Merry Ho! Ho!

Again we find ourselves at the time of the year. Close to the ending of this one and a time we find ourselves reminiscing over the past year, new acquaintances, an old friendship, lost loves and family. Those things that we either hold close to us or those that managed to leave an impression on us, gave us reason to think and maybe shed light in an area dark before.

So to all those out there, friends, lovers and foes I wish you are yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year may this past season have given you each all that you wanted and to a few a little more than you deserved. Happy, mad, glad or sad we each managed to touch someone this past year and whether it spawned hate or love at least we managed to touch someone.

So are we ever really truly alone at this time of the year? Of course not, because somewhere out there is someone who only in their infinite minds holds the reason why she/he is either missing you so terribly she/he went through a dozen D Cells or wishing that you could contract some venereal cyber-clap, but at least, you managed to touch someone. Be that it was in a darkened room only lit by the luminescent glow of the computer's screen or in some loud crowded chat room, it started with those magical three letters, asl. Three little letters that led you both down that cyber-path of pseudo reality and an ecstasy only you can give yourself. At least you touched somebody, even if was only yourself.

There were some that came along that left more than impression, they embossed themselves in our thoughts and shared in enjoyable greetings when out paths crossed. It is those who indelibly imprint themselves upon us we find we have made a good friend and it is in those we find ourselves migrating to. Those who just by being who they are, as best you can on here, they have a way of giving you that reassurance that it is only the net and it is gone when you walk away. Those who portray a good heart and not ashamed of their convictions are people worthy of note and another gem stumbled upon amongst the stones.

Then there are those who you have known for some time, one of those you find yourself turning to when things are weighing a bit too heavy and knowing them that no matter how many times you turn to them, they are there with a smile and an offering based in wisdom sewn in experience. It is to these I turn to and humbly thank for never being too busy or time to precious that you could not spare a few moments with a lending ear and an open heart. Those who made long nights bearable and had a way of distracting you away from what you were feeling and those special ones who would walk you through your feelings.

So now is the time to hold no bitterness or angst in your heart, this is a time for rebirth and letting old business go. Time to shuffle through the clutter of the past year and decide what is truly important. In life we can only give of ourselves and it is that in us that we find we are of any worth when those close to us can turn to us and still see the other there. We hate so easily and we never learn to let go, never learned the best offense is no defense at all. We should know how we are seen, that is how we are accepted by those we share a keenness to, those we share company with, those we let see of ourselves more than most, these are who we should be thinking about and being thankful they are in our lives instead of holding something in you that only serves one's self and letting it eat away at what little happiness is left. Let go, it is only baggage from the past and nothing you should be dragging through life.

When we were little the world and life held so many possibilities for us, we could be anything we wanted and rarely did we harbor any hatred for anyone or anything outside of broccoli, carrots and beets, but we always managed to find a friend in someone we felt a kinship with. Think of these and those around you now and be thankful they entered your life and with some, thankful they stayed. In life we learn many lessons, even from those that think less of us than others, but is the connection with those you are close to that makes us more receptive as to what we learn or our willingness to learn. Hate comes with closed eyes, blind to truth and ignorant of acceptance and we need to let it go. Hate builds barriers, sets boundaries, causes wars and kills people, hate is no racist, but racism is its ally and it is this you have to drag through life with you day after day and constantly adding to it. The burden weighs heavy with each new day and the only one who really suffers for it are not the recipients of this hate, but the one who harbors it. Is it not enough in life that we bear the burdens we do out of no choice of our own without someone adding to it when all they have to do is let it go, let life open a new world, one much lighter and shed of that luggage that weighed every step they took. When young we do not see these things in our life, it was too full of other things to understand hate and our dislike always seemed to fade with every laugh. Children learn to hate and we are the teachers they turn to for guidance and reassurance and it is through our example that we will teach them. Do they really want them to grow up with the same bigotries, prejudices, ignorance and hate, is that the example we want our progeny to pass on to their children? Planting and replanting those seeds for no other reason than someone couldn't let go.

So all my friends or foes I leave with you:

So this I give to you, whether friend or foe
A very Merry Christmas and a Joyous New Year
Share in the warmth of friends and let the hate go
Enjoy in a rebirth and shed your old fear
It is the time of giving of laughter and joy
A time for repentance and shed a small tear
A time set aside to think and reminisce
To lend of yourself to family and friends
Think of others and not of yourself
Do not be complacent, this you need tend
Know life is short but see through a child

Have a very Merry Christmas and a Joyous New Year!

Momo: I hope that you and Hitomi have a very Merry Christmas and a Wonderful New Year! May the spirit of the season lighten your life as you share in the season with loved ones and friends.

April: Merry Christmas to you and a very Happy New Year and a prosperous Chinese New Year! Wherever you are, you are in thoughts of those who miss you.

Ami: I hope Santa is extra special to you. You have a Wonderful Holiday Season and stay safe and warm. You just about wore our your daughter's fuzzy Power Puff blanket.

$unday: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I hope you enjoyed your first snow. I know it was a special day for you and the enthusiasm in which you expressed was truly genuine. Firsts are always fun, you may not like it a second time around, but at least it is not left on your list of things to do.

Stinky: I am very proud of you and your graduation from the university, even though you drove me crazy on the thesis. Have a very Merry Holiday Season. Now go put it to use.

Sparrow: Flighty One, may you spread this season's joy and good will through every room on swift wing. Merry Christmas Sparrow and a very Happy New Year.

Later...

