G. Eric Francis's Blog, page 3

November 20, 2016

Yo God! (Shout out from a sinner)

Now I know that the following may freak y'all out...but I am gonna talk about God for a second.

No, as far as I know, I am not terminally ill.

Yesterday my dear spouse had a little bit of drama with her job.  She had to complete something online that, if not completed, would have caused her massive drama.  The bloody thing wouldn't start with a damn, and after I stayed up until questions trying to help her, I gave up.

Did one thing before I threw my hands up.

I asked God to let her get through this, because the woman has enough on her plate.

This mkrning, after she posted about her dilemna, one of her co-workers helped her out.  She isn't out of trouble yet, but she now has a shot to do what she needs to do.

Now God and I haven't had a good relationship in my 47 years.  Personally I simply don't get his way of thinking ming (assuming God actually "thinks" like humans do; I am guessing that He doesn't have a "brain", per se).  I have questioned many of his decisions:

1.  Why disasters take place?
2.  Why do little kids have to die?
3.  Why did he left the 108 years go by for Cuba fans before he said, "Let them have 1?"
4.  How did he let a racist, bigoged, (possible) sex offender,  birther   (a word I never heard of until POTUS 44 showed up) all around Richard get the  osteoporosis powerful position in the world?
5.  Why haven't I won the Lottery?  Seriously?

You know, deep crap like that.

The  biggest query of all I personally have is how can he let a faithful servant like my mom go out the way she is going?

Sigh.

So, I don't get him, and I am sure those of him who follow his word don't totally get him eifher.

But that isn't the point, is it?

I had an associate once who is an Atheist.  He said he never got into a debate with anyone who believed in God because he knew he could never win, despite the scientific proof to the contrary.

Why?

Faith.

It cannot be proved to exist, but Christians have it.  Even if the shittiest day takes place, so bad that it a country song, they have that to buoy them.

In a lot of ways, I am a little jealous of that, even if the entire thing ends up being the greatest scam the world has ever known.

As for me?

Well, it's been a rough 10 years.  Not as rough as others (have had a few conversations with some folks who would have me beat on that route), but it hasn't been fun.  Whenever shit hits the fan (with my brood, it always revolves around $) somehow we find a way (via a last minute change of luck or the unexpected kindness of others) to survive.

I don't think science has anything to do with it.

I have lived my life where, if hell exists, I am on a Lear Jet speeding towards it.  Scares me a tad.  However, even with that, despite what family think of me (which outside of a few individuals on both sides of my married equation is very little, especially since this election) I am not that bad of a person.  And someone is watching over me, which I hope continues.

Some folks don't understand that their lives probably will keep on keeping on.

I worry for my sons, as well as some myself.

So whether it is God or whom/what ever, I hope I stay in good graces...and I am thankful.

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Published on November 20, 2016 08:52

