The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Yeah Write

Silver Bracelets

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40+117 Sucka Punch!

You never want to look back upon your day while sitting handcuffed in the back of a squad car and wonder how it could have gone to hell so quickly.

That is the kind of story that someone else should tell. It is the kind of thing that you never want to remember because it never happened to you, but sometimes lightning strikes and things happen.

It was a day that had started out with much promise. My girlfriend decided to wake me up in a most memorable way and had it stayed that way it would have been a very good day indeed.

I remember staring at the ceiling with a big grin plastered across my face. If she had asked me to marry her at that moment in spite of my young age I most assuredly would have.

Heck I would have said yes to almost anything she asked but then the universe in its esteemed wisdom decided that I had used up all of the pleasure I was entitled to that day.

Our moment was interrupted by a loud bang and many tears. Decorum won’t allow me to describe exactly what happened when she was startled but suffice it to say that my own tears were almost shed then too.

You see the interruption was created by the entrance of my girlfriend’s best friend and roommate. Her name was Sally Jo but at that particular moment I might have called her $#Q%$@T%.

Her fiance had just dumped her and that little kerfuffle was the reason why she felt entitled to come flying into the room.

I know this might sound selfish, but I was less than pleased to see her and not just because I was hurt in the process. However I was smart enough not to ask her to step outside and wait.

Baby, I am really sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you. I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight, but she needs me now.

No problem. I’ll shower at my place. Call me when you finish your chem lab and we’ll get dinner.

She didn’t wait for an answer and as I walked out the door she headed over to the other bedroom.
Moments later the day continued its unexpected assault upon my smile. A $50 parking ticket graced my windshield.

In between curses I thanked my hormones for leading me to this blessed place of blue balls, parking tickets and whatever else was to come.

The night before we had been too frantic to get upstairs to worry about street cleaning. My focus had been on getting busy and not reading parking signs.

That lack of focus was about to bite me in the ass again.

It was Tuesday morning and my group was supposed make a presentation in Professor Markowitz’s marketing class in ten minutes.

Markowitz was a stickler for time and for appearance. He lectured us on what life would be like in the business world and said that people didn’t respect the unshaven, baseball cap wearing slobs who couldn’t be bothered to show up for work on time.

Our group was slated to go first and there was no way to go home and get to class in time.

As expected Markowitz made a point to mark me down for my attire. Be thankful that you aren’t my employee because I wouldn’t tolerate this sort of insubordination from you.

The points he took off were the difference between an A and a B.

I was in a very bad mood when I left class so I went straight to the gym. Halfway through my workout I ran into several of my girlfriend’s and her roommates sorority sisters.

Maybe it was my own paranoia but I know girls talk about everything and I could have sworn they were pointing and laughing at me.

I might have gotten stuck trying to figure that out but my buddy Doug distracted me.

“Dude, my roommates and I have a case of Heineken left over from our last party. Want to swing by and help me make some space in the refrigerator.”

I smiled again. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t help you out in your time of need, now would I.

Two hours and a six pack later my attitude is much improved and I have forgotten the craziness of the morning.

Excuse me, got to drain the old weasel.

Doug gives me a glassy eyed smile and a thumbs up and I make my way to a bathroom that would have made my mother shriek in horror.

Doug, you obviously never have girls here because this kind of crap would never fly with them.

The guy in the mirror nods his head at me and laughs when I tell him he looks like he might be drunk.

Suddenly there is a loud crash and I hear Doug screaming for help. I don’t know what happened but it doesn’t matter. I am 205 pounds of semi inebriated college student.

Doug’s almost like a fraternity brother so I have to look out for him so when I see him getting smacked around by some guy I don’t wonder about who he is or why he is there.

He never sees me coming and I land a shot on him that knocks him right on his ass. He surprises me by getting right back up and coming at me.

Nor will I stop to question why a guy in a black uniform is pulling me off of this guy. I wish that I had because then I might have been smart enough not to hit him or his partner.

