Roy L. Pickering Jr.'s Blog, page 16

Vick Still Slick?

Welcome to the Jets, Michael Vick.  I thought I was done writing in depth about you, but once again your polarizing self has entered my radar and set my words in motion.  Perhaps you will be a sideline mentor to young Geno Smith, or maybe you will end up as Gang Green's new leader and potential savior.  Many Jets fans are having a difficult time embracing you, and I can't say I blame them.  Dogs are man's best friends after all, so your actions are unforgivable to a wide range of people.  They don't care that you did your time, that you seem to be a rehabilitated man who handled your situation honorably in the city of brotherly love, or that they have looked the other way in rooting for other athletes who did harm to fellow human beings.  There are Jets fans willing to turn their backs on a team they've spent decades rooting for on account of your presence.  If you're in, they're out.  Or so they say for now. I won't try to convince them otherwise, especially those who have still not gotten over the sting of letting Darrelle Revis slip through our hands again.  If you end up playing a prominent role in New York that results in glorious victories for a team that has not had enough of them over the years, plenty are sure to come around and forgive you.  Those who won't, won't.  

I had some harsh words to say about you when I penned Man Bites Dog.  Yet when you were released from jail after missing two NFL seasons, I felt that the Philadelphia Eagles' decision to bring you in as a back-up to Donovan McNabb was a "no brainer" .  Deja vu.
You ended up starting and playing well in Philadelphia.  All good things come to an end though, and just as you came to take over for McNabb, eventually you were supplanted by a younger quarterback.  Now you are in search of one more comeback, most likely the final one in your storied career, and that goal has brought you to the Big Apple.  Well, technically New Jersey, but who wants to bother with being technical?  
I have no idea what the future holds in store (hopefully no butt fumbles, speaking of which,  Bon Voyage Mark Sanchez ), but I do vividly recall the promise of the past.  Below is what I had to say the very first time I wrote about you in an article penned for Suite101.com.  Standing between you and the chance to take a shot at your first Super Bowl appearance was the team that years later would give you an opportunity for redemption after your spectacular fall from grace.  How could I not write of your exploits on the field that season?  It was truly a thing of beauty to witness.  I was confident that with your never before seen level of athleticism, through the brilliant flair with which you played, you were changing the very nature of the game.  Considering your extraordinary potential, it's fair to say that you ultimately underachieved.  Getting in your own way is the surest way to guarantee coming up short.  Yet look around the National Football League today.  Look at the most recent Super Bowl featuring a dying breed quarterback from the old school versus one who was educated in the school of Vick, that is, a QB as dangerous with his legs as with his arm.   Scary in the pocket, terrifying on the move.  You may have failed to take over the league by earning multiple championships, but you sure as hell altered the game's landscape.  So basically




People look forward to the Super Bowl for a variety of reasons. To football fans, at least in theory this game is an exhibition of the sport they love at its highest level. In reality, a high percentage of Super Bowls have been blow out snooze fests. If the team you root for happens to be one of the participants, the opportunity to see your team play for the league championship is certainly a thrill. The team I pull for hasn’t been to the big game since 1969, so I can only imagine feeling such excitement. 

Professional gamblers look forward to the Super Bowl for the obvious reason, and amateurs, many of whom don’t watch a single game of the NFL season except for the Super Bowl, put their dollars and hopes into office pools across the nation. Those who do not have a financial or sporting interest in the game still watch it for the theatrical elements of the televised broadcast. I think it’s safe to say that last year’s halftime show will never be topped. Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson are now as big a part of Super Bowl lore as Vince Lombardi, and no offense to Vince, but Janet looks far better topless. Last but not least, there are the highly anticipated, often amusing, increasingly clever commercial spots that negate ideal opportunities for bathroom breaks.

This year, there may be a different reason for people to watch the Super Bowl. It’s quite possible that we’ll be witnessing a changing of the guard in the NFL. In order for this to take place, the Atlanta Falcons must first get past the Philadelphia Eagles. This task has been made considerably easier due to the untimely injury of Philly’s top receiver, Terrell Owens. With TO in uniform this season, the Eagles have been considered favorites from day one to finally get over the NFC Championship hump and make it to the gala event. Without him, the Eagles-Falcons game is a toss up. Plus, it’s also doubtful that another receiver will step into Owens' shoes and attempt to top the horrifically controversial (in the opinion of various talking heads) or rather amusing (in my own personal opinion) act of pantomiming a moon of the crowd, as recently performed by Randy Moss.

Outplaying Rush Limbaugh's favorite player will certainly be no easy task. Donovan McNabb is about due to stake his own claim of greatness. But if Vick and the Falcons prevail, all that would remain for them to do is vanquish either the defending champion New England Patriots, or else the Steelers of Pittsburgh with their rookie phenomenon quarterback. With all due respect to Tom Brady and his two impressive Super Bowl rings, or to Ben Roethlisberger and his impressive winning streak, the man to whom most eyes would be glued is Michael Vick. Why is that? Well, he just happens to be the most athletically gifted highlight reel making player the NFL has ever seen. He plays the most analyzed and admired position on the field, and does so in an unconventional manner never before witnessed. 

Yesterday in the NFL belonged to the likes of Dan Marino and John Elway, and today belongs to Peyton Manning and his two consecutive league MVP awards. However, if you take Peyton out of his domed home stadium and place him outdoors to face wintry elements, his prowess can be tamed by an elite defense. On any given Sunday, a scheme can be concocted to thwart veteran pigskin slingers such as Brett Favre or emerging hot shots like Drew Brees. But just how does one prepare to face a player as talented and unpredictable as Michael Vick? He is two superstars merged into one, both a quarterback with a canon for an arm and a running back with lightning fast legs. Michael Vick may be providing a glimpse at tomorrow in the NFL. Football purists who believe the prototype of a quarterback is a white guy who stays in the pocket and throws perfect spirals right before getting hit in the chest by a charging linebacker probably do not fully appreciate Michael's gifts. Those who can take or leave aging aesthetic values and prefer to focus on the bottom line understand that Vick may beat you with his arm, or he may beat you with his feet, but the important thing is that he will beat you.

Every now and again, an athlete comes along and changes the way his or her sport is traditionally played. You think you’ve seen basketball played as well as it can be played, then along comes someone like Michael Jordan to surpass all expectations. Wayne Gretzky practically reinvented hockey with his ease and grace of movement on ice. Barry Bonds broke the mold and fashioned a brand new standard of the ultimate baseball player. (Okay, so perhaps he had some pharmaceutical assistance along the way.) The Williams sisters have illustrated that the power game need not be the exclusive domain of men on the tennis circuit. Muhammad Ali replaced the image of the powerful, plodding inarticulate heavyweight champion with that of a man who could float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, rhyme like a poet, fascinate with his rhetoric, stand up for his religious and political convictions at any cost, and manage to look pretty throughout the entire process. These athletes proved not only to be more talented than their opponents, but dominated their respective sports in unique ways. In pro football, such is now the case with Michael Vick.

The NFL is known as being a copycat league. If a particular game plan proves to be very successful for one team, it’s a brief matter of time before half the league has adopted it. Offensive and defensive fads come and go, and for each one, numerous variations are devised. If Michael Vick proceeds to lead the Atlanta Falcons to Super Bowl victory, talent scouts throughout the NFL will go in search of running backs with strong arms, or quarterbacks with fast feet. The hybrid QB will be much sought after while the conventional quarterback will become an endangered species. Professional football as we currently know it may be transformed into an entirely different game, sort of like how the NBA went from a league of spot on jump shooters to one of acrobatic dunkers, or how sluggers in baseball could once lead the league in homeruns with 30 in a season, but now hit that many by the All Star break.


On second thought, the more likely scenario is that after scouring the college and high school ranks, the search for Michael Vick clones will come up mostly empty. That’s the funny thing about athletes who play the game unlike it has ever been played before. They tend to be one of a kind.

Bookish Stuff

Where Are the People of Color in Children’s Books?


Literary Geniuses Who Happen To Be Super Hot
Wait, they forgot one...













Be sure to check out my reconstruction of RoyPickering.net

Contemplation of Adultery - #ShortStorySunday

CONTEMPLATION OF ADULTERY                    BY R0Y L. PICKERING JR.

