That Beat-up Blue-Collar Dude

Good catching up with you today. I won't say I'm sorry for what you're going through and ask if there is anything I can do for you and tell you that everything is going to be all right, cuz I know most of that just yields a moment of discomfort as you struggle with a suitable response.

So I'll just say, well shit...

And I'll tell you that I'm standing beside ya...

And we'll let it go at that.

I did, however, get a kick out of the nurse saying, "No... it's going to be a big prick..." There are so many areas for literary interpretation there... I love it. If you'd like, we can go back to the hospital some day next week and off the bitch. Let me know...

So... great meeting today. Good stuff, good thoughts... good exposure to some of the less privileged... maybe guys that are working a lot harder at it all than I've had to do in the past... good for me to see that... maybe not take it all for granted... Interesting to hear people read out loud, many stumbling over words, many just too fucking wiped out to focus, some that really struggled, but tried anyway.

I kept watching that beat-up blue-collar dude who faced us. Looked like he'd been taken down to the ground... been pounded on for a long time... maybe kicked once or twice... and it looked like he'd fought back - the fingernail on his right index finger was dark red, turning black...
But there was hope... Big ol' loud J sitting next to him, pushing up against him, engaging him, shoving him around playfully, forcing him to realize he was there... I watched the beat-up guy go through cycles... in one moment he would sit with a frown, slowly pulling his finger along the underside of his swollen eyebrow, digging carefully in the corner of his eye.... maybe it was itching really badly as he heals... maybe he was just feeling the pain again, reliving the experience over and over again in his mind, remembering the terror, maybe the rage... or maybe he doesn't remember it all and just woke up some where in his own blood and piss and vomit. But big ol' J wouldn't let up... dunno if you noticed that either... the beat-up guy looked annoyed at one point, I saw him push J's leg away from his... like he was feeling claustrophobic in that tiny space, up against the wall and trapped against the coffee table... J kept pushing, giggling, holding his book up for the guy to read, asking him questions... engaging him, making it clear that he was there, that the beat-up guy was alive... dunno if J was doing this intentionally, or if he's always like that, but I did see the beat-up guy start to smile, sit up a litle straighter, focus a little less on his injuries and a little more on the discussion...

So... will this help me eat fewer Krispy Kreme donuts? Probably not. Will I start training for triatholons? Uh....

What will I do? I will hug my kids just a little bit longer when they get off the school bus. Maybe enough that they'll feel the need to wriggle away from me and look at me like I'm fucked in the head. I will find a couple more reasons to laugh my ass off about something... maybe share it with my wife and try to get her laughing too... I will continue to teach my dog new tricks. I will throw my wife down on the bed and take more time than usual... maybe spend some serious time kissing her, being open to explore that never ending cave of what she really wants. I will write. I will call my friends, and be there for them, and make dinners for my neighbors and fly up to my brother's if/when they need me.

And I won't try to tell my friend that he should do this or do that, or that I have any fucking idea what he's going through. Cuz I don't. The only thing I can do to help is just be there.

And I will be there... probably munching on a couple of Krispy Kremes exercising the TV remote... but I'll be there.