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Little Big Man

September 25th, 2009 § 42 comments § permalink

“He big man! Let me talk to you for a minute…”

I kept walking.

For two reasons: 1) I knew it must be a panhandler;1 and 2) I didn’t realize he was talking to me.

I just don’t think of myself as a “big man.”

Granted, most folks would say I’m tall.  According to surveys, at 6′-3″, I am taller than 97% of other men. I realize I am generally the tallest man in any given room2 but that figure really surprises me.

Still I’m guessing the percentage of  people who would refer to me as “big” is pretty small.

Because I don’t have a lot of body mass.  To me, that’s what makes a man big.

I have big hands, nose, feet, ears, etc., sure; but everything that connects them is pretty slim. I’ve always been slim, sometimes downright skinny.   I was around 150-160 lbs at 6′-3″ in my teens and early 20′s. Those are the years you really become who you are, so maybe that’s the way I will always see myself.

Even though I’m right around 200 lbs3 these days, that’s not all that much when stretched out to 75 inches.

Yet, to at least one homeless guy, I’m big.

The reason I write about all this is because it has me thinking about perception and how it effects almost everything in life.  There is very little black and white to our existence.  It’s all what kind of light you see it in.

It’s a struggle the Attorney and I are having right now.

Lately my time with him has been very limited because of having to ramp up my care for Granny.  I actually have not laid eyes on him since Labor Day weekend.4

To him, he’s not getting what he needs.  To me, Granny is getting what she needs.

A big deal?  Or a small sacrifice?

Depends on which one of us you ask.

Don’t get me wrong.  I understand where the Attorney is coming from, but I also know what I have to do.

I once heard a drag queen say lighting is everything.

As long as I remember that, I won’t lose perspective on his perspective.

I may not be big, but I hate feeling small.

{ fin }

  1. Don’t just beg for money. At least try to earn it in some way.  Play an instrument. Clean a windshield.  Something. []
  2. unless the Attorney, who is 6′-5″, is there. []
  3. the most mass I have ever had in my life []
  4. Very briefly at that. []

Letters Big and Small

September 10th, 2009 § 12 comments § permalink

There is love.  And there is Love.

The little “l” kind and the big “L” kind.

We’re all born with the little “l” love.  It’s the basic love we have for fellow man and all creatures.

If we’re lucky1 it eventually leads to big “L” love.  The Love we have for that certain someone.

So, we come into this world as babes, brains empty of knowledge, and hearts filled with love.

Yet there is something about humans that we can’t seem to love enough to allow us to Love each other.

It’s because we learn.

They say that the main thing that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom is our ability to reason.

Our instincts don’t tell us not to love.  We learn not to.

We learn to Hate.2

This whole marriage equality thing has had me thinking about the origins of Hate.

When does Hate begin within us?

Immediately.  We started learning and picking up clues the moment we were born.

We all have Hate.  Hatred for something.

All. Of. Us.

We may have it under control.  It may even be so dormant that we frighten ourselves when it comes out.  But it’s there.  Because one day we saw it in someone else and learned it.

So, we’re born with the ability to reason, but not necessarily the ability to be reasonable.  Who is the chicken and what is the egg?

Whatever our particular Hate, it’s likely as unreasonable as the Hate that’s trying to keep us from big “L” Love.

That doesn’t make their Hate acceptable.3  I’m not giving anybody a free pass.  But, if we can learn to understand4 it, we might learn how to combat it.

Unfortunately, knowledge is not always truth.5 Not big “T” Truth.

Love…big “L” Love…that’s  Truth.

Something undeniable.

Maybe folks can at least learn that.

All us creatures, big and small.

{ fin }

  1. or blessed []
  2. And that always comes with a big “H.” []
  3. nor our own for that matter. []
  4. with a big “U” []
  5. Think of a living, breathing WikiPedia. []

Priorities

September 4th, 2009 § 26 comments § permalink

You could see the under cup of her butt cheeks peaking beneath the edge of her dress-sized t-shirt.  Which would be kind of hot in Daisy-Dukes.  And if it was a dude.  With big thick muscular thighs.

But it wasn’t.  It was a woman.

At first I thought she had a thong or g-string situation going on.  But when she bent over to pick  up a coin some other guy dropped, I got the truth.  It was the briefest of flashes, but it illuminated everything.  She wasn’t wearing panties.

Thankfully the quick dive for change didn’t make her queef.1

What possesses a woman to come into a convenience store at midnight without underpants, I wondered.

It could have been some sort of female exhibitionism.  But women aren’t as apt to show off their Lucille’s as a men are their Johnsons.  When women want to be on display, it’s generally about the tits.

Besides, I took her as a girl completely without guile.

Without guile and with a brand new pair of gleaming white sneakers.

If anything, it was the new kicks she was showing off.

My guess is that she probably had just finished pleasuring her man, rolled off him and wanted to scoot down to the corner for a pack of smokes.  She was so focused on her new shoes, she didn’t even think to slip back into her Hanes for Women.

It’s all about priorities.  And that night panties simply weren’t hers.

Unfortunately for the last few weeks this blog hasn’t been mine.

I haven’t had any new sneakers to take my attention, but life has been pitching me some curve balls and fast balls recently.  I had to attend to them or get beaned in the head. 2

Granny had a major health issue.  I had a minor illness.  And the Attorney and me are sitting on a rough patch right now.

But, the beauty of priorities is that they can always change.  Sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad.  And, like a pair panties, probably should be changed from time to time.

How else do you clean them up?

So, here I am, pulling my panties up, and ready to start high-kicking again.

Maybe in new sneakers, too.

{ fin }

  1. Basically a pussy fart. []
  2. Baseball reference, for those who don’t know. Beaned=getting hit with the ball. []

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