     I am a happily married man.
     Oh sure, it's tempting.  I can't sit here and honestly say that if the situation were to arise, I wouldn't even consider it.  Take now for instance.  The woman seated across the bar from me is flat out gorgeous.  It's hard not to notice a thing like that.  And she's been checking me out.  It's hard not to notice a thing like that either.  Every twenty seconds or so she glances my way.  I could have this woman, I know I could.  I can feel it with every fiber of my being.  But like I said ...
     Where the hell is James?  He was supposed to meet me here at seven, and it's already a quarter after.  Big shocker.  In the eight years James and I have been best friends, not once has he been on time.  I usually show up about fifteen minutes early for appointments, even when they’re with James.  You'd think in eight years I would have learned my lesson, but I arrived here at exactly 6:45.  So now there is nothing for me to do but wait.
     Not that I've particularly minded today.  The bartender here makes a great margarita, the jukebox is the best in the city, and perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever seen is shamelessly flirting with me.  A night with her would be incredible to say the least.
     But I have a devoted wife at home who I promised in church before several dozen friends and relatives to love, honor, and not screw around on.  Plus, we have a kid.  He'll be three years old in a couple of months.  It won't be too long before I can get Barry Jr. into little league.
     My life is what you would call comfortable.  Comfortable and normal.  Conventional, that's the word I'm looking for.  I have a nine to five white collar job which I hate, but it's too late to get out, so I'll just have to move up.  I live in a quiet suburban neighborhood in a pleasant looking little house, paying an astronomical mortgage for the privilege.  Unless I'm drafted by an NBA team in desperate need of a five foot nine point guard who can't dribble, or else I happen to pick the right six numbers on a lottery ticket, I'll be paying it off until I'm too old to chew my food.  Sharon and I haven't made definite plans for more children, but before her clock stops ticking we'll probably have 1.8 more.  We do after all have the proverbial Jones family to keep up with.
     My hair continues to be gray-less, ever so slightly receded, but bald patches have yet to appear.  No stationwagon or mini-van inhabits my garage, not that the vehicle I drive would ever be mistaken for a Ferrari.  I’m still most comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt, just like when I was a teenager.  I continue to play pick up basketball games in the park when time allows, no matter that these days I'm almost always the slowest player on the court.  Thanks to those games I'm relatively up to date in the slang terminology of the day, a source of pointless pride.  In short, I'm not a kid anymore, but nor have I quite turned into my parents.
     If only there was some way I could think of to quell this steadily increasing restlessness.  Maybe everybody my age feels like this.  No, James doesn't.  Maybe everyone my age with a wife, a kid, a mortgage, and a mind numbing job.  That must be it.  I'm carrying around all this adult baggage, but I don't' remember wanting, or planning, or asking to become a grown-up.  It seems like only months ago when I would have been proofed to get into this place.  But it was years ago.  My God, it was a decade ago.
     One thing I do know for certain is this. All the adventure can not already be gone from life. Maybe I'm a little too old for fraternity parties and spring break.  I could live without praying to the porcelain god every Friday night after chugging one too many plastic cups of beer.  I’ve been around the block enough times to recognize with minimal angst that my favorite dreams will not be coming to fruition.  I'm never going to win a Cy Young award, save the word in an action movie, or perform in front of my adoring fans at Madison Square Garden.  And I'm okay with that.  Still, there has to be more in my future than a few promotions, a few kids, retirement, grandkids, and death.  There just has to be.
     I should have been with more women.  Perhaps that's what it comes down to.  Too many wild oats burning a hole in my shorts because I didn't sow them when I had the chance.  I'm not a bad looking guy.  I had a few casual flings back in my college days.  But no more than can be counted on two hands with a few fingers left over.  If I had only been more aggressive, more confident, I'm sure I could have at least doubled the number.  But I wasn't, so I didn't, and that's that.  I met Sharon a couple years after graduation.  We immediately committed to a monogamous relationship, and within two years we were exchanging a matching set of "I do's". I don't remember the name of the last woman I was with pre-Sharon. I vaguely recall what she looked like, the fact that she was drunk as was I, and that a good time was had by all in the extra large closet sized space I called my bachelor pad.  The last fling I had, that I'll ever have. I was just shy of 25 years old.
     Maybe I'll flash a smile at this woman across the bar from me. I have been told that it's my best feature.  If she doesn't smile back, I won't give the matter another thought. There's no commandment against smiling.  A little flirting never harmed anyone.  Married or not, it's good to know that at least a few members of the opposite sex, spouse not included, find you attractive.  Mankind needs to feel validated every now and then.  Vanity is what separates us from the beasts.  Vanity and credit cards.
     Yep, I was right.  She's definitely into to me.  She returned my serve of a coy grin with a hard volley of pearly whites.  I'm at a precipice.  I can do nothing but sip my drink, shoot the breeze for a couple of hours once James shows up, and then go home to my wife and child.  Or I can take a step forward, a step towards this woman, knowing that once I do, there's no turning back.
     My body is serving as a battleground for the war being fought between my hormones and Catholic guilt.  This woman is devastating, and growing more so with every sip I take.  Her form fitting dress is accentuating in remarkable detail every curve God blessed her with.  She doesn't have an ounce of fat on her.  I could have almost said that about Sharon at one time, but her body never did bounce fully back after having Derrick.  Not that she's overweight or out of shape.  She just doesn't look like quite like this Barbie proportioned she-devil.
     I love Sharon dearly.  That love has taken sides with the guilt complex.  The last thing I want to do is betray her trust.  I couldn't bear knowing how hurt she would be if I were to have an affair.  She would be destroyed, and she would never forgive me, and the comfort, and warmth, and safety of my present existence would be annihilated.
     Nevertheless, I find myself feeling sometimes that when I committed myself to Sharon, I gave up other things that life may have been planning to offer.  And I wonder if those things would have turned out to be better than what I settled for.
     No, that's the wrong choice of word.  Sharon is a wonderful woman.  I consider myself lucky, blessed to have a woman like her by my side.  A woman who swept an insecure young man off his feet and subsequently produced a son I adore.  I certainly did not settle.  But still, I can't help wondering, and longing.  I know they say the grass is always greener.  James for example, with his various girlfriends and casual liaisons, still envies me, or claims to anyway.  All in all I have a damn good life, one which it would be very foolish of me to jeopardize.  At this moment though, these potent facts are being overwhelmed by a single primeval urge.  I want to climb that mythical fence and mow that sumptuous grass.
     My mind is made up.  I'm going to talk to her.  My ability to speak comfortably to attractive women has improved vastly from my stumbling, bumbling college days. But I've had woefully few opportunities to display this hard earned talent, and only in practice drills, no real emergencies.  When I'm done with the smooth talk we'll go to her place, or any place with a mattress, and proceed to turn a fantasy into reality.  I will live one last adventure, make the final addition to my erotic memoir.  It will be just this one time, but oh what a time it shall be.
     As for Sharon, I'll have to rely on the old adage.  What she doesn't know can't and won't hurt her.  If the woman before me were any less than an absolute goddess, I would certainly refrain.  But her exquisite perfection has flipped the switch on my self-control.  I have become a temporary slave to my desire.  Starting from tomorrow I will be the model husband for the rest of my days.  As for tonight ...
     Man, I really thought I was bluffing myself.  As much as I had worked myself up, I was in fact convinced that this woman would become nothing more than who I visualize when I make love to my wife on the nights we manage to put aside for extracurricular activity. But I am off the barstool and on my feet.  I am walking towards her. I am taking action, commanding my destiny, seizing the day, and all that other good stuff.  Hey!  Some guy has cut in front of me.  He has gone right up to my woman as if I don’t even exist.
     "Hey, stranger," he says.
     "Hi, lover," she responds.  I shake my head to unscramble the words I’m hearing so they might make sense.
     "Sorry it took me so long," the man says smugly.  When your girlfriend looks like his does, everything out of your mouth is smug.
     "Better late than never."
     "You ready to go?" he asks.  Despite the completeness of my heterosexual nature, I cannot help but notice how annoyingly handsome the guy is.  I truly hate him.
     "Almost.  Just let me finish my drink."
     "I will if you give me some sugar first."
     I can't believe my eyes.  After all this mental masturbation, I find myself standing idly by as some GQ cover photo come to life rams his tongue down my dream girl's throat.  Ain't life something?
     "Hey Barry, what's up?  Sorry I'm late."
     "Like hell you are, James."  I return to my seat and down my drink in one swig.  "This round is on you.  I'll have a margarita with a shot of tequila on the side.  Make that two shots."
     "Sounds like you've had a rough day."
     "The roughest."
     In the end I'm sure I would have walked right past her, gone to the bathroom or thrown some money into the jukebox.  It's nice to daydream from time to time, but priority number one is the reality of my life, not saloon inspired wet dreams.  A beautiful wife, a great kid, a job with some potential if I work my ass off, which I'll have to if I intend to ever pay off my mortgage.  What I have is the envy of many.  Don't I know it.
     Had things worked out the way I was fantasizing, it would have been the biggest mistake I ever made.  All that guilt consuming me. I never would have been able to hide it from Sharon.  I don't have the constitution to keep so big a secret from showing in my eyes.  That's why I'm positive I would have just walked on by.  Well maybe not 100% positive, but pretty sure.