My only excuse is that they grabbed me from behind so I didn’t know who they were.

Later on I’ll stare at the ceiling only this time I am lying in a small room with a steel toilet and some drunk guy.

Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

Plenty Of Time

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time

This story was written for Yeah Write and is being included here by special request. The original copy can be found at my story blog.

*****

I could hear the echo of my father’s voice inside my head, “Boys don’t ever hit girls.”

He ignored my protests and told me he didn’t care what my sister had done. It didn’t matter if she hit me first or what she used. I was a boy. We weren’t allowed to fight back that way.

I told him again it wasn’t fair and he shrugged his shoulders at me. “We are bigger and stronger. Use your words to settle things. They will.”

He was right and so was I. Thirty-seven years ago they didn’t fight fair and they still don’t now.

I suppose the big difference between then and now is that it was much easier as a young boy to look at them as “annoying people” whose sole purpose was to bother boys.

Puberty changed all that. Those “annoying people” cast a magic spell on me and suddenly I went from not noticing any of them to having trouble focusing in school.

Hormonal overdrive and young love kept me from recognizing the kind of trouble that lack of focus could get you into.

But I found out.

Her name was Tammy. She was a tall blonde with bright green eyes and an electric smile. At 14 she was two or three inches taller than I was and quick to lord it over me.

She spent our freshman year of high school doing her best to tease and torment me. I tried to give it back to her and almost got my head taken off.

I don’t remember exactly what I said but I remember she was angry. When I told her she was acting like my sister she lost it. She stopped talking to me. When we passed each other in the halls she just looked through me, it was like I didn’t exist.

You would think that I would have appreciated the respite from the teasing and the incessant comments about my height, but I didn’t.

We didn’t speak again until November of the following year and to this day I can’t tell you if she even noticed, but I did.

Her refusal to speak made me so angry that I walked over to her. “You aren’t as special as you think you are!”

She just laughed, “look who finally grew.”

Until she mentioned it I hadn’t noticed that I was finally taller than she was. That wasn’t

I wanted to yell at her again but that laughter and the smile that accompanied it took the fight right out of me.

We went on our first date two weeks later and three months after that we lost our virginity in her aunt’s pool house.

It was young love and a healthy dose of young lust.

Her father almost put the fear of god into us. He came home early one day and surprised us.

We heard him and I tried to jump out of bed, but Tammy was fearless. She told me to relax and said there was plenty of time.

That became our line and our little joke. Life was filled with plenty of time and much laughter.

When it came time to go to college we ended up attending different universities. Neither one of us was worried about our relationship. We thought it was strong enough to survive anything, but we were wrong.

I don’t know when she slept with him or how many times she did but I know it happened. I wasn’t blameless either.

The girl I hooked up with was just as tall as Tammy and had those long legs that I loved, except she was a brunette with dark eyes. The moment I kissed her I knew that things had to go farther and that something else was dying, but hormones don’t care about relationships.

Within six months or so we had both acknowledged that it was time to go our separate ways.

It was painful but also somewhat exhilarating. Tammy and I had done almost everything a couple could do together and I was excited to be with other women.

That 18 year-old boy felt like a kid in a candy shop and for a while I really enjoyed it, but I noticed very quickly that these girls didn’t respond like Tammy did.

She would do anything and they wouldn’t. Hindsight makes it easy to recognize that love was the difference but that kid didn’t know it.

By that time Tammy and I rarely spoke and if we did we usually found ourselves fighting but it wasn’t like those days in high school.

Eventually we just stopped talking.

Five years passed and then I ran into her at a New Year’s Eve party. At midnight we kissed and it was like no time had passed.

Thirty-five minutes later we walked into my apartment and stayed there for three days.

Two days later she left for a two year Peace Corps assignment in Africa. When she kissed me goodbye she said she loved me, laughed and told me not to worry because there was plenty of time.

