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I woke up this morning in a sad mood. It’s been awhile since that has happened. I had a really cool and awkward phone call last night. When we said goodbye it was a little weird like both of us were waiting for the other person to say something else. Very ninth grade.
When I went to bed I just started thinking about everything that’s going on in my life and wondering how to make it right. My mind was going a million miles an hour. I couldn’t turn it off. I turned on the radio. I tried to concentrate on the news and turn my mind off.
When I got up I was overcome with sadness. I keep telling myself that I’m getting over this, but every once in a while I’ll see something or hear something that reminds me of her. A song on the radio, A place we used to eat at. Trying to remember every little detail of our life together.
In an unrelated note..
My parents thought I was gay when I was little. Most of my friends were girls. I would hang out and play with them. We would put on plays and do little shows in one of our garages. My dad would say that no straight boy would do that. It didn’t help that there weren’t very many boys on our block. One of the boys would always ask to sleep over and would try to climb in bed with me. Once he asked me if I had any hair down there yet and would I show him. I tried to stay away from him. My parents thought the other boy on the block was a bad kid and wouldn’t let me play with him. So hell, who was I supposed to play with?
Sometimes we would play Happy Days. I got to be Fonzie. Jennifer and Stacy would random 50’s sounding girls names and be my girlfriends. They stood around and cheered and I rode my bike up and down the street. I had stupid little second grade crushes on either them at one time or the other. So I was happy when they held my arm and called themselves my girlfriend. In my mind I was one cool little mother fucker.
Once for Christmas or my birthday, I can’t remember which it was. I asked for a sewing machine. That did not help the “my son might be gay” situation at all.
5 comments:
A note on the phone call.I have a tendency read into things a bit much.I really need to go back to being an onlivious boob.
I find phone calls awkward about 98% of the time. Reading too much into things is a trait of an observer and observing is a trait of a writer. Whatcha gonna do?
The Fonz WAS a cool mutha. You rocked that part of your life! That should of helped your image with dad. People see what they will see, though, and the fear filter is hard to get past...
And in an unrelated note:
IMO, trying to "make it right" is an illusion. The key to life is to live it, feel what needs to be felt, keep on keepin on, that kind of thing.
Sending good vibes...
I remember playing "hooker." You would drive by on your bike and pick us up at the street light...must of been around the same time as the Fonz.
I remember playing "hooker." You would drive by on your bike and pick us up at the street light...must of been around the same time as the Fonz.
Hooker? I forgot all about that. What the hell were we thinking? What a demented game.
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