     After all, I am a happily married man. 

Racial Penalty Flag

Someone in my Twitter timeline who doesn't follow me back asked in reference to the latest news break out of the NFL "Why isn’t the NFL trying to ban all curse words and slurs? Why only ‘nigga’ or ‘nigger’?"

I'll assume it wasn't a rhetorical question and will answer him and anybody else who may be wondering the same thing here.

The #NFL has no problem with profanity so long as microphones fail to pick it up. They get that grown men hitting each other will often curse while doing so.

The #NFL is strictly addressing racism with this move. You recall being mad at Riley Cooper, right? If ugly remarks like his infamous ones are said in a game rather than a rodeo or wherever the heck he was, that's now a penalty. Simple enough.

Think of it this way. Murder is a crime. But lawmakers also saw fit to make an extra category of racial based murder called a hate crime.

Murder is murder.  Dead is dead. But there is a greater penalty to pay for a hate crime killing than a “standard, garden variety” killing, just as killing a cop is treated harsher than civilian murder.

Just as there's murder & then there's hate crime murder, you can say (the NFL certainly is) that there's profanity and then there's hate crime level profanity.  We all know the words that are meant to insult someone’s race.  The n-word gets the most attention these days, even has TV specials dedicated to it.  Frankly, I think I said all that needs to be said on the subject here 

But the n-word slur certainly doesn’t stand alone.  If you think it does, ask someone who is Hispanic or Jewish or Asian or Native American or pretty much anything.  We don’t even bother being discreet when it comes to Native Americans.  We use ethnic slurs against them as team names!!!  That’s why I wrote this 

The NFL is trying to bear down on "hate crime" variety profanity. Hence, the n-word is being treated harsher than the f-word, b-word, c-word, etc.  It isn’t a generic insult.  It is specifically based on race and many laws have had to be passed in this country to reinforce that racial discrimination/abuse is a no-no.

That's the answer to the question. But the extra wrinkle is that most n-word usage in NFL (per my guess) is not "White on Black" but “Black on Black”.  The majority of n-word use in #NFL isn't said by the Riley Coopers or our society. It's being said by one black guy to another.

Therefore you can say that the NFL isn't so much trying to curb racial hate as putting a pause on racial self hate.

You can reasonably see this as condescending IF you view the NFL as a white institution primarily policing their black employees in this matter.  After all, 70% of the players are black and 100% of the owners (or if not, then damn close to it) are white. So a rule change primarily targeting African Americans is targeting the majority of the league. I wonder what percentage of the other 30% is Samoan.  But I digress.

The #NFL can rightfully reply that they are a private organization. Nobody has to work for them. Be a garbage man and say the n-word all day long if you wish.  No slight intended to sanitation workers, by the way.  It’s simply the first profession that sprang to mind to use as an example.

The #NFL is stepping into some choppy waters here. Some have been angered, some nod in agreement, all should agree it's a bold statement.
I will repeat that I believe most use of the n-word on #NFL fields, even when used angrily, is said without offensive intent. Racism is society's problem, not necessarily the NFL's.  So why should the #NFL bother to play with this landmine?

Societal change often starts in sports. That's one of the coolest things about sports, why I've so often written about the far reaching impact of games we watch grown men play.

Branch Rickey once insisted that his Dodgers be better than baseball so Major League Baseball would be better than society so society would become better.  Even if his true motivation was considerably more selfish ("bringing in some black guys will get us to the World Series and make me more money"), the end result still turned out to be a better world.

Blacks parrot white racism against selves with n-word usage. No getting around this no matter what spin you put on it.  It does not matter if a foul mouthed parrot does not mean anything mean spirited by the words it learned from the pirate who owns him. It’s still cussing.

Would significantly reducing black on black simulated verbal abuse improve society? The debate rages on. Positions remain entrenched.

Even if non bigoted n-word usage isn't harmful, it also isn't beneficial to anybody other than guy in need of a word rhyming with trigger.

Or malt liquor. Not the most compelling reasons so perhaps it’s worth at least considering letting the n-word go quietly into the night.

The other day my 7 year old daughter told me her white classmate said there is a bad word in a Jay Z song that starts with N. His dad told him it's bad.

I'm guessing it came up because the kid was rapping along with the song so his dad had to say "hold up there, sonny, not cool to say that".

My daughter wanted to know if I knew what the word was, and if so, could I tell her. She's real interested these days in curse words.

Topic of bigotry hasn't even entered picture on anyone's end at this point. My daughter just wants to learn a new cuss word for her collection.  I'm sloppy with Spotify and YouTube. Every so often I'll let a song with curses play and when she catches one my daughter acts like it’s a prize.

I tell her that I do know what n-word is in the song, that I won't be telling her what it is, and that her friend's dad is right.

I also tell her that she will eventually find out what the word is, at which point we'll have the discussion on why I feel it's a bad word to say.

She's no doubt heard the n-word several times, pretty much exclusively by blacks, but she doesn't know to have an opinion on it yet.


Even if you're cool with n-word usage (by African Americans) perhaps you at least agree that it shouldn't come from the mouths of babes. But what we say, they will surely repeat.  Kids are able to repeat many more words than a parrot can.  Eventually they learn all of the meanings, come to understand all of the outward hate intended by them, and have to decide for themselves if some of it is being directed inward.

“It was just a word. It took nothing from him. It made him feel only as low as he allowed himself to feel. His own brother used it in conversation habitually. But not in the same way - filled with malice, overflowing with insult. He couldn't tear his eyes away, shook with lust for retribution. Six little letters making one huge statement. NIGGER.” - From PATCHES OF GREY

Response to the death of Jordan Davis & resulting trial of Michael Dunn

I had plenty to say on Twitter about the trial of Michael Dunn for killing Jordan Davis.  Many others were vocal on the topic as well.  Below is a series of tweets, most but not all by me, written as the verdict drew near and then after Dunn was found guilty on 4 of the 5 charges levied against him.  As we all know now, there was a hung jury on the 5th and most damning of the charges.  No verdict was rendered for the murder of Jordan Davis.  Nine jurors voted GUILTY but three felt there was reasonable room for doubt, or rather, for belief that Michael Dunn was acting in self defense rather than indignation and rage and bigotry.  There may be a second trial and eventually full closure.  For now, knowledge that Michael Dunn resides in a prison cell where he will likely be for the remainder of his days serves as cold comfort.


R.I.P. Jordan Davis


RT  @lucymcbath  Day 11. Verdict comes today. I am at peace in knowing the truth has been told no matter what the outcome. In the end God will judge.

If Dunn is acquitted it will demonstrate that many fixes to our criminal justice system are needed. But IMHO, even more than changes to Stand Your Ground laws or gun regulations, in greatest need of reform is our jury selection process. Yet I have no answer for how we can omit those who base decisions on preconceived notions and lifelong prejudices rather than the facts of the case.


Comparing Dunn to Zimmerman is easy. Both needlessly instigated. But the cases are very different. No evidence AT ALL that Dunn feared for his life.

Zimmerman, in addition to eliminating the one person who could provide testimony that contradicted him, earned do gooder props by being a neighborhood watchman. What was Dunn protecting? His eardrums from "thug music"?


In the #DunnTrial only one side has made a cogent argument. Dunn contradicts himself from one minute to the next. Only consistency is his sweaters.


If the jury screws this up I say that at the very least, all trials for murders committed in Floridashould tried in another state.


Since it doesn't seem to already be a law, I feel there should be one in place that penalizes for instigating fights while carrying concealed weapons. You can't claim self defense if you aren't being attacked. If you went out of your way to bring about a fight, WHILE ARMED, that should be a crime.


If you're carrying a gun, shouldn't you be extra cautions to AVOID confrontation? Unless you desire a confrontation because you WANT TO FIRE IT.

#JordanDavis &/or other kids in car having a long rap sheet of violent priors would be only reason to consider Dunn's story to be non-fiction.

Responsible gun ownership/carrying is legal. But if you don't call 911 immediately after firing 10 times at 4 kids, how are you a law abiding citizen?

RT @tjholmes  Compared to other "famous" trials, this jury has already deliberated longer than the Casey Anthony, Conrad Murray, & OJ juries. #DunnTrial

RT @BelleVie73  self defense cases should have a legal requirement that you notify police or you can't claim it way after the fact or at trial #onthecase

RT @EdHull8  There's Probably a Battle Waging Right Now In the #DunnTrial Jury Room Between the Voices of Fear & Racism & Those of Decency & Common Sense

RT @AmeshiaCross  It always baffles me how someone with no criminal history can be criminalized by the color of his skin alone #WhatIsAThug #DunnTrial

#DunnTrial is not all about race though. Has the #NRA chirped in on Dunn's right to shoot at will yet? It's bigots WITH GUNS who worry me.