May 22, 2016

Me, You, and the Cockroaches

When Prince died a month ago, I read that Jehovah's Witness folks believe that there is no soul; you just cease to exist, even though they believed in resurrection.I have had my battles over what I believe in my nearly 46 years on this earth. I was brought up to believe that Jesus died for our sins, and even when things don't go your way, "God always has a plan" for you. I look at folks like Donald Trump as they spew their hate and ride the wave of people who feel the same, and I wonder if things like this is part of the "plan." I have seen things that defy explanation; no scientific fact, but it simply happened. I don't believe in good or bad luck, even though enough bad things have happened to me, my wife and my children. I have never understood how those who find pleasure crapping on people get over, while good people suffer (or die way too young, which is a silly catchphrase; you die when you are supposed to die...the only “non scientific” thing I generally hold as absolute truth). I know you are not supposed to question God and what he allows to happen (remember, if what the Bible says is true, we did pretty much ask God to butt out, which he obliged us). I know personally that since I have done things that he would not approve of (including a couple of things that if my mother was well she would not be happy with me with) I did bring a lot of things upon my own shoulders. I believe Karma is real...it is simply God standing out of the way while we pay for whatever sins we may have committed years past...or just a few minutes ago when we stole the pink sweeter from the restaurant.I have spent the last several years of my life screaming as loud as I can for we as human beings to treat each other just a little better. When I look at a lot of my friend’s profiles and list of friends, as we are wont to do, we associate with people who think like us, look like us, talk like us, believe in the same things. This “separation” keeps us from getting to know the “differences” in people, so we form our own opinions based on innuendo and old lies. I believe there was a bible story once where God (don’t remember why) decided to scramble the languages of the human race, which is why there are 100’s of dialects on this planet today. It is another one of his “plans” that I wonder what went into that decision, if God actually makes “decisions” like the creatures he created out of love. It has led to wars, rape, murder, and just plain nastiness, just because we don’t bother (or cannot) understand one another. It is the reason there is an Al Kaida or an ISIS. Or a black man is considered a “thug”, a Asian person is “smart” or Latinos are...well, whatever those who don’t get think whatever they are.God exists to some folks, while others are convinced we are simply finite creatures, genetically set to disappear at a certain time (whether by accident or natural causes), and that is the end all of everything. I think about Prince and all the music that he left behind that I hope that one day (once all the legal stupidity gets over with) we will get to hear. He has a legacy; I don’t know know if his music will be listened to hundreds of years later like Beethoven or Mozart, but I think it has a shot. As for what he believed in as a Jehovah’s witness, I pray he is wrong. One of my biggest fears about life is that we are no more important than a roach or fly, serving no purpose but to exist for a little while, then are snuffed out and are like we were never here.I guess that is the main reason why I got myself published and I blog. More than the money, more than anything, I want folks long after I was gone know that I was here...that I mattered. That whatever God’s plan for me is/was that ultimately it was the best thing for me...and him.
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Published on May 22, 2016 12:53

May 18, 2016

What I Think I Think When I Think About Peanut Butter

There are times where the late nights remind me about how cool it is to be alive.
Now they loneliness part sort of sucks, believe me. Carla (at least for another week anyway) goes to bed, and I sit here with my thoughts, the quiet of the house (beyond the occasional sound of settling) providing my soundtrack.
On Wednesday I really didn't want to go to work, wishiing I had a day off with my girl. I just feel sometimes that I am wasting my precious time doing what I am doing. Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I am gainfully employed after nearly 7 years of the opposite. I have taken steps to lighten my financial load (even though, just like Al Pacino said in "'Godfather 3" I am getting "sucked right back in.")
Alec Toombs, make sure you check the quote on that.
I am not really down or up at the moment; Noah's video and the success it has had on certain boards has done me a little bit of good. He does have that "magic" that touches people when they see him even if they only know of his existence from some random video. At the same time, my project is still static (though the news I shared earlier provided some hope), which a tad frustrating, because I have something pretty darned good to share...if anyone would listen.
As I look at the clock, it is 1:01 am. I tell my associate and co-worker Tyi regularly that I would love to push the "I resign" button that we have at work (serously, there is a button on our Intranet that will allows us to quit with the push of a button) and be free. Sunny days before the heat of summer are so refreshing...and depressing. I am jealous of those folks who work for themselves that, while they work a lot harder and longer than we other folks can also go outside and say "ahh, I don't have a lunch hour' I have a lunch afternoon if I choose."That ain’t too shabby when it comes to power.I am at a weird place in my life. As I age, I think about my mortality. My man Prince was only about 11 years older than I when he left this mortal coil. And he ate veggoes and whatnot. I think my biggest fear when it is time for my clocked to be punched is to leave accomplishing NOTHING. Yeah, I have published 5 books. That is pretty cool. Yeah, I am a dad to 2 boys who, when they want to be, are pretty damned special. But what I am saying is to do something beisdies existing. I mean, anyone can exist, sloth around through life and then die. To me, that isn’t a life. That is an opportunity wasted.I want to get an opportunity, seize it, prosper and grow. I want to not only put up pretty pictures, but to have pretty thoughts and attitudes and dreams. A lot of folks think that I think that money is what I seek for happiness. Money only helps pay for the search and puts a few things at ease while we walk this mortal coil. Nah, I want to be able to put my head down at night and say the following as I drift off to sleep...IF I DIE, AT LEAST I KNOW THAT I DID SOMETHING THAT MATTERED.That, my friends, is what makes Greg go.Oh, as for the whole peanut butter thing? We had Chinese for dinner, since Carla had a massive migraine,and I am not checking to cook after dealing with taxpayers all day.Sadly, Chinese doesn’t hold. I was hungry.


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Published on May 18, 2016 22:18

April 21, 2016

When The Doves Finally Cried

No words.