Aluminum Christmas

I can remember my mom and dad walking through the front door, Tye, Texas, Christmas of 1963. Mom's hands were full of bags from Montgomery Wards, J.C. Penny and Sears & Roebuck's and in dad's arms was a very long rectangular box with a picture of a tree stamped on the side like a bad lithograph, then setting it on the floor gave his orders to finish with the unloading of the car. Now normally this particular order would be received in a less than enthusiastic demeanor, because normally it was just to unload groceries, but these once a year trips were a little different and we fought each other to get out the door first. You never know, something or some gift could have accidentally fallen out of one of the bags and if it was yours then you had some insight as to what you could expect Christmas morning and if it wasn't yours and the recipient wasn't present, well then you knew how their Christmas morning would go, plus, yes there was even a bonus with this kind of find, it garnered a favor when you knew something they were getting and they wanted to know and these were the kind you did not waste on just anything. These kinds of favors had tremendous barter value, so taking out the trash or picking up a mess, even when it wasn't entirely yours to begin with were not considered as an even trade or a measurable favor and these were things that through the Christmas season you wanted to do yourself, especially if your parents personally witnessed it in its process. "Darn, look at this trash again, you'd think no one ever took it out. Well its not my turn to do it, but I see that the one who supposed to be doing it isn't, so I will just do it myself." There, a triple header, three birds with one stone, I get credit for doing a chore I am not responsible for that week, throwing one of my brothers in the fire and still retain my bartering piece. Some Christmases were made to remember. Anyway back to the story. Racing out to the car, stiff arming to gain a better position to grab a door handle we commenced unloading the sacks and racing back to the house so we could do it all over again. With nothing found in the car we all stood in the middle of the living room staring at 12 large white Montgomery Wards department store shopping bags. It was as if we were all struck instantly with the same exact epiphany, they always mix up putting stuff in the bags! For all we knew in one of those twelve shopping bags could be one of our presents, all at the same time lunged for the sacks like they were the last fried chicken leg on the platter. Torn paper flying we ripped through each and every sack only to find that they were filled with little boxes of blue glass Christmas ball ornaments, neatly nestled six to a box, 24 boxes, 144 solid blue glass Christmas ornaments, a box of silver wire ornament hangers, 36 feet of blue and silver tinsel garland, 50 silver and blue glitter snowflakes and one large box containing some sort of floor lamp with a four color rotating lens. Not one stray, missed sacked toy in the lot.

When my parents re-entered the room they asked if we wanted to put up the tree, the first thing my younger brother asked was, "What tree?" We all looked at each other, the tree, they did not bring home the tree and this was the day traditionally it was bought home, albeit the date varied from year to year, the day they did their gift shopping they bought home the tree, but this year they seemed to have overlooked that one small detail. My parents were still standing there with that "I know something you don't know." smirk, if they only knew that they grew out of that years ago and they were only fooling themselves if they thought that was going to work outside of it normal usage, between siblings. Again it was my younger brother who took action, this guy's attention span was about as big as his bladder so you wanted to try and keep him occupied as much as possible or he would be standing in a puddle before too long. He runs back out to car jumping up and down trying to get a look on the top of the car and then running around to the trunk to see if he could see pieces of branches sticking out, he turned to look at the front door and the frown on his face told us they had forgotten the tree.

"You boys get in the house, it is freezing out here." came my mom's voice as she turned back into the house. Again we found ourselves standing in the middle of the living room looking around trying to figure out what we were going to decorate. Dad walked over to the large rectangular box and pulled out the big copper staples and then carefully cut the tape, once the box was opened and the flaps pulled back to expose its contents, which didn't shed any light as to what was in the box, we were still just as befuddled and confused as we were when it had dawned on us there was no tree. One of the thoughts crossing my mind at the time was maybe they decided to spend the money they saved on not buying a tree on extra presents. That thought soon passed though because whatever was in the box was what they had spent any extra money on they may have saved. Layers of wax covered paper tubes were in the box and one by one my dad took out each tube and from the ends you could see shiny silver slivers. Once all the tubes were out of the box my dad lifted out what looked to be the base and three wood stakes with holes drilled the entire length and circumference. Finally, the instructions, or as we called them, the idiot papers. Those little stick figure directions that are just numbered boxes, front and back, top to bottom with no indication of where to start. As we watched dad reading the assembly instructions, page being turned in circles, turned upside down and sideways and then being the true man he is wadded it up in a tight ball, threw it in our general direction and said, "You know where to file it."

Landing near our feet we just thumped to the next standing by us until it got to my youngest brother who just knocked under the couch, that dimensional space that like a black hole seem to gobble up everything or at least was a good place to get rid of something. This space held special meaning to my younger brother, when he sat on the couch or laid down on it he would not let his legs or hands hang off of it, thanks to my next older brother who would lay down on the floor in front of the couch pretending to retrieve something and then act like something had grabbed him and was trying to pull him in. He would lay there thrashing about, pretending to try and pull his arm away. If I were in the room at the same time, he would not try this, seems every time he did my drink would usually spill all over him for some reason.

So, as we sat on the couch and watched dad try and figure out how exactly this thing he bought home was assembled my younger brother slid off the couch and walked over to the pole with the holes that dad had figured out how to insert into the base. There was stenciling on the poles, top, middle and bottom and thanks to my younger brother our dad realized that too, so muttering under his breath he rearranged the poles in their proper order and then set about looking at the silver tinsel branches. Again it was my younger brother who had been watching said, "Dad, why do the little holes have colored dots?" Dad looked at him out of the corner of his eye, "So you know what sequence to put...the...branches...on." Epiphany number two for the day. Dad looked at the ends of the branches only to discover that they too had a dot of color on them, "Don't you boys have something better to do than to just sit there like three lumps on a log?" came his self irritable question. It is hard to be one upped by a 7 year old and take it. So with that we walked down the hall and pressed our ears to mom and dad's bedroom door to see if we could hear the crinkling sound of wrapping paper and the zip of scotch tape. Definite indicators that mom was wrapping presents. She tended to do this as soon as she got home, she was always worried we would tear the house up when they weren't there trying to find them and for the sake of me I never understood why she would think the angels she raised would do such a thing. We already knew how to use heat from a candle to soften the adhesive on the tape, peel it back and see what was under the wrapping. There was no need to ransack the house looking for them. With our ears pressed firmly against the door in elevated steps, when mom opened the door holding her first arm load of Christmas presents all wrapped and decorated the three of us spilled into the room each yelling at the other in an attempt to point blames as to why we were at the door, "He pushed me, it wasn't my fault!" or "I was just going to the restroom when they pushed me in the door." then "It was his idea and I told him we shouldn't do it." We had found if we could confuse them from the beginning, then corporal punishment was only used as a threat and not delivered, so we tried to keep them confused as much as possible.

Running back into the living room we saw that without our help dad had managed to assemble the tree, which truly amazed us. "Were the directions easy to understand?" mom asked him. "Uh, yeah, not hard to understand at all." he replied. To me it was ugly, it didn't represent Christmas to me at all. A tall silver aluminum pile shaped into a likeness of a tree. Silver! Not even green, no pine scent, no sticky hands putting it in its stand. "Well you boys ready to help decorate it?" mom asked smiling. My two brothers quickly jumped up and each grabbed a box of ornaments and stood next to the tree. We had specific areas of the tree assigned to us, my younger brother was the lower branches, I was the middle branches and my older brother was the top branches. "Ronald Edward aren't you going to help?" mom asked. "No, I have some homework I need to do, I forgot about it." I answered as I walked off down the hall to my room.