RT @Sttbs73  So #TrayvonMartin had an entire sidewalk as a weapon and #JordanDavis had an imaginary gun? #DunnTrial

Sidewalk possession not protected by law. Neither is imaginary gun possession. Real gun possession and usage IS protected.

In our legal system, perception trumps reality. If you fear a large black man who happens to be a pacifist Reverend, only your fear matters.

You can shoot because you were frightened, provided you claim he made a menacing move. No penalty for being unfortunately mistaken. Only the fear matters.

That's why I want an unarmed populace. Fear is too easily manufactured. Requires no effort. Erased by pull of a trigger, until next time.

RT @illiam_william  Trayvon is dead. RT @NYDailyNews: George Zimmerman says he’s homeless and suffering from PTSD: report http://nydn.us/MXDhSL ”

RT @MattBinder  i am surprised the #DunnTrial jury did not ask which specific songs bothered Michael Dunn in deciding if he was justified in murdering a boy

RT @FrenchieGlobal  FLcourt strikes down law that banned loud music from cars http://hrld.us/1ca3JCb  in case u need more reason to find Dunn guilty #Dunntrial

Clearly all people in Florida need to be given a special dictionary with only 2 words defined in it. "Self" and "Defense".

RT @QuadCityPat  Sadly, this is exactly why Stand Your Ground has to be overturned. A jury can never know how a defendant "felt" #DunnTrial

RT @CheckAndMate  One day @donlemon is gonna hop out that chair and scream "WU-TANG!"

Black folk in timeline surprised that Don Lemon passionately feels Dunn should be convicted. Tweeps, even Ann friggin Coulter thinks Dunn is guilty as hell. There's a difference between not having a militant "black is always right, white is always wrong" mindset and being a major league sell out. So it's not especially surprising (at least not to me) that Don Lemon has a pull yourself up by own bootstraps philosophy and ALSO THINKS Dunn is guilty.

Had Dunn shot just the first 3 or 4 bullets into car & held off on continuing fire as the boys fled, he would have walked free.  The result we got is much more just, but still, 
the verdict in the #DunnTrial shows that laws in FL are set up in favor of killers who claim fear as motive. He will serve time in jail because of his excess, not his initial evil.

RT @dreamhampton  We need to come for Angela Corey's job, no matter the outcome #DunnTrial

RT @KBDPHD  Everytime I see Angela Corey smile after a bad verdict I feel she's more concerned w/ getting a network analyst gig than justice #DunnTrial

RT @publiusterrance  What stuns me about #DunnTrial is the silence from my white neighbors, friends and allies.

I wouldn't mind seeing more of a mixed racial bag of reaction to Dunn verdict. You can stop leisure tweeting for a tweet or two to express dismay. I know many don't like to leave their topic comfort zones. I call them 1-note tweeters. But injustice should matter to everybody.

RT @TheREAL_MBrooks  #JordanDavis' family is remarkable...

Certainly hard to figure out how these murdered boys in Florida could have been such thugs when alive after seeing classiness of their families.

RT @goldietaylor  Jordan's mother Lucy and Trayvon's mother Sybrina come together... 




RT  @chrisrock  If he's scared of black kids listening to music he's gonna be really scared in jail.

What exactly must one do to be convicted of murder by a jury in Florida? Is eyewitness testimony from a priest, being caught on video, and a confession by the killer sufficient? 

RT @JoyceCarolOates  Have there been contributions to a "defense fund" for Dunn as there had been for Zimmerman? If not, this is an encouraging sign of change.

Three of the juror's believed Michael Dunn, presumably able to see Dunn's humanity while perhaps not able to see Jordan Davis as being one of them.

Were the jurors who refused to vote "guilty as charged" racist? I don't know. I do know that most acts of racism today aren't dramatic like a lynching. It transpires quietly in who a person chooses to include/exclude.

I often implore folks on Twitter to stop calling EVERYTHING racist. Otherwise it lessens impact of outrage when a complaint is legitimate.

In order for Michael Dunn to evade a guilty verdict for the murder of Jordan Davis, there needed to be jurors who saw Jordan as the guilty one.  They had to believe this without any evidence.  Jordan did not have a criminal record, had no history of violence, was not the one who had been drinking.  No eyewitnesses corroborated Dunn's wildly inconsistent self defense, phantom gun story, not even his fiancee.  And yet to not be convicted on ALL CHARGES, the man who was clearly lying to save his life needed to found more credible than an unarmed kid who was shot down because he was playing loud music and it never occurred to his killer to simply park a little farther away.

Why did Dunn's inconsistently made claim that he was under attack outweigh what Jordan's friends said to the contrary? This is what is known as a rhetorical question, but it also needs to be addressed for the sake of future Stand Your Ground tainted trials.

Based on the testimony I heard, the only menace to society that day was Michael Dunn. I breathe easier knowing he's in jail where he belongs.

If the parents of Jordan Davis are at peace with the result of the #DunnTrial - that matters a great deal. Such sad satisfaction has not always been guaranteed. Yet it's understandable
that more was desired - total justice.

Trayvon could have been Obama's son. Ditto for heartless kid killing other brown kids on bloody streets of Chicago. There but for the grace of God...

RT  @atticalocke  Juror a reminder that we can't judge all white folks any more than they can judge all of us.  After the verdict there were many people, myself included, making blanket statements about how white people view black life. #dunntrial #michaeldunn http://gawker.com/loud-music-killing-juror-wanted-to-convict-michael-du-1525819031


Of all Twitter reactions to highly publicized court cases, response to Casey Anthony's acquittal was most baffling http://lineaday.blogspot.com/2011/07/whats-race-got-to-do-got-to-do-with-it.html Talk about your blanket statements and judgments.

If/when Michael Dunn is retried I believe he'll be convicted on murder charge. Evidence like letters/calls from jail will come into play.

In the meantime Dunn will already be in prison and not leaving any time soon, so not an especially loud roar of outrage to come from me. Nevertheless, IMHO 3 of the 
jurors were boneheaded at best.

The hung jury may even be ultimately for the best because it's more ammunition in fight against dangerous Stand Your Ground laws dotting this nation.

I suspect at least 1 of the 3 jurors who bought Dunn's self defense story will say upon learning more about the killer after the trial - "if I had known that I'd have voted differently". What they did already know should have been enough though.

As for those who persist in saying our focus needs to remain on Black On Black crime rather than zeroing in on the untimely deaths of young black men such as Trayvon Martin and Michael Dunn, I respond that comparing apples to oranges is a waste of time...and fruit.  

I do agree that rampant, violent crime in our inner cities should be a top priority, though I call it Poor On Poor crime as I feel poverty is the determining factor, not race. I believe guns need to taken out of more hands period. Poor, middle class & rich hands. Black and White. Gang bangers and freelance vigilantes.

RT @elonjames  I'm not amused by some folks constant attempts to defuse righteous anger, hurt and frustration. Our humanity is ignored yet we should chill?

There are many monsters out there. Some seem easier to spot than others. Some look hideous to you. Some look like reflection in mirror.


Black on Black / Poor on Poor crime is awful. Injustice in our courtrooms is awful. The Holocaust was awful. American slavery was awful. SEPARATELY


Connections are there to be made of course. Slavery's impact continues to be felt on race relations & exclusively within the African American community.


But different forms of tragedy deserve to be examined individually, independently. One tree drops many seeds that each take on lives of their own.


I know people who own guns and this knowledge doesn't bother me at all. The odds of it leading to tragic results are pretty low. I also know some people for whom I am grateful of their decision not to be gun owners because the very last thing they need is a gun. A good person can still have a fast temper or be prone to panicking under pressure. Such a person will needlessly ruin lives with immediate access to a trigger. Let them yell that road rage out instead. Irresponsible gun owners make responsible ones look bad and weakens 'right to bear arms' argument.

How can you tell the differences in temperament & purpose between the responsible and irresponsible people who apply for gun licences? I don't know, but somebody smarter than me needs to figure it out. Better case by case evaluation needs to take place, followed by stricter regulations in cases where gun ownership is allowed.

RT @goldietaylor  HLN's Resident Zimmerman and Dunn Defender Once(repeatedly) Called Oprah a 'N*gger' http://www.mediaite.com/tv/hlns-resident-zimmerman-and-dunn-defender-once-called-oprah-a-ngger/


Eventually another kid will get shot under questionable circumstances. I don't need to hear Frank Taaffe's opinion. Already know it.

