The trees went down
water rose
over the limits
the oldman flushed
Man's waste
back to him
The world shook in Japan
Mammoth wave took people with it
God tossed automobiles like match box cars
some lives willnever be found
as catastrophic as terrorism
we have no defense can only wait
just donations from the one's unaffected
still
lover's lay tangles
in bed sheets
a father's grace carries
his daughter to her home
children smile and step soflty off a school bus
we can experence different shades of unity
at a pastor's sermon
a punk show
and marching in line while singing cadence
even while feet step heavier
during these times of tragedy
God's grace still shines through the clouds
making us feel his embrace
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Stranded- Taken from my book When We Were Young
Stranded
Because I was working so much, but wanted to spend as much time with Gloria as I could before she left for college, we hung out at my apartment when I had any spare time. One time she spent the night, and she woke me up at 8:30 am.
She walked around the apartment like she usually did, with a smile on her face. I, on the other hand, was shocked to find out there was such a thing as morning in the late summertime. She woke me up early because she had a gift certificate she’d received after graduation and the closest store (where the gift certificate could be used) was an hour drive down the road. I decided to go with her. I had nothing better to do; I had to work a night shift.
I went to the bathroom and prepared myself for something called "morning."
She drove her car. I smoked a cigarette and noticed the huge bags of coal underneath my eyes in the right-side mirror. It made me look like a junkie, but the sun was shining, and the wind was keeping me awake.
There was no conversation while we went down the long, predictable road. It was a straight shot that made the drive seem longer then it really was. I nodded off to the soothing sound of tires on smooth pavement. My eyes were closed, and I knew it wouldn't take long for me to go back to dreaming again.
My awake sleep was interrupted when Gloria hit something. One side of Gloria's car felt like it was on a gravel road. I awoke when the first thud hit my head, followed by a sound of grinding wheel metal rolling on concrete. Suddenly there we were, unable to go above 15 mph in the fast lane of the interstate.
Disgruntled drivers honked as they passed us, while metal from the wrecked side of the car shook the black top below.
"So," said Gloria, casually. "What do you think I should do?"
"Well, if I was in your position, I would pull over to the right side of the road, if you want to avoid road rage," I answered with the same tone.
Gloria did so, and we got out to inspect the left side of the car. When she described the sound to me, Gloria thought a helicopter was landing when she first felt the shake.
The final judgment was that the tire looked like a band-aid that had lost its stickiness to the skin. The tire was mutilated. We stared at it and laughed.
"I knew that was going to happen," Gloria said.
"How did you know that was going to happen?" Wondering if I was I being initiated?
"It happened to me when I was going with my ex-boyfriend. He complained the whole time. When it happened before, we got a ride to the gas station from a hippy in a Volkswagen van. He told us he just got off probation, and while he was driving, he was smoking pot."
"I hope we get the same guy,” I said, laughing at the omen.
The realization set in that we couldn't stand there and laugh at our misfortune. We crossed the lanes in a light jog, and then crossed a few more lanes while cars zoomed in the opposite direction. This got us to an exit ramp, where we walked in search of a telephone to call a tow truck.
Turning left, we reached a narrow bridge with barely enough room to walk. One car passed us, while a police car came toward us. We thought this was a good thing, because the policeman might give us a ride to the nearest gas station. I waved to him, but he drove past us. The cop must have enjoyed his air-conditioned car so much he didn't want to offer us a ride. Way to serve and protect, PIG! We laughed as sweat poured down our foreheads.
In the summer, we had no real schedules, so we had to laugh at these types of situation; we walked the rest of the way to a gas station. When we arrived, we wiped more of the sweat from our foreheads. I was willing to walk another mile with her to add to the last remaining memories of the summer.
We passed people filling up their cars with gasoline, and we headed to the pay phones on the other side of the parking lot. I gave Gloria 35 cents for the call. Luckily I had my AAA card.
I thought she was cute the way the phone touched her ear, and she seemed confused about what to say and do. I sipped on the grapefruit juice that I had bought inside the convenience store, still laughing about the tire that had been destroyed.
She got off the phone and told me the tow truck would take 45 minutes. I didn't care; I had no place to go. I also was having the time of my life. If I’d been with anyone else, I would probably have been plotting their death.
I imagined Captain in this situation. He would have left the car and walked back home, because he enjoyed that kind of misery. He would also have enjoyed telling the story at House of Waffles.
We went inside the gas station to avoid the heat and sat at a booth, which was part of a restaurant adjoining the gas station.
"I don't mind if you kids sit there, but our air conditioner isn't working," said the clerk at the cash register. It seemed like everyone's air conditioner was broken, or they didn't have one that year, during one of the hottest summers on record.