Closing the bedroom door behind me I lay on the bed thinking of how they had ruined Christmas with that awful attempt of a tree. To me it just wasn't Christmas without a green tree, the tree was the focal point of the holiday season and how could someone ever think that a shiny aluminum Christmas tree could ever take the place of that? What would my friends think when they saw it? "What Ron, your parents too lazy to get a real tree?" Too bad recycling wasn't an option back then, because I thought that was were it belonged. To me it was one of those things you tried, didn't like and ended up in the office of the landfill the following Christmas. How could they do this to me? How could they try and replace something as important as a real Christmas tree with a boxed aluminum one? Parents, made you wonder if they ever really thought things through thoroughly before they did something. After almost two hours of some very serious sulking I pulled myself from the bed and walked back into the living room, there it stood, the anti-tree of Christmas all decorated with blue and silver ornaments slowly turning in its base, the lighted wheel throwing blue, green, amber and red on the shiny glimmering tinsel branches. "Humph, no lights on it at all, no bubbling lights, no strings of lights and not even the ornaments I grew up with on the branches. They have ruined Christmas for me, debased it, made a mockery out of everything I hold dear at that time of the year. From the kitchen I could smell chocolate, homemade Hershey's fudge. I wandered into the kitchen, dragging my feet and sighing, my way of letting them know something was amiss. "Want the spoon?" mom asked. At least this hasn't changed I thought to myself. I sat there licking the spoon and enjoying it when dad came in the kitchen. "Get your homework finished?" "Yes sir." I replied trying to sound as if all the details of Christmas that were important only concerned me. "Want to help me string the lights outside?" he asked. "What lights? We never had any outside lights." I answered looking up at him. "The lights we normally put on the tree, we can use those around the front windows and door. I could use some help." he continued. I drug myself out of the chair and followed him out to garage, dragging my feet and sighing all the way.

Standing on the front porch I held the string of lights while dad on a ladder stapled them to the window frame, he was talking, I really don't know what he said, my thoughts had wandered off to previous Christmases as I stared at the string of lights I was holding. I guess he noticed it too, because he jerked on the string of lights letting me know he wanted some slack to continue stapling them. "What is wrong with you today? Where is your mind at?" he asked looking down from that ladder. "Dunno, this just doesn't feel like Christmas to me." I answered him still staring at the lights. I didn't even noticed he had climbed down from the ladder.

"Come over here and sit."

"Why doesn't it feel like Christmas?"

"Just doesn't, that's all."

"What is it that you think is wrong?"

"That tree you bought home."

"The tree?"

"Yes the tree, it is fake, not real. Not the green tree we always had. It is not Christmas dad."

"You think it is the tree that makes Christmas?"

"It is a part of what makes Christmas."

"You think it is an important part?"

"Yes I do. That is not real dad, Christmas should be real."

"What is it about the tree that takes that away from you?"

"It is fake dad. It is aluminum, it is silver. Christmas trees are green and smell like Christmas."

"Ronnie, let me tell you something and then maybe you will understand. Christmas isn't in the tree, it just helps to represent Christmas, a symbol of Christmas. It does not make Christmas, it does not take away from Christmas having this tree. There are no rules but one about Christmas Ronnie, only one. It is not about Santa, receiving presents, having a real tree, none of these things make Christmas. Those are just decorations we use to illustrate Christmas. The only rule for Christmas is keeping an open heart, a forgiving heart, an accepting heart, to be happy you have your family with you and to count your blessing that we are still together. To be thankful for what we have, not be envious of others and to give of yourself with out expecting something in return. That is Christmas. That is what makes Christmas real, not the tree you worry about needlessly."

"That is what you always tell us, that that is the way we should always be."

"Yes, every day you should act like it is Christmas if you look at it that way, we only celebrate it at this time of the year. Now lets finish with the lights, its getting late."

It was Christmas eve, I had went to bed early that night. Not in anticipation of Christmas morning, I just couldn't get that tree out of my mind. I pulled myself out of bed and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. I could see the multicolored changing glow coming from the living room. "That tree." I sighed. I sat in my dad's chair facing the tree and looked at it as it rotated in its base, the color wheel changing the color, its light being reflected on the ceiling and walls. I just stared for the longest as I thought about what my dad had said a few days earlier. It really wasn't that ugly, just new I thought. Dad always said never be to harsh to judge something new, to give it a chance that you never know how it will turn out. Okay I thought, I will give this thing a chance and anyway with the money they will be saving on future Christmases maybe the benefit of this tree will show up in more presents. Stay positive.

Again, Later...

Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.

Echo

I use the word echo a lot on my blog, to relate in some way so that all can understand. A memory, a thought that will not go away, those things we all have and can relate to. Thought many are different, they are still the same. A lost relationship, friendship, a new person or interest in your life, things we store away to return to and reminisce when we find that our only escape are our memories. We also store away our pain, joy, hurt, love, hate and a multitude of other emotions that surface when triggered by something someone might say, something we see or even that one who caused that particular emotion in the beginning and like echos, echos from the past they come with a resounding reverberation cross our plains of memory. Some that settle comfortably in our hearts as we close our eyes to lose ourselves there for a few moments bringing back to us that time in our life we felt that happiness. Then there are those that send a pain through out our entire being as we feel the very breath is being as we feel it pull us down into that abyss of painful loneliness.

"Regrets, I've had a few..." Frank Sinatra coined the song and it is in that place where we keep everything else out of the prying eyes of the world. It is a wrapping we cover certain memories with and we find ourselves peeling back a corner to have a peek of a time that now has us thinking if only I had done something different then maybe this memory would have turned out different. It is said we learn as we live and we live as we learn, that there is a reason for a past in our lives, not to live in yesterday, but to learn from it. Often regrets have us living in our yesterdays, mulling them over, trying to figure where on that path we lost that one walking next to us. At what point they became a memory, at what point we faded from their sight as they walked away to never look back.

Memories can be a blessing or a curse, they can bring back sublime times gone or they can torture you. There are memories that are bittersweet, those that makes us smile with a tear in our eyes, one that has left your life and whose mortal being no longer exists. It seems these memories we deal with or learn to deal with in time much better than those memories of ones that are still among us. We put them to their final rest and speak our last words to assure them and ourselves they will always be remembered, but those that we still can see, that we still can hear, those are the ones that seem to bring to us those memories that remind us that it will never come around again in our lives.

As much as we hate to admit it, as much as we tell others not to, we live in our past, we seek refuge there, we find comfort and a safe haven there, a place only we can go. We may at times share those memories with others, but only those we feel safe in sharing, because we will come across those in life that will use them against us, this we all know and have suffered.