I don't want to end this on the idiocy of Frank Taaffee so I'll add an image below for you to contemplate. It shows a police office protecting a member of the KKK from angry protestersbecause regardless of our beliefs (but not regardless of our actions) all Americans deserveequal protection and equal justice courtesy of our laws.

Super Bowl Sunday BOOK REVIEWS

The 2014 Super Bowl is being played in the stadium of my beloved New York Jets.  Unfortunately the Jets won't be playing in the game.  Oh well.  There's always next year...or the year after that...or the year after that...or...You get the idea.  And if you read down farther you'll also get my latest batch of book reviews.  Included are 3 titles by the wonderful Kate DiCamillo who recently won her second well deserved Newbery Medal.  Be sure to let me know which of my reviews you agree wholeheartedly with, what you disagree with, and if I've convinced you to give any of these fine books a try.





The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman - This is the first Neil Gaiman novel that I've read, though I already considered myself a fan due to a couple of his children's books (Blueberry Girl, Crazy Hair) and the animated adaptation of Coraline. Like the latter, The Ocean at the End of the Lane gives us two worlds (at minimum), the one we're all familiar with and another terrifying one in which anything goes. The invented world is vague and transient and omniscient and nearly omnipotent. There are some guidelines and boundaries it must adhere to though, otherwise it would swallow this one. I think that's a proper translation of what goes on in this novel. Gaiman does an excellent job of putting you into the main character's head, a young boy filled with terror and confusion as the fabric of his comfortable existence unravels. One child's pond is another child's ocean, but when it comes to books I'm of the opinion that you've either written a fine one or you haven't. Neil Gaiman wrote a fine one.







LUSH LIFE by Richard Price - Lush Life is a solid police procedural that brought me back to the days when I was obsessed with the genre, particularly novels by Joseph Wambaugh. This is not a whodunnit. We know precisely who killed Ike and why. The narrative jumps back and forth between the detective determined to solve the crime while also dealing with the unstable grieving father of the victim and matters in his personal life, a witness to the murder who is initially treated as a suspect and struggles mightily to deal with his martyr complex, and the killer who is too busy striving to be respected by his peers and trying to impress a girl to give much thought to that murder he rashly committed one night. A crime is most easily solved while it's still hot, but even with two eyewitnesses left among the living, this one keeps getting colder. The detective resolutely marches on, determined to keep this case from his list of unsolved mysteries. We go along for the bumpy ride.




LIVE BY NIGHT by Dennis Lehane - This book is chock full of story elements that I'm drawn to. Jazz Age - gangsters - Cuba - love - sex - power - legacy - vengeance - loyalty - double crossing - corruption - hypocrisy - redemption - resignation - inextinguishable hope - irony - inevitability. A rousing read deserving of its accolades. This isn't your fancy literary lit. It comes at the reader straight, no chaser.  I loved every page.




THE TALE OF DESPEREAUX by Kate DiCamillo - Utterly charming. Completely captivating. Sweet and funny with liberal doses of grit and peril. Full of life lessons that one can never be too young or too old to learn. This delightful tale goes down nice & easy like a bowl of your favorite soup.




THE MIRACULOUS JOURNEY OF EDWARD TULANE by Kate DiCamillo - This was a bit too heavy for my 7 year old daughter. Who knew a Velveteen Rabbit update would be so intense? She kept asking me to stop but I'm not in the habit of stopping a book when I get deeply into it, so I kept promising that all would end happily. I did skip the death scene involving a 4-year old girl though. Didn't see that coming at all. Eventually we made it to the happy ending that took place pretty much exactly as expected. She was thrilled, so all is well that ends well. In addition to The Velveteen Rabbit I was reminded of the movie A.I. Also Pinocchio. Similarities to other stories based on former or currently inanimate objects with rich interior lives aside, Edward Tulane's journey stands up well in its own right. But if I had to do it over again I'd read this book for myself and let my daughter read it on her own when she was a little older.




Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo - This book vaults up to the top of my list of favorite books for children. It isn't just for kids though. It's for anyone who realizes that life at the best of times spent with the finest of people is sweetness and light, but along the way there are losses, and what we've lost adds a measure of sorrow that never fades completely away. We're not always aware of the sorrow, and it lessens as time heals and new people come along for us to love. It is because of a dog she names Winn-Dixie that a young girl named Opal starts to let new people into her heart. They can't replace the mother who left her. Nobody can do that. Nothing will entirely remove that sorrow. But there's nothing wrong with the remnants of the sorrow hanging on. It's an inevitable side effect of being alive.




THE KNOWN WORLD by Edward P. Jones - I finished this masterpiece with about 20 minutes left to go in the year 2013. Looking forward to many great reads in 2014 but they'll need to be magnificent to share space on a bookshelf with this one. Reading The Known World put me one step closer to my goal of reading all of the Pulitzer Prize for fiction award winners - http://lineaday.blogspot.com/2009/03/pulitzer-prize.html
Is the question "how (morally) could there have been black slave owners who were formerly slaves themselves?" a predecessor to "why is black on black crime so prevalent?" or "why do some black people (Michael Jackson being an especially well known example) seem to be trying to escape their blackness by cloaking it in what is commonly accepted as whiteness?" or "is the survival Darwin spoke of primarily achieved by looking out for yourself, even if the most effective method of ascension is using your own people to reach and remain at the top?"  Edward P. Jones puts these questions in your head.  Answer them as best you can.




THE HERO'S GUIDE TO SAVING YOUR KINGDOM by Christopher Healy - I love the premise of this book. It's true that most of the classic fairy tales are Princess-centric. The "charming" prince is simply the guy who shows up and saves the day, with "saving the day" defined as falling in love with her at first sight and marrying her. In between those two steps he may need to do something daring like conquering a witch or dragon, or something relatively uncomplicated like ending her magical coma with a kiss. The women are slighted, even though they get to be the stars of the stories, because they are depicted as helpless. The men are slighted because even though they're the heroes, the majority of spotlight goes to the rescued damsels in distress. The Hero's Guide to Saving Your Kingdom addresses both of these matters. The story focuses on the guys who show up to save the day, but instead of superheroes we are presented with flawed men who must overcome their fears and ineptitude and lack of expertise. The princesses, although they vacate center stage, are far braver and capable of taking heroic matters into their own hands than the versions of them we've grown accustomed to. I applaud the objectives of this book along with the sense of humor displayed throughout. My main complaint is that I found it to be over-long. This tale would have been stronger had it been a little tighter in my opinion, and that would have made me more eager to tackle part 2. Overall though, I enjoyed reading this book aloud to my daughter and she was fond of it as well. She also loved the scattering of illustrations by Todd Harris and wouldn't have minded more of them.



RUNNING WITH SCISSORS by Augusten Burroughs - Burroughs apparently had the strangest, most warped upbringing of just about any person ever. His father drops out of the picture altogether, his mother barely takes more responsibility for seeing their son to adulthood than the dad, handing him over to a substitute home in the "care" of her psychiatrist. Dr. Finch (who is married but his wife is in no way a mother figure) doesn't do much to raise Augusten or any of the other minors in his household, just as he doesn't do much for his patients beyond providing medication. Are his methods unorthodox or is he certifiably insane, which makes his occupation ironic and the roles of doctor and patient practically interchangeable? He seems pretty crazy to me, which does not make him stand out from the others who populate this book. How can those under his care not be crazy when there are no rules in place, no structure, no moral compass, no guidance or sense of direction? There is simply a roof overhead and sufficient funds to get the inhabitants of the fun house from one day to the next. I didn't think of it while reading, but as I compose this review I suppose the stories I've read previously that come closest to Running with Scissors are located in the Pippi Longstocking books. With no adult supervision it's always playtime and bad choices are guaranteed. Much of the bizarre happenings that take place during Augusten's teen years are amusing. They take place mostly in the home of Dr. Finch or his mother's apartment, school attendance being a non-factor. But just when you've grown accustomed to the wacky Pippi-like tone, the book turns sexually graphic. No details are spared in describing the 14 year old boy's "relationship" with a man in his mid-30's, a man who also was "adopted" by Dr. Finch so technically they should be siblings rather than lovers. I found it quite jarring whenever the focus was on Augusten's involvement with Bookman, primarily because these sections are surrounded by so much silliness, and because Burrough's does not bother with hints and innuendo in describing their sex life. There is plenty of other inappropriate sex going on throughout the narrative, but much of the rest of it is mentioned casually in passing. Sex whenever with whoever is just another thing to do to alleviate boredom, sometimes resulting in pesky emotional attachment, sometimes not. This is a well written and certainly memorable memoir. It ends with an Epilogue that tells us what became of the various people who were featured in the book. All things considered, life could have gone a lot worse for them. But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, or in the case of Augusten Burroughs, a writer with a tall tale to tell.