Now that eye have composed myself over this morning’s heartbreaking news, let me tell u guys a quick story.
When Michael Jackson died nearly 7 years ago, eye was playing with Jared when he was still that freewheeling fun kid before Aspergers got a hold of him.  The news broke over my phone, and my mother called me immediately thereafter 2 confirm the news.  
Eye tried 2 call my brother DeWayne, the world’s biggest fan of his, but he wasn’t taking calls.  Eye had no idea what he was feeling…until 2day.
My aunt took me and my 2 cousins 2 go c “Purple Rain” on my 15th birthday.  Eye was a fan of Prince for a couple of years, but, and eye am not ashamed 2 say this, eye fell in love with the man and his music that night.  When eye was in college and a social reject, eye blasted his music whenever eye felt alone or upset.  Eye tried 2 talk my future wife in2 playing the song, “Friend, Sister, Mother, Lover, Wife” for our first dance (she quickly said no J )  Even as his star faded and his aggravating tendencies came out as he aged, I was loyal to everything he did, even if eye knew each new album wouldn’t sell 10,000 copies. 
Music has changed in2 a business, lacking in innovation and becoming nothing more than the marketing of the next pretty face.
But Prince Rogers Nelson was a musician.  And his fans loved him.  And the musical world respected him even if he pissed them off.
There is some irony in his passing.  
Prince once joked in 1 of his obscure album cuts about Elvis being found dead on his bathroom floor.
2day irony paid Mr. Nelson one final visit, even though he was found in the place where he made his magic.
As for my brother, eye now understand what  you feel that day.  Yes, we have the albums…the music.  That is the 1 thing I always hoped 4 myself in my writing; 2 live on in my work after eye am gone. 
But today, the last bit of my youth died in Minnesota.  My old friends rarely speak 2 me anymore, my mother is fading away every day, and my dreams remain stagnant.
But eye always had Prince R. Nelson.
Eye still do, even if we will now never know what new idea was running in his head when God called him home.
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Published on April 21, 2016 13:12

April 18, 2016

Music makes the people dance

I grew up a child of the 70s and 80s, and along with that, I grew up with the music of the times. In my book before Noah 3:21, I wrote a chapter on how each generation hated the next one's music, and vice versa. It is unavoidable...and also a little laughable on both sides.
Growing up in the 8-track era, I couldn't stand my dad's music. Otis redding. Sam and dave. The temptations. Aretha. All old school soul that strained through those paper speakers in his 1979 Mercury Cougar. I was thankful as hell when I got a Walkman, so I can listen to what I thought was great music.
Just like we have repeated over and over again, we never learn to appreciate the past, as well as give the present a chance.There was a bug hubbub about NWA getting into the Rock and Roll Hall of fame. How dare these pioneers of gangsta rap get into those sacred grounds?
Rap isn't music, after all.
As someone who grew up in the era that rap started, I shake my head that even in music our bias (once again on both sides) automatically makes us convict something before hearing it out. I had an old friend named Eliezer. He was Latin descent, and he was always a little different; it's why I liked the guy. Anywho, in his teens he became a massive metal head and a big fan of Metallica. He tried to turn me on to them, but I was all about hip hop (there is a difference btw it and rap; call it classic rock's equivalent), R&B and 80's pop (my cousin teased me about listening to what was classified as "white music"; I've mentioned before that I was guilty of the same ignorance).
Now I have selections from all of their albums.
You see, music ultimately is an expression of one's inner self, and if you happen to be among the few folks who make a long-term impact, you deserved to be recognized. KISS, while I am a fan, didn't exactly break new ground in music; they were/are a marketing ploy that worked in the 70's. Hendrix, Cream/Clapton, Aerosmith (before they stopped doing drugs, even thought I wouldn’t have heard their older stuff if I didn’t hear their 80’s stuff), The Stones...these guys are just a small sample of changing Rock for the better. Flip the script, RUN-D.M.C made hip hop available to the mainstream. Grandmaster Flash and Mellie Mel help start it. NWA brought a story about life in the hood that most of America couldn't deal with...and like Rock and Roll before it gave kids something to rebel to.
How in the hell did they not deserve to get into the Hall of Fame?Ultimately, every generation has their own thing, and if you are a music fan, you can pick out certain things from each one that means something. "Hey Ya" was the last original record I've heard, but I like Justin Bieber, Nick Jonas, DNCE, Selena Gomez, Megan Trainer...I like their stuff. It makes me turn up the volume in the car just as loud as if “One” by Metallica came on during the shuffle on my iPhone.
Now I will admit this: the other day I said to my dear spouse Carla that I doubt that there will be records from this generation that anyone, including the kids, that anyone will consider a “classic.” But there will be songs where people share their first kiss or dance, or dance at their wedding, or even remember a loved one now gone from this era, as it has been for every era before or will be. Isn’t that the point of music, from Mozart to Bieber? To forget the toilet bowl of poop that life can be sometimes? I know when I have to go into work to deal with the American people, that 25 minutes to and from work is one of the few times that I actually believe in my dreams; to escape the fact that I can’t do anything for my son because I have no damned money, or give my wife the time off to deal with her knees that need surgery.
Music is a gift; we may dislike something because it isn’t our taste, but we should respect those who create it.
We would be worse off than we already are if we didn’t have it.
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Published on April 18, 2016 20:18