Gloria and I didn't mind though, We started talking about movies that one of us hadn’t seen. I was surprised to find out she had never seen Rocky. I watched that movie religiously. In fact, in high school I was in a band named Apollo Creed. Ironically, we died too.
I told her that the movie wasn't just a bad-ass boxing movie; it also had a love story in it. This is what I usually told girls about the movie, hoping they would want to watch it with me. It never happened.
When the tow truck arrived, I was disappointed, because I wanted the classic-looking tow truck. This one was a flatbed tow truck. The driver was an older man with wrinkles and a hat that said Clinton's. Gloria asked him if he was from AAA.
"Yup," he said." Ya'll don't look stranded."
We were too busy taking it all in, so it didn’t look like we were suffering.
We got inside the truck, and Gloria gave the driver poor directions. But I couldn't have given them any better. I guess all the heat made us stupid. The driver figured out where the car was while she did most of the talking. I enjoyed the ride and the air conditioning.
Finally, we arrived at Gloria's car, which resembled a tripod. It didn't take any time for our new friend to hoist the car on the flat bed. As he did this, Gloria noticed an orange citation. The ticket pretty much said that she couldn't leave her car on the side of the road, and we had to move it. The cop who drove past us when we needed a ride to the gas station probably circled around and put the citation there.
We got back into the tow truck, and the driver slightly tipped his hat and informed us his name was Clinton. We were in a town called Rocky Mount. Clinton must have taken a liking to Gloria, and decided to give us a free tour through his town.
He pointed out different locations, including an old, abandoned warehouse where a guy had committed suicide after he got caught selling moonshine.
This was a smaller town than the one we wanted to escape. The thing I liked about it was that there were no franchises, none of the same stores were built together—all free standing, and there were no strip malls. Everything was right there in the small town, although I couldn't imagine living there. I didn’t see a House of Waffles anywhere.
On our way to Clinton's shop, he stopped at a heating and air conditioning business. The man who came out to greet us wore a shirt that was similar to Clinton's, only it was sky blue with a patch on one of the pockets. I couldn't read what it said.
Clinton asked, "How's it going?"
The man said the same. Then there was a long silence.
Clinton said, "Bye."
The man said the same, and then we were off again. I guess they could only speak in short greetings in the town of Rocky Mount.
Finally, we arrived at Clinton's shop. We got out of the tow-truck, and Clinton asked to see my AAA card. As he inspected it, all of his workers walked at their own pace to their next job in the scorching sun. And they all wore the same striped shirt that Clinton wore, with patches that showed their name.
A few of them said, "Hey, Clinton."
Clinton said, "Hey,” back.
He put Gloria's car in one of the three garages. Then he came back to me, gave me my AAA card, and told us it would be a little bit of a wait.
Gloria and I sat on the curb in front of Clinton's gas station/shop. We watched his customers fill up their cars with gas. The old gas pumps were underneath a shelter that looked like it could fall at any moment if the wind changed direction. From where we sat, it looked like the whole area had a spilled oil finish, and the hut where the customers paid looked like a shack made of brick aged by car exhaust.
Even though Clinton's business looked like a smoker's lung, it seemed to run smoothly. People left there happy, as we did when Gloria's new tire was put on.
We said, "Thank you."
Clinton smiled back. His teeth were the only thing that lit up on his face. The rest of his face was permanently stained with his knowledge of cars. When a man like Clinton smiled, you had to smile back.
Gloria decided she would spend her gift certificate some other day, but I would have kept on going. We went home, and she told me that most of the people coming in to get gas at Clinton's reminded her of the family of her dad's girlfriend. Her dad paid for his girlfriend to go through hair styling school, but still she just sat on her ass and smoked pot. Gloria told me how weird her family was and how normal she felt compared to them. I told her how normal my family was and how weird I felt compared to them.
We arrived in Roanoke as the clock in her car hit noon. Was it really just noon? It seemed so much later. She brought it to my attention. This was the usual time my day started.
"Now, see everything you can do when you don't sleep in? You would have missed riding in a tow-truck."
We went back to my apartment and took a swim in the pool. Afterwards she went home, and I went to work.
www.jasonjepson.com, amazon, barnes and noble
Because I was working so much, but wanted to spend as much time with Gloria as I could before she left for college, we hung out at my apartment when I had any spare time. One time she spent the night, and she woke me up at 8:30 am.
She walked around the apartment like she usually did, with a smile on her face. I, on the other hand, was shocked to find out there was such a thing as morning in the late summertime. She woke me up early because she had a gift certificate she’d received after graduation and the closest store (where the gift certificate could be used) was an hour drive down the road. I decided to go with her. I had nothing better to do; I had to work a night shift.
I went to the bathroom and prepared myself for something called "morning."
