My father taught me it’s acceptable when outside to pee in any corner I find convenient, the only caveat, make sure no one is watching. Barely twelve when I received this liberating lesson, I often forgot the part about who might be watching, and one day the neighborhood crone and her sister caught me in the act. The two sisters summarily dragged me by the ear to stand  zipper open in front of my father. Dad stood looking at me with a barely disguised smile on his face and apologized, saying “I can’t imagine where he learned to do that.” Satisfied at my humiliation the crone released her grip on my aching ear and turned, walking away arm and arm with her sister.

In the morning Dad would drag out a humongous blue kettle usually reserved to cook lobsters in, he’d cover the bottom with oil and cook what seemed to us kids like mountains of popcorn. The popcorn would fill 5 or 6 brown paper shopping bags that he would line up on the dinning room table with a big satisfied smile.

Dad would spend his New Years Eve with his buddies at the Legion Hall getting smashed but he always cooked the popcorn, it was his contribution to parenting and the kids New Years Eve party.

Shortly after dinner our door bell would ring and the neighborhood kids would stream in carrying toys and sleeping bags. Everyone loved getting to sleep over and stay up to ring in the New Year with horns and hats, but the biggest thing was making popcorn balls with sticky sweet caramel or maple syrup.

Our party had both boys and girls sleeping over with the eagle eyed older sisters in the role of chaperone’s. Everyone knew the older girls had control and we stayed in line for fear of red pepper or worse being dumped in our mouths. I had to be extra good because I was the host but mostly because my sister was just waiting for me to step out of line so she could make her little brother the nights example.

Once the popcorn balls were made we would play games and listen to scary stories from my sister and her friends. Soda, lemonade, cookies, brownies and chips were brought out around 10:30 and we dove in knowing on this night we could eat all we wanted, some kids said it was better then Halloween. Just picture it 25 eleven and twelve year old kids eating all they wanted and you can bet the teenage chaperones joined right in.

Midnight came with sustained hoots and shoots shaking the house to the foundation, we ran and jumped over furniture played tag and wrestled and yes a couple of lucky kids got their first kiss before the teenage  harpies came swooping in with their red pepper shakers making sure it was only one kiss.

Happy New Years Everyone.

Abandoned child

Starring out the window silence broken therapist asks what memories I have from growing up

Swiveling  in my chair praying silently the burning in my throat the tears manifesting behind my bulging eyes will join memories long forgotten from years of denial fading deeply into unconsciousness.

Memories flood of baby sitters parading in to care but always leaving while ignoring my cries to stay, walking out in a trail of slimy platitudes telling me it would be ok and it never was.

Memories wash over me of staying after school, staying after church  janitors and nuns who could not be bothered with knowing my name shuffling me from room to room.

Detention was a blessing a refuge sitting with kids like me, forgotten kids, scared kids, abused kids, unwanted kids all acting out for attention that momentarily stopped the feelings, that for the briefest time made things alright.

I leaned against the car in the therapist parking lot shaking from memories I didn’t want to feel, tears streaming down my face all from an empty place inside. From the car she got out and guided me into the passengers seat kissing my face while strapping me into the seat like a child.

Once home I laid on the couch with my head on her lap rhythmically convulsing in tears. Lighting a cigarette handing it to me as she’d brush back my hair with her fingers, I’d take a long drag momentarily coming into a pissy reality then fade back into hugging myself.

Over and over she repeated “you didn’t deserve to be abandoned” urging me on till I repeated it out loud while rocking in her arms. “I didn’t deserve to be abandoned… I didn’t deserve to be forgotten, I didn’t deserve to be left alone”.

She undressed me and put me to bed, clean fresh sheets, then she undressed crawling into bed to hold my still convulsing body, she lifted her breast offering it to me my mouth opened to receive it and all the comfort that came with it.

This was the first time she had allowed me to break down, to decompose, to not be the alpha dog, it would be the last time as well. 30 days later she would leave while I was at work. I’d never see her again but I never felt abandoned.

Sitting in a corner bar wishing things had been different with you

On my knee Randy the lush parodies  Marilyn Monroe, asking if I’ll buy her another drink

Not wanting to feel those pesky lonely feelings I snap my fingers, for another round

A Credence cover band blasts out a respectable Susie-Q I like the way you walk, I like the way you talk, oh baby, I love you Susie-Q

I catch myself falling into Randy’s amply exposed bosom she just strokes my hair and says Oh honey, you paid for em

Rod Stewart steals the microphone grinds out “I recall the night we shared a dream”  and the crowd goes wild. Rod shakes his arthritic hips wondering if this 79th  attempted comeback will crack it open

Through the nicotine windows I watch all the people rush by  Lou Reed press his face against the glass and sings “I see the Light” then merges with the suits

On cue Randy takes my hand saying Honey I’ll show you the light

Here we go again upstairs to chase away the pain of being all alone

I wonder – what’s going on

Toasted BLT

Getting sick had benefits I hold onto even decades after childhood.

