In the words of my esteemed brother; Hello World; nice to meet you.
In the beginning God created the heavens and the firmament, and then my saintly parents, and then myself. Everything after that is a life experience. Everything before that is an adventure to be explored to it’s fullest within the constraints of what holds my interests.
I am not famous. I am not a scientist, nor a doctor, nor do I hold a PHD in anything, nor am I likely to. I live in the real world with real people of which I interact with nearly five-hundred every day at work. The key word here is ‘interact’. Walking down the street passing others on a busy street is not interacting. Studying small groups of people in a controlled environment has its benefits but does not yield the results of living in the real world with real people.
This blog is fifty years in the making. Not fifty exactly. I don’t remember the first few years of my life. Babies don’t remember much; of course there isn’t much to remember. Lying on your back and staring at a ceiling with a light bulb isn’t thrilling. Ask the guy in the hospital next time you’re there.
My parents, God rest their souls, raised five children, four boys and a girl. I am the last of the boys. My sister being the youngest received the benefits of being unique and a small degree of torture from the rest of us. As a group we are well educated and mostly comfortable within the self imposed constraints of our lives. We did not have much growing up, hand-me-down clothes, just enough food on the table and a roof over our heads. My parents loved us unconditionally. I understand it as a parent but I’m not always sure why; we all had our moments.
My parents were of ‘the greatest generation’ as they have been called. Our fathers saved the world and gave it back to the rest of us, more or less in one piece. It was our job to clean it up and do the best we could with it.
Their job was now was to hold our hands and show us how to do it properly. Many parents have done just that. My parents did just that. It’s not necessarily their fault if their children then go out and make bad choices. Don’t always blame the parents; blame the stupid people.
As I write to these pages it will be just as much a journey of discovery for myself as it will be for those that read them. After many years of writing novels (unpublished ones, mind you), I have begun to understand that you can learn a lot about yourself, much more than you thought you knew when you actually put it down on paper. I hope all who read my coming thoughts will enjoy, have pause to think, and hopefully enjoy a laugh or two along the way.
I would also like to thank 'North of 50' for a rousing start to this blog.
Hey! I can make comments now - thank you!
ReplyDeleteLet's hear it for our saintly parents who were willing to let each of us be who we are, and not just copies of each other. Truly we were blest to have parents who stood up to teachers (wait - nuns, even scarier than teachers!) to let each child be themselves.