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Goodreads Book Giveaway Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr. Giveaway ends February 14, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to win

LESSONS - #ShortStorySunday

‘You learn how to cut down trees cutting them down.’ - Bateke proverb
Lessons      By Roy L. Pickering Jr.First published in PROVERBS FOR THE PEOPLE


I can do this, I know I can do this.
            So what if she’s the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, while I’m just …  I’m just a guy who’s terrified.  I don’t want to be rejected.  More than that, I don’t want to be rejected by her.  If only I was more experienced at this sort of thing.  If I could look back at a time when I had been successful, I’d be more confident this time around.  But since it’s my first time, how can I know if I’m doing it right?  My grandpa says that some things can’t be taught.  Certain things you just do, and when you’re done, then you’ll see how it went.             The problem with that is, I can’t afford to do this wrong.  I’m pretty sure I’ll get just one shot.  Screw it up and somebody else will be quick to take their turn, probably a smooth talking senior who’ll know exactly what to say and how to say it.  I don’t think I could take it if she shot me down.  Not after I’ve spent so much time daydreaming about us being together.  Night dreaming too.  Perhaps I shouldn’t give her the chance to rewrite my dreams.  After all, if I don’t ask then she can’t say no.  But she wouldn’t have a chance to say yes either.  And maybe she will say yes.  It wouldn’t be the craziest thing to ever happen.  I’ve seen her smile a few times in a way that seemed custom made just for me.  It could have been my imagination.  That’s what my best friend says.  But I don’t think so.  I think I do have a shot at winning her over.  If I do this just right.  If I do it perfect.  Like my grandpa says, loving is a much braver act than simply loving back, and sweeter too.            There she goes, right where I knew I’d find her, taking books for her first classes of the day from out of her locker.  I am lucky enough to have a locker only a few feet away from hers.  My grandpa says never to underestimate the value of location.  Other students walk by laughing, talking loud, horsing around, greeting each other, completely unaware that I’m about to do this extraordinary thing, that my knees feel as wobbly as a newborn colt.             Her hair is prettily separated into dozens of spaghetti thin braids.  Her hair clip is shaped like a butterfly perched on a flower in full bloom.  Last year she wore braces, which did not keep her smile from speeding up the beat of my heart.  But after they were taken out, the impossible happened.  She became even more beautiful.

            I had thought these last steps would be the hardest to take.  Never would I have expected to grow so calm, so bold.  I suppose I feel that this is beyond my control now.  I’m like my grandpa’s great big Cadillac, moving forward on cruise control.   But when I arrive by her side, I realize that the calmness was a mirage.  My mouth refuses to open.  I feel dizzy.  I think I might puke.  Even when I had a bad case of the flu this past winter, I managed not to do that.            Time to regroup.  I walk past her and stop in front of my own locker.  Why am I freaking out?  I’ve spoken to her several times before.  But never about anything important, just small talk I’ve managed to sneak in whenever she wasn’t occupied by the attention of others.  She has never made me feel that my clumsy attempts at conversation were unwelcome.  But I’ve never been convinced that she was inviting me to say more, to speak what I really think, what I truly feel, how I truly feel - about her.  I know that once I do, everything will change.  It may change into bitter disappointment and heartbreak, or else transform into something absolutely amazing.  There is only one way to find out which.    I was hoping to take command of the situation today like an action movie hero.  I would follow my grandpa’s advice, tell her that I liked her, and more importantly, let her know specifically what I like.  For example, her big hazel eyes; the pitch of her laugh; her ability to expertly mimic the nasal voice of our school librarian; the way she purses her lips in concentration when we’re taking a test and she doesn’t realize I’m paying more attention to her than to the exam; the magical scent of her hair that I catch as I pass by her in the hallway.             Instead of saying these things I just stand here, helplessly peeking out of the corner of my eye, afraid to be caught staring, afraid that if I let her out of my sight, the opportunity to act on my runaway feelings will be forever gone.  Resolve is a lot tougher to locate once it’s already been had and lost.  So my grandpa says anyway.            Some might say I’m biting off more than I could possibly chew.  My best friend Kurt is one of them.  He insists that she’s one of the hottest sophomores in school, as if I had not figured this out for myself.  I also don’t need to be told that she’s very popular, usually surrounded by friends from the school journal or the tennis team she’s on, not to mention muscle bound admirers from the football team who think they can effortlessly charm her because they wear jockstraps and jerseys, never mind that they won only four games last year.  But Kurt doesn’t see, or can’t see, that her main priorities are not about being beautiful and in demand.  She’s not like the extra fine, extra shallow girls that Kurt lusts after who would pass on a guy like me with scarcely a glance.  If she was, she wouldn’t need to reject me because I wouldn’t be interested in her to begin with.  It so happens that she is an honor student just as I am.  And like me, she can often be found in the library checking out not only books that are assigned to us, but also those chosen for pleasure.  Yes, she is pretty and athletic and popular.  But she is also smart and ambitious and creative and funny and sweet.  In short, she’s perfect.  Perfect for me.    

Oh, there is one other thing.  She has the finest looking butt you ever did see, sweet as a chocolate covered cherry, especially in this pair of jeans she wears every other Wednesday like clockwork.  They hug her hips just right, outlining her curves with expert precision.  In anticipation of seeing her in those jeans, I wake up extra alert on those days.  Or at least a certain part of my anatomy does.            What does Kurt know about what girls want?  Not a whole lot, no matter how much junk he talks.   He’s had exactly one more girlfriend in his life than I have, giving him a grand total of one, and that only lasted a month.  He says I’m chasing after a girl who is out of my league, but there’s nothing wrong with the league I’m in, whatever it happens to be.  I may not be a jock or one of those guys who walks around in phat gear and blinging jewelry like a big shot in a rap video, but I don’t think I’m someone a girl would be embarrassed to be around either.  I’ve been called cute plenty of times, well at least a few times, the message usually delivered second hand.  But the girls who have lazily pursued me in the past were ones I was not all that interested in, and the ones who have sparked my interest did not pay me much mind.  I’m not sure why my love life, or lack thereof, has worked out like it has.  I often see much dopier looking guys than me with pretty girls on their arms while I stand by enviously and alone.  Maybe those guys are simply luckier than I am.  Or braver.  Probably a combination of the two.  I’m guessing that Lady Luck will not just fall in my lap.  I’ll need to test her to see if she’ll work for me.  As for bravery, I’ll have to fake it.  Maybe brave people are sometimes nothing more than cowards doing a good job of acting.                                 My grandpa told me recently that my dad was quite awkward and shy in high school.  I think he was saving the story until I reached puberty.  My dad was tall, which is usually a plus, except that he was the gangly type rather than one of those guys who take off their shirts on playground basketball courts to show off their 3-D abs.  Apparently my dad did plenty of tripping over his feet and his tongue when trying to impress girls way back when.  But his frame and his confidence filled out as he grew older, and by the time he graduated college he had successfully managed to win over the most beautiful girl he’d ever met - my mom.  There was hope for my dad, so there must be hope for me too.  I’ve met the girl of my dreams at a younger age than my dad met his, so I’ll need to grow into my own at an accelerated pace.  I’ll need to get off the sidelines and into the game, as sports obsessed Kurt would put it.               I wonder what my grandpa would say if he were here beside me, an invisible guide coaching me to action.  How would he motivate me to push away this gigantic boulder that my fears and insecurities have merged into?  I’m surprised to draw a blank.  The boulder seems too heavy for even my grandpa’s endless wisdom to budge.  I remember him once telling me that if you can’t push something out of your way, you need to find a way around it.  But this boulder is not only impossibly heavy, it’s also much too wide to circle in the amount of time at hand.  While I stand here idly considering my options, the bell goes off and she goes off with it towards her homeroom class.  Everything around me suddenly speeds up from the slow motion it seemed to be have been moving in when my vision was locked on a single target.  Lockers clang shut, conversations are cut short to be resumed later in the day, sneakers squeal as their inhabitants rush past me in opposite directions, my classmates for the moment nothing but a blur of colors.  Not wanting to receive detention for late arrival, I have no choice but to join the stream.