She never wrote me.

Twenty-five years passed and the silence continued. We were just a memory.

Last week there was a knock at the door and I saw a beautiful blonde standing on my porch. It was like being transported in time, there was my Tammy, except it wasn’t.

She said her name was Heather and asked to come inside.

“My mom said if something happened to her I should find you. Her name was Tammy and I think you might be my dad.”

“What do you mean her name was Tammy?”

Her eyes filled with tears and so did mine. I guess we never did have plenty of time.

The In Between Place

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Lonely man

I made them cry, not him or her but them. You can tell me it wasn’t my fault or that it is not my responsibility but I won’t accept it.

That is because I was the one who made the telephone calls. I was the one who called our friends and told them you were dead.

Some of them screamed and some of sniffled in silence but I heard their voices and we shared the pain of your loss.

Today is your birthday or should I say it would have been. I don’t have a clue what you would have done for this one or where you would be living.

Maybe you would be married and maybe you would be a father. It is a relatively easy guess to make and probably not far off of the mark.

Instead of writing to you and wondering if somewhere you can hear, see, feel or read this I would call you and make some crack about how old you are. You’d give me some sort of sarcastic response and I’d tell you about my family.

It wouldn’t be the first time. I have visited your grave and sat next to you. I have told you about your funeral and how very blue the skies were. It was hot that day and not just because we were wearing black suits.

Nor was it because we buried you.

That has always been important to me. We buried you because you were loved by your friends. We buried you because it was among the last kindness we could bestow directly upon you.

Every year I remember the moment when I saw your mother’s face while I was shoveling dirt on your casket. It was horrifying then and as a father it is only made worse.

Yet there is a piece of me that smiles because I know you would have done the same for me and because I know your parents appreciated it. I know that in this moment of utter horror they knew that people who cared about you were doing our best to help.

We would have done more. We wanted to. Had we known earlier we could have helped carry the load. You knew more than us. You knew this was coming sooner but didn’t say.

Perhaps it was your choice, but we would have listened. We would have shared more with you during a time when we could both communicate.

Life is pretty good now. It has its challenges but that is to be expected. I keep tabs with your siblings and your parents. They are good too.

I don’t regret having had to make those calls or having been a part of the merry men of grave digging. Shit happens and we deal with it.

You are gone but not forgotten. You helped change more lives than you know and that is a legacy to be proud of.

Happy Birthday old friend, I’ll see you again.

 Linked To YeahWrite.

The Kind Of Friend You Want To Be

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Friends

Sometimes I am guilty of trying to write the kind of post that makes you cry, but not always. There are other moments that I try to write something inspirational and or humorous.

Those are moments that I try to avoid because they usually don’t produce the results I want. It is like trying to force a feeling. I can’t make you love me and even if I could that is not how I want to be.

My best moments in writing come when I just let myself be and I write about whatever it is I am writing about.

It reminds me of friendship. It reminds me of remembering not to try too hard because the people that like us will do so because of who we are and not because of what we have.

Dad’s Words of Wisdom

It is a discussion I have had more than once with the children. We talk about what is going on in school and sometimes I hear stories about mean girls and boys who aren’t nice.

I tell the children to try to be the kind of friend you want to be. These aren’t just words to me or something you say out of obligation. I mean them.

In part it is because I have been very fortunate to have some of the best friends a person can have. I have blogged about them before, some recent and some less so. One day my children will read this blog and posts like What Kind of Friend Are You? will help reinforce what I am talking about, but that is years down the road.

These discussions have to happen now. I can’t shield them from everything and life forces you to confront the end of their innocence at a pace that isn’t always in sync with when you would choose to make the change.

I suppose it is part of why I write letters to my children.

Be Your Own Advocate

When I talk with the kids and friends about the rules of the game I often mention the need for us to serve as our own advocates. If we don’t do it then who will.