Too sick for school meant staying in bed reading comics interspersed with blissful naps.

After working all night mom squeezed fresh orange juice then sat for a few moments holding my hand.

Lunch time meant toasted BLTs on rye served with lots of ginger ale.

Sometimes a back door thermometer heralded a hearty visit from the neighborhood doctor,  he always prescribed no TV no radio, just rest and reading.

Now when ill I stay home making toasted BLTs on rye with sides of ginger ale and long blissful naps.

Bigots and Beer

Grandfather and Lenny Bruce arm and arm on the sidewalk smoked a joint.

Like clock work local members of the KKK marched, shouting their venom at Catholic’s and Jew’s alike.

Grandfather stepped to spit when Lenny grabbed his arm pulling him into the local Irish dive for a pint.

Steps behind, my Grandmother did the spiting, then walked to church.

Dad, his blond hair full of ringlets protected from the scene by his seven sisters, was ushered past the bar and bigots.

The irony, despite protection my dad would drink too much, learning to covet his own bigotry and hate.

Today’s Daily Dose 100 word story is entitled Sunday Dinner, Enjoy!

Sunday Dinner

On Sunday the dinning table overflowed with food of all kinds.

Who was at the table was not as important as why they were at the table.

In our house Sunday meant a celebration a sharing of plenty.

Mom lived in An orphanage until 12, then she worked in homes while attending school.

One family told her to quit school at 13, she left finding another home on her own.

Mom finished college at a time most women never finished high school.

Sunday’s we celebrated her hard won respect with love and bounty.

I added an intro to the daily 100 word story, if you have any thoughts on it let me know. Today’s story is entitled Ma Was Proud, Enjoy.

Ma Was Proud

Running full speed into the dark alley Rif heard his mother mockingly saying how proud she was of him. Trying to shake off the thoughts and guilt he ran faster.

Reaching the car, jumping in he aimed the car onto the wet street and floored the gas. Desperately crying “man I keep hearing ma in my head?” and answering himself “What ya talking about Rif man, ma’s dead 30 years.”

Anxiety overtaking him Rif jerks the wheel, the old Dodge careens through the bridge railings taking off like a crumpled paper airplane. Sailing into the gorge.

Ma sure was proud.

I can remember as a kid playing outside how my friends and we used to repeat the tag lines from TV commercials over and over as we played together. They were new and unique and we found great fun in repeating them.

Today’s 100 word story is entitled Good Till The Last Drop, enjoy it!

On Saturday’s Dad cooked, what he cooked never surprised us, fried baloney, B&M baked beans, mustard, ketchup and vinegar on the side, no game to watch meant brown bread heating in the oven.

Cooking let dad feel like he was connecting with us, contributing to the family.

Curling up a piece of white bread Dad would push the beans onto his fork, smile at me and bite into the sauced covered bread.

One Saturday Dad poured me my first cup of coffee, cream no sugar like he drank it. Raising our cups we both said “Good Till The Last Drop.”

We all have points in our life where we shift to a totally different direction. Sometimes we pursue a dream and reality becomes so different or so difficult that the dream ends.

I’ve always wondered what happens when a dream ends and how can we benefit from looking at it, from spending time revisiting that dream and its ending. It is after all what helps to define us, right now.

Today’s 100 word story is entitled, Left Home. Enjoy!

Just turned 18 cruising along main gawking at all the people. Dreaming of living and a job, in the big city.

It was dry and tedious as I trekked business to business but by the forth day I just popped my head in and asked “hiring”. Sensing hesitation or hearing no kept me moving to the next establishment. I was in rhythm, I had created the job hunting shuffle.

The fifth day I was cooking in an Italian joint, the sixth day got my draft notice.

I wonder, do we remember a dream ending or do we just start another?

Even as children I think we are aware of the mystery of time. Some moments in our lives stand out and we always remember them. Today’s 100 word story thinks about the passing of time and entitled Tick Tock, Enjoy!

Tick Tock

Whenever I visited my old Uncle Barney I’d rush up to his chair, ask to see his pocket watch holding out my small trembling hands.

Uncle Barney would always say “ I trust you” placing the watch in my hands. I felt so big so grownup, popping the cover and starring at time starring back at me.

On one of my visits my Aunt stopped me from running over to him. Uncle Barney was silhouetted against the window starring at his watch.

The next day dad told me Uncle Barney had died, he left me the watch and the trust.

Yep here is my almost daily 100 word story. Earlier today I was wondering about how we often don’t see the present but are caught up in the future or past. Today’s story is a little thought about fathers and sons. It’s called Zen Dad, Enjoy!

Just as the car reached the hilltop my dad would hit the gas and we would become airborne. Startled, I’d look up to see dad staring back at me in the rear view mirror his laughter filling the car, his eyes full of mischievousness.

Whenever he saw me drifting out of the now he would pull a rabbit out of his hat to shock me back to the moment.

It was too late when I saw his clumsy attempts to really be those of a struggling father, a struggling zen master, laughing with me all the way to the present.