April 17, 2016

A Not So Blessed Sunday

It's been a while.  

When I started this blog, I was hoping that someone would think I was a pretty good writer, and perhaps my words would explode across the world, gathering a following that enjoyed my musings.

Hasn't quite worked out that way, but I write on.

Before I post, a quick note to the few who actually follow this blog.  About a month ago I released my 5th book, "The Book of Noah - 3:21."  It is a book about my son, who has a dual diagnosis of Down Syndrome and Autism.  I wrote it for folks who have people with special needs in their lives as sort of a "hey, we dig it, we are in this together" book, being brutally honest on how hard (as well as how wonderful) having these folks in their lives can be.  I was also trying to raise money for Down Syndrome and Autism Organizations and/or research, so if you are feeling all "We Are The World" and stuff, check it out.  

Ok, no more commercials, even though the paragraph above does have a lot to do with this post, which I THINK is my first one of 2016.  

I haven't slept well in 2 months, so if I am wrong all apologies.

My Sunday has been unkind, to say the least. A planned giveaway of "Noah 3:21" completely fell apart due to my own inattentiveness, and now my reputation as a writer may be severely damaged (and derailed this project) big time. My autistic children did not have a good start to the day (oh, I have 2 of them; we won the genetic (or dangerous drug, depending on what you believe) lottery), and the old feeling of doubt have crept in, leaving me feeling that I just am waiting to die. Then I found this review from the book I put out last year from the United Kingdom, and it put a slight smile on my face while making me a little sad at the same time. I had a long talk with the oldest today about God and faith (don't laugh). His autistic brain won't let him accept the possibility that there is a God. I have tried multiple times to try to explain to him that only God has kept us afloat the last 10 years; he countered with that we were just lucky. I then ask him that how could you believe in luck and not believe in God? Both are basically concepts you cannot see, touch, or feel. Oh, and we never have any GOOD luck around here, so his theory had no merit. "Author ADD" again...let me get to the point. I told him that there have been times that I have doubted God’s existence. I have lived a life of mediocrity for more than 2 decades, and days like this make me wonder if he gives a damn. I was given a talent; I know I am a damned good writer. But I have chased after this dream for nearly 30 years, and I explained to Jared that sometimes I feel that God gave me this talent to test my faith with each failure. It especially hurts when, for once, I am trying to do something good for others with my talent. It’s frustrating. Anyway, the conversation, due to his mind locked in its logical, Asperger-y way, went nowhere, and he stormed off to church. I simply bowed my head and headed back home. So it hasn’t been a great Sunday so far. But the old review helps..as well as saddens. “90 Things” is a good piece of work, even if it isn’t for everyone (sorry, Debbie H). But like Cluck, A beginning, and A Prayer, a book dies when it isn’t being read. It sort of sucks, really, disheartening hope and choking off dreams. My dear cousin, God bless her, told me to keep the faith and “no negative posts” for 30 days. As someone whose ups and downs have made mine look like an amusement park, I should listen to her. But everyone’s disappointment are their own, and their weight is theirs to bear. I am just tired of “working out” all of the damned time.Oh, here is the review I was talking about. Maybe I have an international fan that will start my revolution for me. I can only hope to either be "lucky" or this "faith" thing to finally work out.
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Published on April 17, 2016 08:15

January 2, 2016

A tune to help life's swoon

I was going to write about this the other day while on break, but my loathing of my existence (self-imposed, I know) distracted me from the thought.