Like echos memories fill our thoughts, carrying with them all our emotions. A road we travel alone, a bridge to our past that will forever keep them with us.

Later...

Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.

sregniF cixelsyD emertxE

.tnesnoc roirp nettirw tuohtiw elbissimrep si ereh deniatnoc tnetnoc eht fo noitcudorper ro esu rehto oN . giP gnilimS eht fo ytreporp evisulcxe eht era ereh detsop seirotS

...retaL

.daeh ym revo elttil a era sgniht eseht dna tsigoloruen a ton ma I lla retfA .od I naht ti ot thgisni retteb tib a sah ereht tuo enoemos ebyam ,kniht I ylpeed oot munrdnunoc eht rednop I

.eb ot desu amsalp hcni 05 ruo erehw ecaps knalb ralugnatcer a ta egral gnirats era ew nwod tis ew nehw yhw dnatsrednu dluohs ew ,dnim sih ni os ,mron eht fo tuo gnihton dna tcidda a ot POS lamroN .kcarc yub dna nwap ear ecnef ,selbaulav laets ,emoh otni kaerb ,yenom on ,kcarc deen ,od ot gniht lamron eht tsuj saw ti ,oot em noitcidda sih gninialpxe dna uoi na gnivael ot deliaf eh tcidda kcarc a yb otni nekorb saw emoh ym emit tsal eht dna snoitabil hcum oot emusnoc yeht taht ezilaer t'nseod cilohocla na lla retfa naem I .lamron yltcefrep saw ti meht ot hguoht sa ,ti ot thguoht laer yna gnivig nosrep detceffa eht tuohtiw ecafrus dna smotpnys rehto yalpsid lduoc ti taht suoivbo eb dluow ti dnim ruoy ni yaw niatrec a sgniht gniees ot desu era uoy fi naem I .ssessop ew slliks rotom rehto esoht tceffa dna segats ylrae sti ni detaert ton fi esrow raf poleved dluoc taht gnihtemos taht nosaer ot dnats dluow ti smees ti em ot tub ,ti troppus ot laitnatsbus gnihtyna dnif ot tey evah I dna siht otni hcaeser evisnetni enod evah I ?gnitinrw ekil slliks rotom rehto tceffa ti nac tub ,yas tonnac I ,htuom ruoy naht retsaf gnissecorp si nairb eht erehw noisufnoc yraropmet tsuj ro aixelsyd fo mrof A .eciwt kniht uoy ekam dluow taht nwo reh fo sdrow emos dah rehtom woh gniees yratidereh saw siht ebyam fi rednow netfo dluow I ."tles taeb" otni hprom dluow tleb taes dan "hsilon eop" tuo emoc dluow hsilop lian eoT .ylreporp detanimret erew srae reh neewteb gnihtyreve fi rednow uoy edam taht sdrow emos htiw pu emoc dluoc ehs tub ,cixelsyd ton si rethguad yM . detaler mulleberec ot thgis ylno si ti fi dna elpoep stseffa ti woh gnirednow dna yletal aixelsyd tuoba gnikniht neeb evah I

.niaga noitcnuf yawflah ot lamron ot kcab eb lliw sregnif ym neht ebyaM .tuo sgniht wef a worht dna gnizinagro emos oD .elttil a tuo sgniht raelc dna sthguoht elbmuj eht elgnatnu ot yrt dna siht hguorht elddum I sa em htiw raeb esaelp oS .seitiliba gnipyt ym detceffa sah ti smees ti dna sregnif ym ot rettam yarg ym morf yaw sti dekrow sah noisufnoc siht ylwolS .neppah ot sgniht egnarts emos gnisuac detrats sah noisufnoc ,daeh ym ni yas ot os pu gnikcab detrats evah sthguoht fo tol a yletal smeeS

For the Less Dyslexic

Seems lately a lot of thoughts have started backing up so to say in my head, confusion has started causing some strange things to happen. Slowly this confusion has worked its way from my gray matter to my fingers and it seems it has affected my typing abilities. So please bear with me as I muddle through this and try to untangle the jumble thoughts and clear things out a little. Do some organizing and throw a few things out. Maybe then my fingers will be back to normal and I can halfway function again.

I have been thinking about dyslexia lately and wondering how it affects people and if it is only sight to cerebellum related. My daughter is not dyslexic, but she could come up with some words that made you wonder if everything between her ears were terminated properly. Toe nail polish would come out “poe nolish” and seat belt would morph into “beat selt”. I would often wonder if maybe this was hereditary seeing how her mother had some words of her own that would make you think twice. A form of dyslexia or just temporary confusion where the brain is processing faster than your mouth, I cannot say, but can it affect other motor skills like writing? I have done intensive research into this and I have yet to find anything substantial to support it, but to me it seems it would stand to reason that something that could develop far worse if not treated in its early stages and affect those other motor skills we possess. I mean if you are used to seeing things a certain way in your mind it would be obvious that it could display other symptoms and surface without the affected person giving any real thought to it, as though to them it was perfectly normal. I mean after all an alcoholic doesn’t realize that they consume too much libations and the last time my home was broken into by a crack addict he failed to leave an iou and explaining his addiction to me, it was just the normal thing to do, need crack, no money, break into home, steal valuables, fence or pawn and buy crack. Normal SOP to a crack addict and nothing out of the norm, so in his mind, we should understand why when we sit down we are staring at a large rectangular blank space where our 50 inch plasma used to be.

I ponder the conundrum too deeply I think, maybe someone out there as a bit better insight to it than I do. After all I am not a neurologist and these things are a little over my head.

Later…

I do realize that dyslexia is no laughing matter and it affects millions around the world. This is not meant to be a pun towards them or their affliction in any way. If I have offended anyone posting this blog, please accept my sincerest apologies.

Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.

Nah, We're Not Prejudice, Are We?

Chat rooms are fodder for so many things. I read a lot of blogs and they all or rather a lot of them seem to have something to say concerning chat and a lot of it is targeted at a specific group of individuals or one single individual. I know some like to think they are infallible, that they feel that they are open, accepting and without prejudice, but in all reality these too seem to want to go with the flow of the room so that they themselves will not be targeted for who they like to think they are.

I have been doing a lot of hopping lately, going from room to room, mainly staying in the Asian rooms and I sit and read what is being said and a lot of what I read is mostly people trying to position themselves in a better light. So they speak to each other and in doing so I am reminded of my school days where such groups were referred to as cliques. Each with their own preferences and if you did not fit into that clearly defined criteria of how they modeled themselves then you were considered an outcast, ostracized for not conforming to their idea as to how you should act and think.

