importance, that "na-na I'm better than you because my mommy drives a Benz and your mommy drives a Corolla." Little shits, too young to realize that the success and affluence of their parents would not carry them much past high school. You know that group of guys that go out to lunch together at your job? They stand around the water cooler, and laugh about the same shit that you watched on television last night, but the instant that you chime in and comment on the latest episode of "Lost" or some shit like that they stare at you as if you just admitted that you like butt play? (It's ok if you do, just everything isn't to be said around the water cooler) Those are the same guys who sat at lunch together in college, high school, junior high, and elementary school. Sure they are not the exact same people and over the years some have come and gone, but if you were to exchange a Tyler for a Todd you'd have the same assholes. I guess what I am trying to say is that our early years create that in us. The need to belong, the need to connect to something larger than ourselves, the need to feel as if we are part of something more impor...it's bullshit isn't it? Kids do not need to feel as tho they are a part of Green Peace. No, kids need to feel as if they are not out casted and picked on and treated like meaningless shit that adults know they are but are too soft and afraid to tell them. I'm sorry David, but your ability to eat the most flies does not qualify you as being important. Don't cry, it does not make you any less important either. It doesn't make you anything. The only things that matter in life are the things that cause you to be alive and the things that will eventually cause you to die.