Those who know me are aware of my grand love of music.  I am a fan of all genres, from hip hop to country to classical to rock.  There are times where my car stereo is blasting Kendrick Lamar one moment, followed by Sinatra the next.  I believe that music is the universal way to connect people; a way to escape life's problems, even if it is for a few minutes at a time.

I have my headphones on as i write this, listening as "Say Something" by A Great Big World, with its soaring piano clearly lifting my low spirits.

But this song wasn't meant for my ears.

In my last book, 90 Things That Irritate The Sh.t Out Of Me​, I wrote a chapter about music and how it is another way it divides us.  I know this as fact, since I let it divide me from folks.  I believed that there was "white music" (rock, classical, country for example) and there was "black music" (hip hop, R&B, soul, jazz).  I've had many a debate about this subject with associates throughout the years, and up until i went to college I felt that any music that wasn't what I "knew" wasn't for me.

I eventually found out that I was depriving myself from some great songs.

CCR.  Clapton. Pink Floyd. Zeppelin. Metallica (who I thought were the devil's music; wait, that's KISS, isn't it?).  We won't even bing up country artists like Garth Brooks (the thing that hooked me into country), Brad Paisley (one of the best guitar players I've ever heard) and Toby Keith (despite his affinity for performing stone drunk it seems). These are just a small sample of folks I've discovered just in the past 15 years that I enjoy thoroughly today.  Don't get me wrong, out of the 23,000 songs I have in my collection, at least 50% of my tunes are either R&B/Soul or hip hop.  I am aware that culture plays a part in the music that you end up liking in your lifetime.

But here is the thing that I learned, and I wish others would too.  How do you expand the most powerful tool you have, the mind, if you refuse to open it?  If you simply stick to "what you know" because you believe it is the "right thing?" If we all just stuck what we "knew", we'd all be still suckling on our mother's test, wouldn't we?

I believe that is the only thing we were "pre-programmed" with when we first got here.

Music and its genres are necessary; I am aware that when it comes to the fact that music has different directions, separation like this is necessary.  But man, wouldn't you think that if some Caucasian bothered to actually listen to the raw stories (note: not the disrespect of women, which I never am cool with) hip hop artists have to tell based on the environments they were born into, they might not just think it is just the "songs of thugs"?  Or folks like Darius Rucker, a southern man of color who reinvented himself spinning the stories of Americana via country music? (Note, "Hootie" was nothing but a sneeze away from a country band, folks).  Music, whether it is telling a frivolous tale or taking up social matters, is a gift from God, not necessarily designed to divide us, but to unite us over a melody with poetry mixed in.  It is why we dance fast or slow, or put on our headphones in our camo pjs with a white t-shirt typing on a 6 year old MacBook to get your mind off things.

Division solves nothing.  Unity makes peace.

That is why I love music.
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Published on January 02, 2016 08:20