I know as well as anyone else that we all have prejudices, it is human nature to see people different than ourselves as a threat. Man has acted on their prejudices through out recorded history and some were genocidal in their efforts to eradicate entire races due to their being different. Is being different really that bad? It is being different that makes us individuals, clearly distinguishable from others. So why is it that so many always want to be like someone else? Self prejudice, afraid that being seen as different will paint a target on their backs and make them the butt of someone's inane rhetoric? They conform, weak or ashamed, they conform to blend in with the rest and disappear and depending on the current clique in the room, like chameleons they will change their color again to blend in and disappear.

Most of man's moral attitude is based on prejudice and how he views the world and its occupants. Seeing their indifference as a threat and a weakness upon which he reacts. Bringing together those he feels that are of his thinking and displays his same moral values and using mindless verbal assaults commences to stir that same prejudice in others against those different to him. A coward that seeks others to go before him spreading that bile of prejudice.

It is said that birds of a feather flock together yet opposites attract, this I find confusing and an enigmatic oxymoron, they seem to null out each other, but yet we use them to fit our need at the time and in chat rooms they hold up to the letter. I am not saying I am not prejudice, I am, I am prejudice against stupidity, ignorance and poor moral values, but these are what I call temporary prejudices which can be overcome with education and learning to accept another for who they are, not what they are. I would like to think of myself as not being a judgmental person, but I am, if I weren't this page would be blank or I would be talking about how rosy the world is behind the rose tinted glasses I was wearing. I see no point in painting a world in perfect harmony when in fact it is as it has always been, in prejudiced turmoil. Will we ever shake this and realize that it is only the color of our skin, our religious beliefs, our moral values that separate us? That under those trappings we are still human beings no better than the one who stands next to us or no less. We are equal and we each have a right to live as we choose, what we feel is in our own best interest.

We need to realize that the world is getting smaller each day, with each baby born we give to this world our progeny, the ones that will carry forth our legacy and they will learn from us by our own example and it will be by what we teach them as to how they will view and accept others. We need to teach them that we live in a global community and no longer are we defined as countries within borders drawn on some map. That the only lines we draw are the ones that define our prejudices and until we learn that there are no such lines in the soil that separate us or define who we are those lines will forever set us apart.

Later...

Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.

Candy

For uses of this story and seeing how I do not have permission to use their name, I will refer to her as Candy. And like candy, or rather the candy wrapper she had a more or less a reputation and depending on who you were was seen in two different lights and was treated as such by most of those who knew her.

I met Candy through her brother, she was 13 and I was 14 then. She was a very pretty girl and had a smile that was truly genuine and only enhanced the attraction I felt for her. The day I first met her I remember her brother referring to her as a whore, I did not think much of this, I just thought it was typical sibling rivalry and was related to being the same thing as being called a bitch, so I dropped it at that and I never asked him why he called her a whore. As time passed we got close as friends and along with her brother we shared in a lot of things teenagers often indulge themselves in. She was the kind of female friend that you could actually wrestle with without it turning into a groping session and could tell jokes and hang in with anyone and keep up without any trouble.

She became special to me, because despite all the rumors and accusations being spread I did not see these things in her, I just saw her as my friend. She was bright, witty, intelligent and she stood by me without question of whether I was right or wrong and never turned her back on me for any reason. She was the kind I could sit up all night with, nothing being said, just watching the night pass listening to music and feel good by just being with her. At times we would talk for hours about nothing and about everything. If we saw each other on the street and we were with other friends we would usually excuse ourselves from them and end up spending time together, usually to go get a hamburger and fries and share a large soft drink and talk about school or people we knew. To me I could not have asked for a better friend, companion or confidant, I could tell her anything and it never went any further than her, no matter who or what it was about.

For some reason Candy felt that to be accepted in certain circles she needed to be friendlier than was necessary and and at times found herself the object of more than just one's attention and would be treated less than the wonderful person that I saw in her. We never talked about why she did these things, what it was that she felt about herself to let something like this happen to her or why she would put herself in such a position that would cause harm to her. She had her reasons and I felt that when she was ready to tell me she would tell me. I guess she never felt I would understand why or maybe it just wasn't important to her because for whatever reason there was she knew I would not think any less of her. We had an unspoken understanding about each other, we did not judge, we accepted and looked beyond that and just simply enjoyed the time we had when we were together. It was in those moments we could forget everything and be friends.

She always called me Woody, never Ron, Ronnie or Ronald, her name for me was Woody and it was her way to show her affection as a friend for me. If anyone else ever called me that she would be quick to correct them and let them know under no certain circumstances that she was the only one who had the right to call me that and once said would usually end with, "He's going with me. Let's go Woody." As if that phrase was her exclamation point to the subject.

I remember one evening I was sitting on our front porch watching the cars going by a few blocks down oh highway 75 oblivious to the car coming down the street we lived on, when all of a sudden I heard that familiar, "WOODY" screamed from the passenger window. Looking around there she was hanging half way out of the window waving both arms with a smile that seemed to stop time and in that moment she permanently placed that vision of her in my memories. The car screeched to a stop and Candy called the rest of the way out of the window, hit the ground running up to me and sitting in my lap gave me a big hug. I asked her what she was doing and she told me that they were going to the drive in and invited me along. I looked out to the car, two guys in the front seat and three in the back, so I told her that I couldn't go and to have fun. I guess she saw the disappointment in my eyes, she walked out to the car and told them she could not go, that will have to go without her. They left mad, cursing and calling her names, she just smiled and turned around, came back to the porch and sit beside me. We were not saying much if anything at all when she started talking.

"Woody do you like me?"
"Yes, of course I do."
"No, I don't mean in that way, do you like me?"
"I don't know what you mean Candy."
"I mean, if I didn't have a reputation, would you like me?"
"What reputation?"
"Dammit Woody, you know what I am talking about."
"No Candy I don't know what you are talking about. If you mean would I like you as more than a friend if you did not have a reputation, is that what you are asking?"
"Exactly."
"I don't see you as having a reputation, I never have."
"Yeah I know that. So why haven't you ever tried anything?"
"Do I need to? Is that the only way I can show you how I feel?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" What is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean maybe that is the only way I know you do."
"That I do what?"
"Like me for more than just a friend."
"Candy we do everything together, we are always with each other, we drop plans with others to be together, we talk about everything, so I don't know how else to show you how I feel."
"I know you have done it with other girls Woody."
"Then you don't know anything, because I haven't."
"So are you afraid to, is that what it is?"
"No not afraid Candy, just don't know how, okay?"
"You've kissed girls haven't you?"
"Yes, of course I have kissed girls, but that is not the same as what you are talking about."
"Yeah, you're right, it isn't."