            I don’t hear a single word said to me throughout the school day.  What my teachers are trying to place in my head, I have little patience or luck attempting to hold in.  In history class the talk is of wars fought long ago.  Geometry presents a bunch of fancy names for simple shapes.  My French teacher communicates in a strange curvaceous tongue.  In biology class I absently create colorful potions that sizzle in beakers.  And if all of this isn’t thrilling enough, I am forced to grunt, groan and sweat for the entertainment of Mr. Bellamy, who apparently was unable to decide between becoming a gym teacher or a drill sergeant, so decided to split the difference.  But not a single lesson taught from bell to bell explains how to find the courage to speak to a beautiful girl.            When my final class ends I rush outside and head home as if wearing blinders, desperate to avoid an encounter that would only deepen what is already an ocean of shame.  I don’t want to risk seeing her again today.  I don’t want to be reminded of what I let slip away before I was ever able to grab hold.  With every step I further realize that my flight is senseless.  I can hide from her today, but I will no doubt run into her eventually.  There are still three years of high school left to go.  And even if I somehow was able to keep our paths from crossing for all that time, it wouldn’t stop me from remembering.  Remembering how crazy I am about her.  Remembering that I’m a coward.              I arrive home to the sight of my grandpa nestled in his easy chair, spectacles hanging precariously at the very tip of his nose as he reads a thick, leather bound book.  I’ve seen him in this pose a thousand times, watched him run his large veined hands over his neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard when he’s about to turn a page, observed his bushy eyebrows raising every day to acknowledge my entrance when I get home from school.   It gives me comfort to know that some things do remain the same.  They can be relied on no matter what happens around them.Instead of waiting for him to greet me and ask how my day went, I break our ritual to ask the question I came up with on my lonely walk home.“Grandpa, what’s the hardest thing you ever had to do?”My grandpa answers every question of mine as if he was expecting it and had rehearsed giving the perfect response.  This time proves to be no exception.“I tried to make myself the father I never was to your dad.  I’m still trying.”“I don’t understand.”He removes a bookmark from his shirt pocket to hold the page he’s on, places the book on the table beside him, and takes up his pipe.  Although he puts the pipe in his mouth, he makes no move to light it.  My grandpa gave up smoking years ago, transferring from daily packs of cigarettes, to a few cigars after dinner, to one smoke of his pipe late in the evening, until arriving at his goal of total abstinence.  He still holds the pipe in his mouth sometimes, usually when he’s worried or in deep concentration over some important matter.  This tips me off to pay especially close attention to whatever he’ll say next.“You see, when your dad was growing up I wasn’t around for him very much.  I used the excuse of trying to build a career, providing amply for my family.  But even when I was home, I wasn’t involved like I should have been.  I left the day to day details to your grandma, not realizing that the day to day details are what make up our lives.  She’s the one who went to the PTA meetings, bandaged your dad’s bruises, went to his school plays, protected him as a growing boy and showed him how to be a good man.  The most I did was watch the occasional ball game on TV with him.”I am somewhat surprised, close to stunned actually.  My grandpa is saying things beyond the logic of the world I have experienced.  The words he speaks don’t match up with the deeds of the man I know him to be.  Recognizing the disbelief in my eyes, he explains himself further.“I was amazed by the kind of father he turned out to be, especially under the circumstances of having to do it mostly by himself.  I used to make excuses for the way I’d been, saying I had the worst possible role model in my old man.   But what he passed down to me, I failed to pass along.  Maybe the fact that your dad had to become both father and mother to you had something to do with it.  He needed to somehow fill the void left by your mother’s passing, and he did one hell of a job.  I watched him raise you with enormous pride, and in the process, I got my first lessons on how to be a real father, not just the man who pays the bills.”   Hearing him speak of my father like this really gets to me, but I manage to hold my tears in check.  Okay, I hold most of them in.  Can you blame me for letting a few slip out?“After the accident when you moved in with me, I was given the opportunity to put into practice what I had learned.  And I must be doing an okay job the second time around because you’ve grown up to be a wonderful young man, even if you do wear your pants too baggy for my taste.  I’m guessing you’ll grow out of that eventually.  In life you grow in and out of all sorts of things.”“You’re doing a great job, Grandpa.”  I would give him a hug if he was more of the touchy-feely type, but knowing better, I just return his contagious smile.  He puts his pipe back down and takes his book up, pushing his glasses closer to the oval auburn eyes that I inherited.  I cross the living room of our bachelor pad, as my grandpa is jokingly fond of calling the house, and head upstairs to my room.For reasons I do not comprehend and will not bother trying to figure out just now, the talk with my grandpa has released my apprehension.  I find myself able to get to the business at hand.  Knowing her last name and the street her family lives on, locating her phone number in the White Pages is a breeze.  My fingers do not tremble as I dial.  There is no quaver to my voice when I ask if she is home.  And when she appears on the other end of the phone line, I simply begin speaking to her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do, rather than the near miracle I know it to be. 



Our first real conversation lasts nearly two hours.  It goes easier than I could have ever imagined, like a baby squirrel figuring out how to climb a tree.  She seems to have expected my call, to have been waiting for it even.  I learn countless new things about her.  We turn out to have a whole lot in common, sharing the same favorite flavor of ice cream, and favorite song currently on the Top Ten countdown, and favorite book read in Literature class last year, and mutual annoyance at the frantic hand waving done by a certain pigtailed know-it-all in every class.  I quickly grow fond of the frequently said phrase - “me too”.            As the phone call draws to a close, nervousness finally returns.  I ignore this emotion and tell her that I have one more question to ask.  To calm myself, I close my eyes and recall the first time I ever rode a bicycle without training wheels.  I remember the shock of looking back and learning that my father had stopped running alongside to keep me balanced, that I had been riding for awhile all by myself.  I remember how unstable the bike got after that, how I lost control, the skinned knee earned for the effort.  I remember getting back up, brushing myself off, hopping on the bike again and riding towards my dad like I had been doing so all my life. 

            The details of life when my dad was still around grow fuzzier as time passes.  I don’t want to forget anything about him, but little by little my memory fades.  Once I ran home in a panic after school because I suddenly realized that I couldn’t picture what he looked like.  I flew into my house and straight to the nearest photograph with him in it.  That picture is of my parents, the father taken from me by a drunk driver and the mother I never got to know at all because she died while giving birth to me.  Neither of them died as heroes, such as what they’re calling the firemen and police officers who rushed into the World Trade Center back at the beginning of the semester.  If you have to die, I guess it would be nice to be called a hero by those you leave behind.  My father and mother were just ordinary people with worse than ordinary luck, I suppose.  Then again, my grandpa says heroes come in all sorts of shapes and sizes that you can’t always recognize. 

With heroes, and my long ago bicycle lesson, and the steadying hands of my father, and a mother I never met who has always seemed like my own personal angel in mind, I ask a girl if she would like to go out on a date with me.  It is the first time I have ever done such a brave and wonderful thing.  I probably didn’t do it perfect.  But I did it.  And how did it go?            As my grandpa says, sometimes it is the journey that matters, not the destination.  She answers that this weekend isn’t good for her.  My heart drops.  Then she says that the following weekend would be much better.  So my destination is the movies next Saturday night.     I don’t know how I’m going to wait so long without bursting.  I sure do wish it was sooner, although I’ll probably need all the time I can get to prepare myself.  It will probably take me at least a few days to learn how to be charming and clever and whatever else girls like a guy to be.  Fortunately, my grandpa is a great teacher.





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Goodreads Book Giveaway Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr. Giveaway ends February 14, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to win

A teaser - Passages from MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE

I can't tell you quite yet when my second novel will be published...or how.  First things by their nature must come first, and now that Matters of Convenience has been written to completion, what I have elected to do initially is seek representation by a literary agent.  Hopefully a successful search will lead to its finding home sweet home at a publishing house en route to the ultimate destination - laid out before you in printed format or on a screen.  If the traditional path does not work out, my back up plan (which at this point is fairly traditional in its own right) will be to publish it myself.  Either way, the goal is to get it before your eyes and hope you enjoy the tale.  Since the time for you to partake of my story in full has not yet arrived, I have decided to present snippets here to whet your appetites.  Gentle readers, without further adieu I present a few bite sized morsels from Matters of Convenience.





No reasonable excuse or explanation occurred to her for declining his invitation. Her body craved to be explored by his touch. She longed to discover the places that would make him arch with pleasure, moan with delirium, hum her name in delight. Yet something made her suppress these urges, told her she must wait, that it was too soon. And although the source of these warnings was vague, she opted to obey them over desires that were far better understood.



James could sympathize with problematic sexual entanglements.  This was not to say that he lugged around a suitcase full of regrets about past behavior.  His fierce appreciation of female beauty, the unrelenting desire he felt for their company, the pleasure he both derived and sought to give, had led him in and out of quite a few bedroom doors.  Pleasure was still what he craved, but he was now ready to find nirvana in the embrace of a single pair of arms and legs.