July 25, 2015

The 46th year


As another weekend too quickly reaches its midpoint, I am spending my last few hours in my mid 40's and begin the downslide into 50.
It’s been a quiet day, where my children actually subconsciously gave me an early bday present by not pissing me the hell off.
Believe me that was worth more than its weight in gold.
Watched a PPV of the WWE, and I was a little sad when they showed a brief glimpse of one of my (former) heroes, Terry “Hulk Hogan” Bollea.
It seems that all those prayers and vitamins didn’t include black people.  Was a major bummer to a pleasant evening with my dear spouse.
As I sat and watched the choreographed violence that is professional wrestling, I thought about a few things; i.e. what have I accomplished in my life at this point.
Well, the first thing I thought about was my mortality.  I know that is a morbid thought as one is approaching another birthday, but I had to be honest with myself.  I am at least 60lbs overweight, climbing the stairs requires an oxygen tank at times, I haven’t had a soda in 25 days yet my blood sugar sucks, and I could wear a training bra if my back wasn’t so wide across. 
Oh, I try not to smile because my once pearly whites look like it took a money shot from a banana.
I haven’t taken care of myself….this I do know.
On the flip side, I’ve written 4 fairly reviewed books in the last 3 years.  I have sold a total of 100 of them, but that isn’t the point.  I, one who has known he has quit on more things than Cubs fans and WS hopes, actually took some of the ideas in his head, put them to computer, and shared them with the world.
Not sure if I am going for #5, but at least if I drop dead tomorrow (not saying I want to or asking you to interfere, Satan) the 3 people who aren’t family who come to my funeral can say, “At least he can add ‘author’ to his epitaph.”
I’m a dad, which counts for something.  Sometimes I am not very good at it, since I have little patience and don’t tolerate disrespect well from human beings who depend on my wife and I for, well, EVERYTHING.  My marriage after 15 years is strong, but I wish that life hadn’t beat us down into such a routine we are like a CW network sitcom.
It’s weird, because in a lot of ways I put on a daily facade when I leave my home, cracking a joke, helping Erkel-like men to avoid my fate, amusing Caucasians even though I wonder if they actually like me for me, or as that funny black guy who doesn’t have a record.  While I know that last statement may make the few that read this uncomfortable, I am pretty sure I am not the only person of African descent that have thought that at least once.
Every day I get sad once, whether it is because of my lack of accomplishments, money, time, or hope in my personal life or looking at the news reports about another nut job shooting up a theater or another cop treating a black life like it is worthless.  Actually, I am saddened more that while my heart goes out to those innocent folks who just wanted to laugh at the very talented Amy S in a film, the media treats this as a bigger tragedy than when they dig up whatever dirt they can find on another black victim, as if they deserved their execution.
Anyway, as the summer of 2015 heads into its turn to head towards fall, I sit at my table, writing this and remembering the joy of sharing my thoughts or stories with the world, even if most of the world isn’t interested in what I have to say.  My birthday is the one day a year where I like to feel a little special, you know?  Forget about my troubles and just for a few hours feel the love that people would actually miss me if I wasn’t here.  That’s a pretty cool thing, really.  I guess I only wish that ever so often my phone would ring and besides one cousin someone would check in on me.  I wish that whenever I speak to my mother, who is quickly slipping into the abyss, it wasn’t a chore and a heartbreak.  I wish I could get home to see my parents while there is still time, but I know that I have to take care of my family first, and money isn’t something that comes easily to the Flagler’s of Indiana.  However, I also have a small smile on my face, because my 9 year old son with Down Syndrome and Autism gives me hugs all the time.  My preteen, who can be somewhat of a moody person, still gives me our special goodnight handshake that I’ve finally mastered.  My wife, ever so often, still thinks I’m cute.  My people in NYC actually wouldn’t mind seeing me again. 
So perhaps I do matter a little bit to a few.  So tomorrow I will enjoy my birthday with my wife and family, grab a piece of dead cow, and go back to work for 15 more days, hoping I can continue to find work until someone brings me on until I die.
OR…
…perhaps G. Eric Francis does have one book in him that will allow him to get a new car he needs, fix the gaps in his floor, set up a special needs fund for his sons, allow his wife to finally sleep, and finally get rid of the albatross that has weighed over his family since its inception. 
So I am in a mixed mood as the final hours of year 46 (someone told me that I am in my 46th year; I need to slap that person), hopeful but down, tired but not done, joking but afraid when I walk out the door.
Then again, God has kept me here this long.  Maybe I am not quite done yet.
 
 
 
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Published on July 25, 2015 16:46

July 15, 2015

25 years to dwell in an old hell

Ever so often I think about her, even though I am happily married to the love of my life.

I was working this morning (yup, I actually have a job, even though it is only a temp one that ends in about a month) and it hit me that about 25 years ago this summer I met her.  It was a lot of firsts for me.  It was the first time I was with someone and didn't even THINK about another woman.  It was my first intterracial relationship (1st of 3, with #3 being my wife for 15 years).  It was someone that if I met her a year or two earlier I wouldn't have even bothered to pay attention to (wait, I wouldn't say that; I wouldn't be romantically attracted to, but I'd least be friendly).

I was between junior and senior years in college, and I had to make up a math course (never my strongest subject) so I could graduate on time (NOTE: ended up flunking another course so took another summer school class just to get my degree, even though I was allowed to walk with my classmates.  Sigh).  My school in a tiny town of Upstate NY let HS grads who were extra smart get a jump on their classes by taking a course or two for some 6 weeks that summer of 1990.  I, being someone who liked to meet new people, walked around their floor (other upper classmen were there as well, and the freshman-to-be lived on the 1st floor) walked around to introduce myself.

