I’m fifty one years old and sitting in a small town with a small family. I have a beautiful wife and a special gift of a daughter. I am healthy. so is my family. I exercise daily. I drink daily. I read daily. I am constantly in need of excitement and constantly in need of touch. sound, smell, taste, and sight also play a big part of my life. I try to be the best husband I can be. I try to be the best Dad as well. I love life. I love friends. I love family even when they are annoying. I love misfits. I love chaos. I love music. I love LOVE. I can still get a hard on without pills and that brings a smile to my face. I am fifty one years old. still married. no divorces. many close calls but hung in for better or for worse. family.
I am still learning. I am still growing. the life skills that I have I try to pass down to my daughter. life skills based on fuck ups and living. loneliness and lost loves. life skills based on many fights but also based on many friends and many talks. life filled with so much love and so much pain at the same time. but life still beautiful. still wondrous. life continuing to move at an alarmingly fast rate and even though I try my best to slow it down the inevitable still stares at me in the mirror. age. old. older. closer to death. closer to loss. breathe and feel. more interested in feeling than thinking. yoga becoming more important. ego becoming less needed. less clutter. more love. more get together’s. more music. more conversation. less arguing. more vulnerability. more human. I love my daughter so much. but I also love my wife. I love my brother. I love my Mom. I love my friends. and even the people I seemingly hate, I actually love. I would prefer one big happy family instead of smaller fractured groups with fractured minds and sawed off penises. love. touch. hold. hug. cuddle. cuddles. memories constantly pounding my head. pounding my heart. pounding my soul. I love memories. even the painful ones.
I look back on my youth and forget which hospital I was born in. I forget my first house. my first words. my first cut. my first poo. I forget much of my early childhood. does anybody remember their early years? I remember living at The Heights Drive with my Mom and Dad but I don’t remember my brother being born. I remember him with horn rimmed glasses and a dirty face but I also remember his beautiful blond hair and tanned face. but where was he born? why do I remember some parts of my youth and not other’s? I remember my first school. my first teacher. my first hockey team. but I don’t remember my first friend. my first kiss. I remember my Mom and Dad going to lots of parties with lots of interesting people. I remember playing soccer. I remember playing indoor soccer and outdoor soccer. I remember my first erection. But I don’t remember jerking off for the first time. I then remember moving to Unionville. But I don’t remember my first day of school at John XXIII. I think it was Grade 3 but it may have been Grade 2. I remember playing hockey for The Jets and all of the travelling and all of the goals and all of the excitement. I remember playing tennis and baseball. I remember playing hockey card games at recess. I also remember playing road hockey. watching hockey games on tv. taking the bus to school. Screaming “Marge is an asshole” with all of my misfit friends. good misfits. not “fucked up” misfits. Rylee is growing much too fast. her childhood has ended and now she is a teen. memories. so much heartache. so many struggles. social media destroying real relationships. real life.
I remember so many good things from my childhood. so many great friends. great memories. great experiences. ups. downs. so many memories but also so many forgotten events. forgotten friends. forgotten experiences. life. love. family. loss.
my Dad died on February 17th, 1978 and that put a damper on my youth. my life. my family. my friends. such a devastating event that many people do not experience. cannot comprehend. but then I don’t experience other devastating events in people’s lives. so much beauty. so much love. so much life. SO MUCH LOSS.
my Dad left for work on Friday and as he drove by Dom and I in his ugly brown station wagon he rolled down the window and waved at us and had a huge smile on his face. we would never see him again. and such is life. in a split second life tears people apart. tears families apart. tears lovers apart. tears friends apart. I was 10. Dom was 7. My Dad was 36. brain hemorrhage. collapsed on the gym floor of Cassandra Public School. His good friend, Tommy Moulsdale, doing anything and everything to save him. the kids of his soccer team watching in fear. shock. rushed to North York General Hospital. but that is where his life ended. North York General Hospital. my Mom devastated. Tommy and his many friends devastated too. Dom and I also devastated but we didn’t find out until the next day. very vivid memories. painful. clear. such love. such family love. such love from friends. why does it take such a horrific event to bring us all together? we are all human. we are all one. we are all filled with love. why? why? why? why can’t we all just get along?
I’m tired.
the wine is kicking in.
I am now too relaxed to write.
memories.
loving memories.
painful and beautiful.
life.
big heart.
big soul.
my Dad is a tough act to live up to.
but I will make him proud.
human connection.
notanotherphony. 