She placed her hand on my knee and laid her head on my shoulder and started humming. Something she had done a hundred times before.

"You know something Woody?"
"No, tell me."
"You're my best friend."
"Thank you Candy. You're mine too, always have been since we got to know each other."
"Woody do you ever think about me?"
"Yeah I do."
"What do you think when you do?"
"I just think."
"About what?"
"You."
"Come on Woody, please tell me."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know."
"Is it important that you know?"
"Yeah Woody, it is."
"Okay. I just wish people would stop saying the things they do and see who I see. I wish sometimes that you wouldn't do what you do because even as your friend it hurts Candy. I want you to see who I see and know that it hurts people that really care about you."
"I don't care what they say about me, it doesn't bother me at all."
"Does it matter to you how it makes me feel?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you mean, sometimes?"
"Sometimes Woody when I think about it, I wonder what you are thinking. I wonder if you are thinking about me too."
"I see. Do you wonder how it hurts me?"
"I try not to think about that."
"So you do think about it?"
"Sometimes. Can friends love each other Woody?"
"I think you should love your friends."
"But can they?"
"In what way? I'm not following what you are saying."
"Okay, I'll tell you. Me and you been friends for over two years, sometimes I feel we are closer than you and my brother are and there are things that you and I only talk about. I mean we share everything, right?"
"Yeah we do share everything, a lot more than I do with your brother or with anyone else as a matter of fact."
"Yeah, that's what I thought to. So if we share that much, that means we trust each other doesn't it?"
"Stands to reason, yeah."
"And when you can trust someone that much and you don't have to worry then you must love them, right?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right Candy."
"I think about you a lot Woody. I wish sometimes that things were different."
"Different how?"
"You know, that we were different."
"Then you wouldn't be you."
"What do you mean?"
"That I don't care about your past or what you have done, that is something I don't think about. Who you are now and when we met, that is what I care about."
"My brother ever talk to you about me?"
"No, was he supposed to?"
"Would have told me if he did?"
"Maybe. Depends on what he told me."
"But he hasn't told you, has he?"
"No Candy he hasn't."
"My dad raped me when I was ten, that is why my brother and I live with my grandmother. Woody he would wait for my mom to go to work at night and make my brother go to bed, then he would start messing with me. I hate him Woody."
"Candy you don't need to tell me."
"Yes I do."
"Why?"
"Because you are the only one I trust and I have never talked about it before."
"Is that why you do what you do now?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"Do you like it?"
"No I don't, I don't like it at all."
"Then why do it if you don't like it?"
"Because that was all he said I was good for."

I could feel her tears soaking through my tee shirt and she was trembling. I put my arm around her and pulled her closer to me. Soon she broke out into sobs, she couldn't catch her breath and her trembling was getting worse.

"He lied Candy. You are worth much more than he told you. You know I look forward to seeing you every day. Sometimes can't wait to see you. I never felt that way about someone I knew."
"Do you think anyone will ever love me Woody? You think they will be like you and see me like you said?"
"I love you Candy."
"I know you do Woody."
"It's getting cold."
"A little, yeah."
"Let me go get my jacket."

I returned with my jacket, Candy was still crying as I wrapped it around her shoulders and then sit next to her again.

"Put your arm back around me Woody."

We sat there all night, watched the sun break the eastern horizon, heard the morning birds singing and said nothing.

"Come on, I'll walk you home."

My dad moved us down to Richardson, Texas that following year and I would hitchhike as often as I could the seventy miles north on Hwy 75 to go and see her. Soon thought with school and meeting new friends we drifted apart and we lost contact. Then after I had married Linda I had run into a mutual friend of mine and Candy's one day in Dallas. I asked her if she ever heard from Candy. She told me the last she had heard that Candy had moved here to Dallas and she was working as a prostitute and that she worked the bars on the east side. I asked about Candy's brother and she told me that he had been shot in the back and the bullet had lodged in his spine. He was paralyzed from the waist down and living in his grandparent's home. She said she went back occasionally and visited him and that a few times Candy had dropped by to give him money and check on him. She said that at some point the conversation would turn back to when we were teenagers and she would mention that she missed me.

I did finally see her again. It was at our mutual friend's apartment. She was sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed upstairs and squeezing the icing out of a tube of one of those premixed cake decorators. A new born baby laid on the bed next to her. She looked up at me and threw the tube down then gathered the covers about her to hide herself. I lowered my head, tears welling up in my eyes I turned and started walking back down the stairs.

"Woody!"
"Yeah Candy?"
"What happened Woody?"

Tears started streaming down my cheeks as I walked out the front door, closing it behind me. I tried to shove the picture of seeing her there out of my head, wanting to replace it so much with that night she was hanging out of the car window yelling my name and waving. That smile that lit up my world, those twinkling mischievous eyes that behind them was a beautiful and wonderful person. That Candy that meant so much to me then. I still miss her at times and as I have said before, she had her reasons and I should have never questioned or seen her any different then than I had always seen her before. My friend. I did something to her that she would have never done to me, I turned my back on her and walked away.

Later...

The dialogue, though not verbatim in this post is factual and this is a page out of my life that I have kept in me and not talked about. I have not heard from or seen her since that day I walked out the door. Her brother is now deceased and even though I have tried to locate her to apologize for that day, I have had no luck.


Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.

Caught in the Act

Now I know that we all have either been caught in an act that we found a little embarrassing, well maybe more than a little or have caught someone in the act that left you both embarrassed and it seems that first one is the one you will always remember.