Then there she was.

A redhead, pretty but not gorgeous, approachable and had a lovely smile.  I just knocked on the door (it was open), and as she said hello I simply walked in and hopped on one of the desks.

I think that she was taken aback by my boldness, but she smiled and we chatted for about 45 minutes that day.  There was an instant connection between her and I, and we quickly ended up dating.

Oh damn, I forgot to mention an irrelevant point.

She was in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down.

It truly was one of the few perfect times I had in my life (the otther was the 3 days before I married my wife.  I know, I bet you are thinking I am piling on the compliments so that my wife doesn't get mad because I am talking about an ex, but continue to read...believe me, the story does NOT have a happy ending).

I remember one time when we went to see "Ghost" (y'all remember that movie, don't you?) and then we went somewhere on the grounds to be alone.  She kissed me that night, and I won't lie, it was like the movies in a way.

The whole heart went a flutter type of thing.

Anyway, that summer was the bomb, truly the best of my life.  Summer school ended, and I knew that I'd see her in a couple of week.

Man, you ever saved up for something you really wanted and you couldn't wait till you got it?  That is how I felt as I waited for the school year to start.  Finally the time came, and as soon as she arrived I made a beeline to her room.

At that moment, I felt like I had won the lottery that 25 years later I've yet to win the cash version.

Then her brother came to visit her about 2 weeks into the school year.  I didn't see her the weekend he came up, figuring she wanted to spend time with family.  I stopped by her dorm room Sunday night after they left.

There was a different look on her face when she saw me.  Her eyes were teary, and she drew away from my kiss.

I asked her what was wrong, and she didn't mince words with me.

"We have to break up." she said.

I just looked at her, stunned more than anything.  She rolled her chair next to me as I sat down on her bed, and using her arms, she sat down next to me, put her head on my shoulder and cried uncontrollably.

Her brother earlier in that day lookeed out of her window and saw students going back and forth for dinner, and said the following:

"There are too many niggers on this caampus."

The rest of the night and the next couple of days were an absolute fog, my mind and vision clouded by the shock and the tears I shed that day.  Didn't go to class, didn't eat, basically I was all kinds of f'd up.

The few friends I had were concerned for me, afraid that I would do something foolish (that would come a couple months later).  Finally I left my dorm, showered and tried to head for class.  As I opened my door, there was a letter stuck between those erasable message boards students used in my day.  I opened it and it was a letter from her.  She mentioned how much she cared for me, and was heartbroken that she had to break up with me (to this day, the only girl who has ever done that).  She mentioned track from a CD she gave me, "Chicago’s Greatest Hits 1981-1989' she gave to me, asking me to play it and think of her.

The letter hit me like a Mike Tyson left hook, and I dropped to my knees in my dorm room, reading the letter over and over again.

I truly felt like someone I loved just died.

The rest of my senior year did not go well.  I barely passed classes, obsessed with somehow getting her back.  My mind a mess, I ended up having a rebound physical fling with a transfer student who for some strange reason thought I was hot.  Like an idiot in love (since there was a chance opening up that we might have gotten back together) I told her about it.

Not one of the smartest things I’ve done.

The remaining months of my college career was full of her revenge, even though when I was sleeping with the other girl we were quite broken up.  She used me whenever she was lonely, then cruelly rejected me when I was done.

Basically,  I got an idea how a lot of women are treated by men.

Mind screwed, I tried to get with the other girl, but she had her fun with my penis and moved on.

Sent me off the deep end, and I tried to swallow rubbing alcohol with some medication.

Luckily for me I was too much of a wuss to truly go through it…and my former sexual partner, realizing what I was doing, stopped me from going through with it.

I guess I have to give her credit for that.

So here I sit, 25 years later, in a state that I am not fond of, with a moody teen, a special needs kid with violent tendencies, barely holding onto my house and a wife who cannot sleep because she subconsciously worries about everything.

But I wouldn’t trade my life for anything…well, I’d keep the kids and wife and be a millionaire, but you get my drift.