But the question is how to do it in a fashion that isn’t obnoxious but is still effective. I don’t know that I have an answer for that. It is a subjective question. It is something we all have to figure out how to do.

It is part of why I blog. It is part of how I figure out what is important and necessary. It is part of how I determine what direction I wish to take and what pace I wish to walk or work at.

My Friends Read My Blog

Very few of my real life friends read this blog. In part that is because I have kept it away from most of them, but that is not what this is about.

This is about the lesson I have learned about being the kind of friend I want to be online as well as offline. This is about acknowledging that I have made many friends online and although we don’t hang out in person we meet here with more regularity than I get to see those real life friends.

That doesn’t take anything away from them. It is part of the nature of this online world we walk around in. It is easy to meet here. It is like being back in school. It is a central gathering place that we can hit.

So when I say my friends read my blog I can do so with complete honesty. I can say I am trying to be a good friend online and offline. I am trying to be the kind of friend I want for me and for my children.

When I opened my eyes possibilities turned into opportunities and I am glad to share it with you.

This post is part of Yeah Write #66 one of my favorite writing communities.

Those Three Words

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Field of Dreams

Men in their twenties don’t say I love you to male friends or at least we didn’t when I was in my twenties. It was a mistake but I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know it because when you are in your twenties you are invincible and you don’t worry about dying.

You don’t ever expect that one day you will stand under endless blue skies holding a shovel because you have to bury a friend who was more like a brother. It is not supposed to be like that and you never could have imagined that 14 years later you would remember it all so vividly.

It never occurs to you that you’ll wonder what happens after we die and ask yourself if he is watching over the six year-old boy who is buried near by. I didn’t know about that little boy until after ‘D’s funeral. I was lost that day and I didn’t pay attention to any of the graves, but I saw him later.

One day after my oldest was born I decided to go visit ‘D’ and tell him that I had become a father. I walked by the little guy’s grave and had to sit down. It was always tragic to me but I hadn’t ever thought about it as a father. This time it was different. This time I remembered the looks of horror on the faces of ‘D’s parent and the magnitude of it all hit me in a different way because I understood the responsibility parents feel regarding their children’s welfare.

Those Three Words

I don’t have many regrets but I wish that I had told ‘D’ that I loved him. I wish that he hadn’t hid the severity of his illness and that he would have let me help carry some of the load. I would have done it. He would have done it for me.

All these years later I don’t doubt that he knew it but there is something different about saying the words. I have thought about it quite a bit and I haven’t ever figured out why I didn’t say it other than I don’t share my feelings easily.

That might sound shocking to you, but if you are an old friend you’ll know that I am close lipped about many things.

My Uncle Jimmy died in ’94. Technically he died from pneumonia but it was AIDS that got him. I didn’t find out he was gay until I was a senior in high school. Funny thing is that it never was a secret, I was just oblivious. It didn’t change my feelings about him. He was my uncle and I loved him, but I didn’t say it to him either.

Hell, my father almost died eight years ago and we didn’t exchange those three words. We did when I was little but somewhere along the way it stopped and I am not sure why.

But if I have learned anything from these experiences it is that you shouldn’t wait to tell the people you love that you care about them. I have gotten better about it but I need to do more.

Eight years later I am carrying around some guilt because I don’t think dad is taking care of himself the way he should because he is worried about my sisters and I. I wasn’t going to say anything to him about it because I didn’t think he would change.

But I can’t do this any longer. I can’t not say anything. I am in a transitional phase but I am not worried about coming through it. I always get through and I will this time. I am concerned about my kids, but that is because it is what parents do. They will get through this time too and they will probably do better than all of us.

This time I am going to say something. I am going to pull out those three words. I should have told ‘D’ and I should have said it to Uncle Jimmy but I won’t miss the opportunity to say I love you to my father.

This post is part of Just Write #39 and Yeah Write #61.