My parents had finished off their evening with a couple of drinks to "relax" as we are told by our parents so often as we grew up and as dad was exiting the living room and making his way down the hall he reminded us, "I don't want to hear any arguing, TV off by 11pm and in bed, don't let me have to come back and remind you." and with that he shut his bed room door behind him. This is where the sibling pecking order took place. My youngest brother made a diving leap for my dad's chair and said "Dibs.", he had marked his spot for the evening. I had been sitting on the end of the sofa when my next oldest brother decided that we wanted to stretch out on the sofa and basically demanded that I relinquish my spot so he could lay down. "Nah, I don't really feel like it, its comfortable here." I replied. "You didn't say dibs." he returned. Now any idiot knows in the rules of dibs that you do not have to claim a spot that you are already occupying, so I reminded him that he was an idiot. With that he sat at the opposite end on the sofa and little by little started sliding into a prone position staring at me the whole time with the stupid idiotic look only an older brother could display. After a few minutes I felt his toe just slightly touching me and I told him to move his foot and he said that three quarters of the sofa was his and if I did not like him touching me I could move. "Screw you." I said to him at the same time giving him the universal symbol for it. So on it went for an hour, with him changing positions often to either hold his face inches from mine staring at me or by almost touching me with his finger, close enough to be irritating, but not breaching that invisible boundary as to which part of the sofa was mine. When he wanted to be an irritating pain in the ass, my older brother was quite adept at it. After about an hour of his juvenile display I got tired of it and decided that if he was going to ruin the movie for me I was going to do likewise, but in order to do so I would have to take my younger brother down too. I looked over at him and said, "Damn I am tired, I guess it is time we went to bed." "You go and I get the sofa." he answered. "Wanna make a bet on that?" I said smiling and off down the hall I went.

Stopping in front of my parent's bed room door I heard sounds coming from inside and I hesitated for a moment before putting my hand on the door knob, I know that I should have knocked and announced myself, but this was my parent's room what could possibly be going on besides sleep. Well I soon found out, as I opened the door I believe I caught my parents in a some what of a compromising position, I did not realize that they had a contortionist act that they practiced for after they went to bed and I further assumed they were naked because the clothes wouldn't get tangled up in these various positions they were trying. But I knew that this isn't something that a dad teaches his son, but then again I never realized that they posed for the Kama Sutra either. At that point in my life I did not know what I found more terrifying, what my eyes were glued to at that moment or the horror movie on TV, I decided quickly that the horror movie definitely ranked second to this. I do not know if it was the stream of light coming from the hall and lighting them up like a spotlight on a stage or if it was the sickening groan that came from me, either way the next thing I heard and saw was my dad yelling at me while he threw his house shoe, "Don't you know how to knock?" At which point I quickly closed the door and walked back into the living room. "Dad wants to talk to you." I informed my older brother.

Another time I can remember was when I was with my best friend in junior high. We had decided to go to this in town lake and do some swimming at night off the pier and to see who else would show up through out the course of the evening. I guess we had been there for over two hours diving off the pier and swimming around the pilings when we noticed a group of cars at the far end of the small lake. I looked over at him and he said, "You see all those guys standing in line at that one car?" "Yeah, why? Just some girl they got drunk and high and she a little friendly tonight." I replied thinking about who it might be. "Wanna go over?" he asked and without replying I jumped off the pier and started towards the line in a little quicker pace than he did. I got there right before him and two more had filed in behind me before he had his place in the line and one by one they would enter the back of the car and exit a few moments later with sweat on their foreheads and a smile on their face. When my turn finally came, I too mimicked the ones before me and climbed into the back seat of the 1957 Chevy Belaire. Well I came out about as fast as I went in with my friend saying, You finished already? Didn't take you very long." "I don't really feel like it to tonight." I returned, my back to him as I was walking off. "You are a wimp Wood." he yelled out and then asked, "Who is it?" "Your sister." I replied still walking away from him. "Yeah, my sister, your momma." He yelled laughing at me. I sat down on a park bench and waited, watching silently as the two in front of him finished their business and then watched him with his pants and underwear around his ankles crawl into the back of the car. I smiled. I don't think he was in there under two seconds when he came flying out of the back seat, his pants still around his ankles but looking a lot less excited than before he went in, he was spinning around and looking from side to side as if he was wanting to find someone to take his anger out on, it didn't take him very long until he spotted me sitting at the picnic table smiling. He ran over to me screaming so loud I couldn't understand a word he was saying, his eyes were bulging and he was spitting when he talked, oh he looked a sight with his pants still around his ankles. "Why didn't you tell me that was my sister asshole?" he screamed at me. "Uh, I believe I did when you asked me who it was. You ready to go home now?"

In the small Texas town on the Texas Oklahoma border is where I spent my more informative years, those delicate days of discovery, but in order to experience it, it required that parents be sleeping as you would sneak into a girls window for a little amorous fun. But this required stealth, planning and timing in order to make it work out to ones advantage and the first phase is sneaking out of the house after the city's mandatory age curfew without the knowledge of your parents and living in a house that was over 150 years old you had to know where each and every creaking floor board was at, which banister rail was shaky and when exactly your parents were sound asleep. We lived in a two story house with my parent's bed room downstairs and the stairs and front door next to their bed room door, so it was a tricky maneuver to escape after dark and rendezvous with the object of your desire. Now this caught in the act is two fold and I do not know which embarrassed me the most.

One of my friends was spending the night and earlier that day we had been talking to a couple of girls that lived down the street from each other and talked them into seeing us later that night after curfew. When the appointed time had arrived to jettison ourselves from my bed room, we had decided on using the antenna mast that was outside my rear bed room window and shimmy down it. Sounded good, sounded like a plan and so down we started with him reaching the ground before me. As I started going down the pole I had thought I heard something tapping on a window and I looked up thinking maybe it was my younger brother who may have woke up and wanting to tag along with us, but there was no stupid face grinning looking down at me when I looked up and then there was that tapping again. So I looked at the window directly in front of me only to see my father's face looking with a very disenchanted grimace and I knew the thumbs up he was giving didn't mean do it for the Gipper, rather "get your ass back up that pole and get to bed." Well going a thin galvanized pole is never as easy going down it and slowly I made it back up. Once back in the window I looked down at my friend, "I'll wait for you in the back yard." he whispered. Eventually my dad finally fell back to sleep and down the pole I shimmied again and once hitting the ground I broke out in run to where my friend was waiting for me.

Soon we were winding our way through the maze of alleys, streets void of lighting and skirting along the trees that lined them letting the shadows conceal us as we made our way across town. This too turned out to be an adventure, as we were going along my friend grabbed my arm, "Wood hold on a second." "What is it?" I asked stopping. "Look over there at that open window dude. Their doing it." he whispered, pointing off in the direction his attention was glued to. Sure enough as looked there they were in plain sight, lights on, window open with her riding him like one of those little plastic ponies at the supermarket entrance. Our eyes were glued to the scene and they seemed oblivious to the fact that they had a two person audience taking mental notes. "Damn Wood, look at those knockers on her would you." was my friends first comment. "Be quiet dummy before they hear us." I whispered. That went through one ear and out the other if it even registered at all because the next thing I heard was, "Damn! Crap Wood we need to get closer." and with that they both stopped and looked out the window, then she grabbed the pillow and placed it front of her as he in all of his glory stood up in the middle of the bed screaming and yelling expletives at us that would have made any sailor worth his salt take notes. "Great going idiot, as if hiding behind their bushes in their front yard wasn't close enough. Any closer we would have been in bed with them." I said over my shoulder running down the street.