I think about that time often, especially when I play that CD (I had to get another copy; in one of her truly bitchy moments, that “great love of my youth” nailed the decapitated head of a teddy bear I gave her to my dorm room; in a rage, I flung the cd against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces).  A few years ago on a social networking site, I found her.  She was married, living in the DC area with a couple of kids.  Was married and all.  I tried to be friendly, congratulated her on her success, career and finding love…she quickly blocked all communication.

I don’t know why I reached out to her; she thought that due to my behavior (and I can’t blame her; I was truly obsessed back then) she probably still thinks I am psychotic.  I guess I wanted a little closure, even after more than 2 decades.  I honestly feel that that even affected me so negatively, it messes with my life a tad today.  No, not in the way that I don’t love my wife and kids….god knows that I do.  But I feel a little less; I 98% believe in love and happy ever afters instead of the 110% I used to.

Not trying to bullshit myself out of that one.

But on the other hand, that racist comment that sent me into some multi-year tailspin of self-hatred and bad luck was actually a blessing.  For 19 years, my dear wife Carla has been my partner in slime (smile); yeah we are barely hanging on, but we’re hanging.  I believe that event shaped my positive parts as well.  My confidence is better, even though it still needs work.  I experienced my first true tastes of racism, and have spent every moment since to try to eradicate it, one person at a time.  While I may not be the romantic I used to be, I see love now as something that crosses all borders: race, religion, sexual orientation, whatever.  I just see a little better these days, even as those dark clouds in the past were quite painful to go through.

Today, even as if parts of my personal life are painful (my parent’s illnesses), I guess that while at times I am down, I am a little hopeful that perhaps one day I and my family will finally win one.  Not a small victory, mind you, but a kick ass one.

So, wherever the former Stacy Beaumont is, I wish you continued luck and joy, even as I still seek mine.

No regrets.





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Published on July 15, 2015 10:53

July 2, 2015

Flag Hag

My two cents on the Confederate Flag issue, but first a personal aside...

My grandfather was murdered in 1998.  Of course this tore me up to no end.  My girlfriend at the time, Carla Updike was my rock (and my mom was grateful for that, because I was a hot mess).  Anyway we go down south for the funeral, and we were asked to go to an Office Depot (babe, correct me if I'm wrong on that) to get paper for the funeral program.  On the way, we get into some stupid argument about the paper.

We get out of the car and we are arguing vehemently (as we tend to do lol).  Anyway,  we are going at it, this black dude and tall white girl arguing in the one of the grand strongholds of the  South.

Then, as if God were saying, "hey dumb assess, turn your heads!" we both see this truck with a Confederate flag bumper sticker.

We immediately forgot what we were arguing about and said simultaneously, "Let's go."

This is funny years later, but it reminded us that this country was (and still is) royally messed up when it comes to race.

A few days ago the "General Lee" the famous car from the "Dukes of Hazzard" was to have its flag removed.  Also I saw that TVLand was discontinuing running the show.

Look, I get it.

But this is stupid.

Yes, the flag does remind folks about how jacked up the South is at times in its way of thinking, especially when it comes to race.  It's a reminder just as bad as the swastika is to Jewish folks.

With that being said, we keep forgetting one thing...that little thing in the Constitution called "Freedom of Speech."

As much as it offends folks, if some backwoods ass wants to fly that flag, it's their right to express that.

If the KKK wants to march, as long as they are not "smoking" (look it up online as slang, peeps ) non-whites, they can march.  It irritates me how folks twist things for their own purposes instead of just, like in this example the Constitution, simply following what it says.

The bible has been used like that for a couple of millennia now.

But since the country is mostly run by dudes, it's no surprise we didn't read the directions.

Do I wish that folks could just judge people on their character, and things like this didn't exist?

Absolutely.

But sadly it does, so just as much as there was a right to a Million Man March or a gay pride parade, ignorant folks can voice that, well, ignorance.

Now when it comes to govt buildings, no, the Confederate Flag shouldn't be flown; it is supposed to be "for the people, by the people."

That means everyone, no matter the packaging.

But once again for such a supposedly intelligent race, we are truly our own worst enemy.

Oh, as for the General Lee, I love that car.  But it's a car on a fictional show about a couple of southern dudes who ran moonshine and jumped over shit without ramps.

I also watched  every episode (even the shitty ones with Coy and Vance...geech). Don't remember anything racist in it.

We need to find other things to fix.
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Published on July 02, 2015 11:19