What’s a time you followed your gut and it turned out to be exactly right?
I graduated college and then about a year later, I earned a job that would take me far from home. Who knew what I was doing with my less than fully developed frontal cortex.
I even smoked cigarettes for a six months, and found myself starting to get a tad bit flabby and lazy. I did not like to feel of my gut. To emerge into this world, I needed to do better.
I simply didn’t feel right.
I picked up a sport with very little props, as well as pomp and circumstance.
Emperor Palpatine has announced open elections for a new Emperor — and he’s nominated Darth Vader. You get to nominate one challenger.
My neighbor who lived across from me when I first moved to the PNW. I don’t know much about Darth Vader but he seems like a future leader. So I nominate. The patriotic idiot down the street as a sacrificial sheep,
I stepped in to my front yard and happened into a conversation that lasted all day. I told my neighbor my reservations about fireworks. I suggested to him, quoting Emma GoldmanPatriotism is a menace to liberty.” He told me, those who do not like fireworks are the work of the devil. He is the patriotic simpleton down the street, and it is that time of year that he loves. I am the sardonic technical worker who does not like fireworks. Kim is old school Seattle, and I am the one who took over his native land. It is the season of backyard pyrotechnics and hot dog devouring contests. I pulled out a plastic lounge chair and listened, hoping to understand what made this holiday so appealing. He offered me a beer, and I politely declined. It was still early morning. I may have to rethink that as my back was sticking to the plastic chair already. It was going to be a long day.
Kim told me this and I am hyperbolically paraphrasing. Yes, I wake up early on this holiday and I go to my cooler and read that blue label on the can. If if turns blue, it says I am cold enough to drink. It is so cool how they put that thing on the can because I never knew when it would be cold enough to drink. Warm beer is against the American spirit. Devil worshippers drink warm beer; it has been scientifically proven. We drink our beer cold. Right now, I am four cans of Coors into the day and feeling surprisingly good. I am ready to set off some fireworks
Look, the cool people down, the street got a new puppy. I really like dogs; they are so darn cute. I have Sparky out on the chain in the backyard for some reason he does not love this holiday but fuck him. Today is my day. Excuse me a minute while I get another can of beer.
Looks like the county made fireworks illegal this year. I have two choice words for them. God bless America. I am going to do it anyway.
The neighbor Johnny dropped a cigarette last night and nearly lit his backyard on fire. I wish that idiot would be a little safer around where he puts out a cigarette. He really should not be smoking; he is too fat to be wearing what he wears. Oops, I finished my beer already. I better put some more in the cooler.
Bam -A blast echoes and it startles me.
Holy Christ’s sake I did not realize that would go off like that. Shit that’s gonna hurt. Might be a clever idea to start smoking. I will cool it for a couple of hours. I will get me a few more beers and just wait till it is a little closer to dark.
“Hey there Mr. Peterson” he says to the man wearing his military uniform from back in the day. He tells me Peterson is a little weird. He gets all strange when he hears a loud noise. That must be tough. “Thank you for your service, Sir. You are a true patriot.” I wave knowingly.
But I love this holiday. And now my hand it is bleeding. I should go to the doctor. I forgot I do not have a doctor. Screw it.
The devil on my shoulder wants me to argue. I ignore it.
And then my neighbor comes running and screaming down the street. Initially I thought he was out of beer.
And then he gives me the finger or quite possibly the lack of a finger. Fireworks in the hands of drunk people do not always explode when expected.
There was no question in my mind I had to get him to the emergency room. We beat the crowd by an hour or two. That is what we do for our neighbors. To this day he hates when I call him Stumpy.
What’s something you used to believe as a kid that seems ridiculous now?
I grew up a racist, in Berks County Pennsylvania. It is really bothering me.
Hopefully, I learned from it. A famous man once said, Pennsylvania, a state with two big cities and Alabama in between. He must not be all that famous.
I grew up a racist son of a bitch.
I did not know any better.
What sticks to a young mind, and can it be completely removed? It is like a frying pan left in the sink too long. It can come clean if you work at it long enough. The residue somehow stays.
When we were little the men who picked up our trash, we were taught to fear them. There were black people coming into our alley. The putrid smell of trash lingered from the trash cans. While falling asleep at night, every noise I heard were people in the alley, lurking and dangerous.
I felt like we were at war with a country called Puerto Rico. The parents blamed the spics for everything. Why did they not go back to their own country. Do not go anywhere near the housing projects. The projects were not a safe place to be. For a long time, I thought Puerto Rico was another country. They did not teach us any different in school. Those still living there, still think of Puerto Rico as a country all its own.
Polish jokes ran rampant. I never figured how many it took to screw in a lightbulb.
I even hated my nickname. People called me, Peach. A girl I liked, said she would not date me because my hair was too much like a black person. My hair had a certain fuzz to it. That is why people called me Peach. Well, that is how it started.
In our household the moon landing eclipsed the life and death that was Martin Luther King. The space program was indeed exciting. Gas stations gave away commemorative stamps, and the achievement was phenomenal. Stories of Martin Luther King were page three news, tucked in near the Hi and Lois comics. The comics never had a person of color.
There was a club in town that made fantastic mouth-watering pizza that tickled the senses. The sauce was perfect. I do not remember the cheese. I know many people who referred to this pizza place as the WOP club. The WOP CLUB preferred to not have blacks as customers. This sentence is odd for Berks County where they would shrug their shoulders and speak.
I do not know what became of the Polish jokes we heard as kids. As a Cub Scout we made Indian war shields out of elongated raw pasta. It did not work very well in the rain.
Our grandmother when eating licorice would refer to them as Nigger babies. Our other grandmother predicted the demise of Tiger Woods.
Our high school had a dozen persons of color. They all lived in the same neighborhood. It was called Furnace Hill. The furnace is where they burned trash. Most people called Furnace Hill -Nigger Hill. It was not a term of endearment. It was a convenient place to burn the trash.
Predictably it comes to this.
One day while eating a traditional hoagie along with a bag of chips, I sat on my break with a woman with whom I worked.; She was a friend and a co worker.
She happened to be black.
While enjoying that delicious hoagie with the perfect crusty hard roll, I pulled a single chip from the bag. It sat burnt to a crisp.
It was automatic without thinking. It was a learned behavior. I said it aloud.
It came out so easily it scared me.
My friend and I talked. Well, she talked and I listened.
It took awhile, yet it changed me, it shaped me to understand how that made her feel.
That may have been one of the more life shaping sandwiches I have eaten in my life.
My hometown, the downtown area has been shrinking over the years. It is now actually a really. Interesting place. Many signs are in Spanish and the chatter in the streets is the same. The town keeps shrinking as those who grew up here can not live with the change.
My grandmother lived near the housing projects. It sat right next to the country club. The house had not increased in value for years. A wonderful Latino family recently bought it, and I believe got a hell of a deal.
I think they will love that house. I hope we all can do well. The world is not a fair place, but the aim is to make it more fair for everybody.