69 Reasons Why Fathers Make Better Lovers

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Orazzib The Fiendish Clown

Ladies and gentlemen some people have told me that this headline is rude, base and vulgar. They would be incorrect. Since I am mature, kind and loving all I have to say to them is find a partner or get new batteries for your toy.

That is not really rude, vulgar or base either, but because it uses your imagination it very well might make the jump from harmless to that other category that does not subscribe this post.

Here is what you need to take from all this: A good writer understands how to draw the reader in and make them use their imagination. Every time I write a post that is my goal- to tickle your imagination and make you see something inside your mind.

Examples:

“Most people consider it bad form to slap a priest or pull a rabbi’s beard. They aren’t real keen on your telling Sister Mary that she has a rack that was made for sin and or suggesting that you can help her see god.” 567 Ways To Tell A Better Story

“The clown was drunk, surly and horny. Or should I say that he was in dire need of shagging Tinkerbell. Ok, her name wasn’t really Tinkerbell but the performers at a kids birthday party don’t introduce themselves by their real names so you’ll forgive me if I can’t tell you whether she was Karen, Kathy, Tracey, Lacey or Stacey. ” The Flying Clown

“A bear hug is no match for an angry man with a salami. For I took said salami and proceeded to beat him silly with it. Fortunately I was smart enough not to hit the two cops who came ostensibly to break up the fight.” It Wasn’t Worth Getting Arrested

Some of you might think these examples are silly, ridiculous and even over the top but I posit that a movie where Abraham Lincoln plays a vampire killer is over the top and therefore a drunk clown or fight with processed meat is tame.

Don’t ask me to explain The Rules of the Game to you because I don’t have time. You see I am busy reading All Things Are Possible. It is a fine tale of hope, love and determination in the 21st century. It is also in need of some serious editing.

69 Reasons Why Fathers Make Better Lovers

I tend to think of list posts as being something that lazy bloggers write. To be fair that is not always true but it hits the mark more often than not. There are several reasons why this is so.I would list them for you but some might accuse me of being a lazy blogger and I am not sure that I want that title. I already hold rude, vulgar and base- it just wouldn’t be fair to claim lazy now would it.

Besides I am too busy trying to become the Master Ninja of social media- a guru of all things social. Just ask me a question about Twitter, Tribber and Tweeting. Go ahead now, tell me you need to know how to pin someone and I’ll give you the goods. Better yet I will provide you with my affiliate links and encourage you to purchase each product.

Ok, on a serious note I do provide those from time to time but you can rest assured that I only push the products that I use and support. For example I am a big fan of AWeber and their newsletter services (affiliate link) and Sucuri for security issues related to my website (affiliate link).

You can expect to see a post or two about why I use these services in the very near future.

Some of My Favorite Song Lyrics

A brief sample:

“They held each other tight as they drove on through the night they were so excited.
We got just one shot of life, let’s take it while we’re still not afraid.
Because life is so brief and time is a thief when you’re undecided.
And like a fistful of sand, it can slip right through your hands.’

Young Turks- Rod Stewart

So you’re scared and you’re thinking
That maybe we ain’t that young anymore
Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night
You ain’t a beauty, but hey you’re alright
Oh and that’s alright with me

You can hide `neath your covers
And study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers
Throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
Well now I’m no hero
That’s understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl
Is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey what else can we do now
Except roll down the window
And let the wind blow back your hair”

Thunder Road- Springsteen

“Will you walk with me out on the wire
`Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild
girl I want to know if love is real”

Born To Run- Springsteen

Got to run in a moment but before I go I just have to know would you prefer to strut, sashay, ramble or just plain old walk?

P.S. Sometimes you need to just let loose and write. Try not to take this crap too seriously- thus spaketh Jack, Master Ninja of social media- a guru of all things social. Also known as the rude, base, vulgar and lazy dad blogger. 😉

Back in a bit.

P.P.S. This is part of the Yeah Write #60 challenge grid.