Happily ever after did not make its way to everyone’s doorstep. Most people made due with whatever came along for however long it lasted. They surrendered fairy tale hopes for cookie cutter lives that they could make peace with. If it looked like happiness to those looking from the outside, success was claimed. But a certain percentage of people routinely opted for chaos at the expense of the appearance of tranquility. Perhaps for them the appeal of the race was stronger than that of the finish line, the thrill of the chase far more important than actually catching up.




And on some night in the probably not too distant future, nature would lead them to whichever of their bedrooms was closest at that moment. In this man’s arms, stretched out on either his bed sheets or her own, she would eliminate the final traces of Todd from her everyday consciousness. James would serve as diversion for a week, a month, however long she decided. It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late. 





He mentally prepared for the worst.  The last time he’d run into one girlfriend while out with another had not gone well.  Perhaps his memory exaggerated it, but his recollection was of a scene that reached the hysteria played out on daytime talk shows when some clueless guy was informed that he was “not the father”.  Sonya had no rational reason to get upset.  They barely knew each other really.  Other than sex, they had shared little and held even less in common.  For God’s sake, it had been a struggle to remember her name.  Still, he was well aware that the way he viewed his involvement with a woman sometimes did not match how she was seeing it.



On occasion he would think back to the fiercest passion it had been his pleasure to experience and reflect on what might have been. He would look upon the woman who occupied the opposite half of his bed and feel his life had not quite lived up to the promise of another day. These moments would be mercifully brief, or so he hoped.



While Matters of Convenience makes its way from my imagination to presentation for your reading pleasure, perhaps you may wish to check out my well received first novel - Patches of Grey.  You'll find an excerpt from it HERE.  If it meets your approval, stop by Amazon to purchase either the print or Kindle edition.  The latter is on sale for a week beginning on Cyber Monday - available for only $1.99.  As always, Happy Reading!

Halloween Book Giveaway for PATCHES OF GREY

Growing up I found Halloween to be the most awesome of holidays for two critical reasons. #1 - Everybody got to play make believe.  #2 - Show up at someone's door, just about any one would do, and receive a handful of free candy.  Potential lay at each ring of a doorbell to receive a trick, but the odds were in your favor that you would end up with a treat.




If you're not walking my beat on October 31 then I'm unable to fuel your sugar rush, plus my candy supply is strictly for kids, those are the rules.  But I do have something for you, gentle reader.  I'm giving away copies of my novel PATCHES OF GREY.  You can end up with it in your possession in one of two ways.  The first is to stop by GoodReads.com between now and the end of October and enter to win a copy of the print edition.  See link below.


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Goodreads Book Giveaway Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr. Giveaway ends October 31, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to win

If you aren't the lucky winner but happen to read ebooks on the Kindle or Kindle App, head over to Amazon.com.  The Kindle edition of PATCHES OF GREY is available for FREE three days - 10/29, 10/30 and All Hallow's Eve.  If you're an avid reader in eternal search for the next great book, your odds of obtaining my novel at no cost are pretty good.  So go on and indulge your literary sweet tooth.



Best of luck (if any is needed) to everybody, and as always, Happy Reading.  And be sure to have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

What I've Read Lately

DOUBLE FEATURE by Owen King - I didn't realize when I picked this book out at the library that the author is Stephen King's son. Once discovered, I tried not to let that influence my evaluation.  It turned out to be relatively easy because although the literary gene certainly passed down the family tree, Owen has his own unique voice that stands aparts from his dad's creepy one.  I enjoyed this novel, even if the pile up of coincidences at the end was a bit much. Sam, the hero of Double Feature, is a well developed character who keeps getting in the way of his own happiness. He feels short changed by his parents divorce, a father he both sort of emulates and is unable to connect with, the early death of his mother whose only sin was loving an unworthy man, and the mutilation of his directorial debut. You want Sam to move on, achieve some measure of closure, accept the imperfections of loved ones, make another movie, get the girl. But for much of the story he is determined to stick with the one thing he has mastered above all - the art of brooding. Enough quirkiness and amusement is scattered about the pages to prevent Sam's journey from feeling especially somber. The narrative often feels directionless, which may bother some readers but I don't find to be a negative trait in a book so long as the writing is strong and engaging. When someone is trying to figure out who they are and what they want to do with the life they've been given, a certain amount of meandering about is inevitable. I was reminded of the movie Garden State, which is a good thing as I'm quite fond of that movie.  Events of great impact have already taken place, an unknown future of vague promise lies ahead, but the moment at hand seems to mostly be about hanging around and waiting, no longer a child but perhaps not quite an adult, probably stalling. I was also reminded in a more superficial manner of one of my favorite movies, Cinema Paradiso. Like that wonderful film, Double Feature is in large part on ode to the movies. Whether it's an intellectual art house film or a campy cult classic or a Hollywood blockbuster with dazzling special effects, we accept the enjoyment that movies have to give us for a couple hours in dark rooms and then we return to the real world. Loose ends tend to be tied up by the time credits roll. Epiphanies have been reached. We walk away satisfied that events came full circle and we return to our own lives where things don't need to conform to rhyme or reason. They just are. I look forward to Owen King's next book and to seeing what direction his literary career will take. It's off to a fine start.





CANADA by Richard Ford - Richard Ford takes his sweet time building up to the details of events that he reveals at the very beginning of this novel.  The leisurely trips to "the bank robbery" and then a much shorter one to "the murders" are enjoyed because of Ford's masterly, non-pretentious use of language. This book isn't about crime and/or punishment. Despite the title it isn't even about Canada. It's simply a story about making due with what you have, moving on from what takes place, looking back on what once was, ever watchful for what may come to be. Canada is a chronicle of what happens to every single one of us. Life.





FREEMAN by Leonard Pitts, Jr. - A fantastic book. Readers will empathize with the well developed characters. History buffs fascinated by the Civil War time period will be enthralled. Those who take great interest in this nation's troublesome history of race relations will be deeply drawn in, and on numerous occasions will shake their head at the realization that centuries old truths stubbornly remain valid to this day. Those in eternal search for bittersweet love stories should immediately add Freeman to their reading list. The only bone I had to pick with it is that in order for certain events to go the way the author intended them to, there were a couple instances of characters leaving incriminating evidence lying conveniently around, allowing for trails that otherwise would have gone cold to remain hot. I temporarily felt the presence of Leonard Pitts Jr. directing the narrative when this happened. "No way she doesn't toss that newspaper in the fire immediately" I may have said aloud at one point near the end of this riveting story. This is the closest thing I found to a flaw in an otherwise wonderful novel. From its first sentence to the last, it packs a powerful motional punch. Bravo to a job well done.





SNUFF by Chuck Palahniuk - As with another of my favorite authors, Tom Robbins, when you're reading a Chuck Palahniuk book you know you're reading something that nobody else could have written. With a book like Snuff, Palahniuk may be the only person who would ever want to write such a thing.  It's not for everybody, that's for sure. The stuff of genius never is.  Pornography itself is more socially acceptable than in depth examination of it from outsider perspective. Palahniuk dives all the way in and the readers emerge from it covered in...insight about the underbelly of commonplace human desires.  What did you think I was going to say?  When all is said and done, Snuff probably won't rank among my most favorite Palahniuk novels. I'm near the beginning of my journey through his catalog. But Snuff is most definitely riveting and, even considering the immense popularity of Fight Club, this may end up being the most memorable of his works.





HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE by J.K. Rowling - As fascinated as my daughter (who this book was read aloud to) is by all things wizard, Rowling has a tendency to be wordy when incorporating a ton of information along with drama into scenes. These passages turned off my 7-year old. I found them a tad dry myself, but I'm a stubborn reader and refuse to skip over anything. This wasn't the case so much with the first two Harry Potter installments, but the end of #3 dragged somewhat with considerable explaining dialogue. Still, it's one thing for a book to have an excessively wordy ending, by which point you're fully committed to making it to the finish line. It's another thing to start off in such a manner. Glancing at other online reviews it seems my wife, my daughter and I are not the first ones to find the World Cup scene in Goblet of Fire rather tedious. Eventually it picks up steam. Things also start taking a turn for the dark & grown-up in this installment of the series, so it will be the last one I read aloud to my daughter. Perhaps she will return to it on her own some day. As for me, I'll probably just watch the movies to see how it all turns out for Harry and company. The onscreen adaptations do a pretty good job of leaving out Rowling's explanatory rambling and cutting to the chase. I hear she's doing some Hogwarts based screenplay writing now. I suppose she has a pretty good idea by this point of what to include on paper to give readers the richest experience, and what is best left on the editing room floor to keep fidgety viewers on the edge of their seats.