Next stop was our destination, the mapped out end of our journey and the house was in sight. Anticipation was now the driving force as we made our way across the lawns, eventually arriving to "the window". Tap, tap, tap...waiting, heart beating like a race horse after a long race, palms sweaty and holding our breath. Tap, tap, tap...again waiting. Finally the curtains part, the shade rises and the window is raised, "If you were expecting _ _ _ _ _ _, she is in her mother's room sleeping and you have 5 minutes to clear the yard before I call the police." Busted! We left faster than a shadow in the dark.

On the way home I got to thinking, why not? The night ended the way it started, caught in the act.

Later...

Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.

Only Slightly Disassociated or Slightly Associated Thoughts

A couple of things have been on my mind lately, somewhat related and then again trying to figure out a way of melding the two together has been a conundrum for me, so I will handle them as two different thoughts separate yet in many ways related.

Garnering the Spotlight

We all enjoy attention or as Andy Warhol put it "our fifteen minutes of fame" and it seems that has not really had a direct medium for the general public until the internet came into being. Whereas in the past, those dark days before the internet and the age of enlightenment it offered to those of us considered as ones of the menial class, all we had were newspapers, radio and television and in order to gain our place in the spotlight with the media of yore, you either already had to be known, discovered something that awed the world, have been published or were a serial killer, which at that time would have given that chance to stand in the spotlight of notoriety for ill or good. The internet changed all of that and gave anyone the ability to express their thoughts, their philosophy, their beliefs on morality, their stand on politics, sexual preferences, religion, parenting or just to vent and in doing so brought out the dormant narcissism in a lot of people. It was a venue deigned for them to be able to say, "Hey look at me and screw the others, I am what is important." and I shudder at times at the monster that man created when he unleashed the internet to the world.

It gave a much broader stage and a more diversified audience to those who felt like they should be listened to or what they had to say was important. It gave rumor mongers a wider visage to spread malicious gossip based purely on hearsay and personal belief of another person without really knowing if what they were espousing was factual or not, it was just too juicy and delicious to keep to themselves and the world just had to hear about it. It created a very large pond for those who like to throw rocks to see how far the ripples would reach and expand out to others.

I am not saying that seeking attention is wrong, it is basic human nature to want to be noticed and that in itself is harmless if approached in the right manner, not to do so at another's expense. When we seek attention by viciously maligning another for reasons that are really none of our business we have done nothing constructive but to destroy another and cause others to continue our attempt at undermining another's character and who if anyone has that right to do so.

It is Tom Sawyer's tree to hang from, his picket fence to walk to get Polly's attention and I would love to hear Mark Twain's take on how he would view the internet or the fodder it gave him to break out his quill to record another one of his insightful masterpieces of languid wit concerning the human condition and man's desire to be noticed. Not to mention the heyday Freud or Jung would have concerning man's struggle to either cut the umbilical cord or make love to his mother. The possibilities are endless and yet we have not really learned any lessons about what we do or say and how it effects others in our quest for attention.

The internet has created two spotlights and it shines attention on two at the same time, the seeker and the receiver, but those roles can change and the seeker one day will be seen as the receiver and will be placed in that position they have put many before them. The worm has turned so to say, the piper is now seeking payment, retribution is at hand and now that one has found themselves in a very precarious position for now they have realized that they are not without fault and secrets that were kept have managed to find themselves in the hands of another seeking attention and their target is that one who is presently in the spotlight. Like in the old west when a fresh young gunslinger would mosey into town to challenge the one who he has been told is the fastest draw known to man and he just cannot let the chance to challenge him pass by and find out how fast he really is. After all, he is now older, his edge a bit dulled, his senses a little more lax and his reflexes slowed by all the attention and praise he has been getting from his little group of followers and it is time now to replace him and take his place in that limelight.

Nothing wrong with seeking attention, just do it without unjustifiably attacking another and look out for those who come flying in under the radar or at least make sure all your ducks are in a row and you can cover your bases and don't leave your ass hanging out. Don't you just love a blog filled with euphemisms? I think I have used enough to get a little attention, don't you? Oh yeah, one more thought before I go on to the next disassociated thought, make sure someone is not painting a target on your back while you are busy painting one on someone else's back.

Baa Baa

I like to think of myself as an individual, perfectly capable of seeing things for myself and in the process of doing so be able to make my own decisions from those observations. It is how we should all be and we should not let someone else be the one telling us what to see or how to think, but sadly enough there are some either too lazy or weak or both to do that for themselves, so they entrust someone else to do that for them and that to me is a sad thought. People get so misdirected and confused when they start letting themselves be guided by someone who probably does even have the slightest clue of what is going on around them to begin with. It is the blind leading the blind and they might as well be living in a closet with the rest of the skeletons they have stashed away in the dark.

There are some that actually prey on those who cannot or those that refuse to think for themselves and this is where the above disassociated thought is associated. Those that seek attention of a attentive following surround themselves with those they think for, they decide for them what is right and what is wrong, who they should or should not talk to, who is and who isn't at fault and those they think deserve his retribution and chastising. The pied piper syndrome it is called and has roots seated back to childhood by either too many siblings and getting lost among them or over attentive parents telling them how important they are, either the lack of or too much attention. Seeing how their audience is a selective one and one that is for them easily swayed into their ideology and manipulated to think as they think and see what they see. They use them until they have no more use for them, they use them as weapons aiming them towards targets they have decided to destroy. Little Napoleons, egotistical, maniacal, narcissistic, schizophrenic and manic depressive are just a few of the symptoms they display as they gather around them those who see them as some kind of demigod, whose words are like their teachings and their bidding as a tribute them. They castigate those who see through them for what they are, irritating little fleas, piss-ants of life that seem to to be everywhere you wish they weren't.

If one cannot think for themselves, then I would think it would better not to think at all. Just sit there like a proverbial lump on a log and live out life emotionless and do not let someone else tell you what you should be thinking. Do not be led like sheep by someone who really does not care if you ever had a thought of your own or not, because under their guidance if you ever did get a clue they would ostracize you in fear that you would see them for who they truly were, just another sheep herder leading aimless sheep to slaughter.

Later...

Stories posted here are the exclusive property of the Smiling Pig. No other use or reproduction of the content contained here is permissible without written prior consent.