She drove her car. I smoked a cigarette and noticed the huge bags of coal underneath my eyes in the right-side mirror. It made me look like a junkie, but the sun was shining, and the wind was keeping me awake.
There was no conversation while we went down the long, predictable road. It was a straight shot that made the drive seem longer then it really was. I nodded off to the soothing sound of tires on smooth pavement. My eyes were closed, and I knew it wouldn't take long for me to go back to dreaming again.
My awake sleep was interrupted when Gloria hit something. One side of Gloria's car felt like it was on a gravel road. I awoke when the first thud hit my head, followed by a sound of grinding wheel metal rolling on concrete. Suddenly there we were, unable to go above 15 mph in the fast lane of the interstate.
Disgruntled drivers honked as they passed us, while metal from the wrecked side of the car shook the black top below.
"So," said Gloria, casually. "What do you think I should do?"
"Well, if I was in your position, I would pull over to the right side of the road, if you want to avoid road rage," I answered with the same tone.
Gloria did so, and we got out to inspect the left side of the car. When she described the sound to me, Gloria thought a helicopter was landing when she first felt the shake.
The final judgment was that the tire looked like a band-aid that had lost its stickiness to the skin. The tire was mutilated. We stared at it and laughed.
"I knew that was going to happen," Gloria said.
"How did you know that was going to happen?" Wondering if I was I being initiated?
"It happened to me when I was going with my ex-boyfriend. He complained the whole time. When it happened before, we got a ride to the gas station from a hippy in a Volkswagen van. He told us he just got off probation, and while he was driving, he was smoking pot."
"I hope we get the same guy,” I said, laughing at the omen.
The realization set in that we couldn't stand there and laugh at our misfortune. We crossed the lanes in a light jog, and then crossed a few more lanes while cars zoomed in the opposite direction. This got us to an exit ramp, where we walked in search of a telephone to call a tow truck.
Turning left, we reached a narrow bridge with barely enough room to walk. One car passed us, while a police car came toward us. We thought this was a good thing, because the policeman might give us a ride to the nearest gas station. I waved to him, but he drove past us. The cop must have enjoyed his air-conditioned car so much he didn't want to offer us a ride. Way to serve and protect, PIG! We laughed as sweat poured down our foreheads.
In the summer, we had no real schedules, so we had to laugh at these types of situation; we walked the rest of the way to a gas station. When we arrived, we wiped more of the sweat from our foreheads. I was willing to walk another mile with her to add to the last remaining memories of the summer.
We passed people filling up their cars with gasoline, and we headed to the pay phones on the other side of the parking lot. I gave Gloria 35 cents for the call. Luckily I had my AAA card.
I thought she was cute the way the phone touched her ear, and she seemed confused about what to say and do. I sipped on the grapefruit juice that I had bought inside the convenience store, still laughing about the tire that had been destroyed.
She got off the phone and told me the tow truck would take 45 minutes. I didn't care; I had no place to go. I also was having the time of my life. If I’d been with anyone else, I would probably have been plotting their death.
I imagined Captain in this situation. He would have left the car and walked back home, because he enjoyed that kind of misery. He would also have enjoyed telling the story at House of Waffles.
We went inside the gas station to avoid the heat and sat at a booth, which was part of a restaurant adjoining the gas station.
"I don't mind if you kids sit there, but our air conditioner isn't working," said the clerk at the cash register. It seemed like everyone's air conditioner was broken, or they didn't have one that year, during one of the hottest summers on record.
Gloria and I didn't mind though, We started talking about movies that one of us hadn’t seen. I was surprised to find out she had never seen Rocky. I watched that movie religiously. In fact, in high school I was in a band named Apollo Creed. Ironically, we died too.
I told her that the movie wasn't just a bad-ass boxing movie; it also had a love story in it. This is what I usually told girls about the movie, hoping they would want to watch it with me. It never happened.
When the tow truck arrived, I was disappointed, because I wanted the classic-looking tow truck. This one was a flatbed tow truck. The driver was an older man with wrinkles and a hat that said Clinton's. Gloria asked him if he was from AAA.
"Yup," he said." Ya'll don't look stranded."
We were too busy taking it all in, so it didn’t look like we were suffering.
We got inside the truck, and Gloria gave the driver poor directions. But I couldn't have given them any better. I guess all the heat made us stupid. The driver figured out where the car was while she did most of the talking. I enjoyed the ride and the air conditioning.
Finally, we arrived at Gloria's car, which resembled a tripod. It didn't take any time for our new friend to hoist the car on the flat bed. As he did this, Gloria noticed an orange citation. The ticket pretty much said that she couldn't leave her car on the side of the road, and we had to move it. The cop who drove past us when we needed a ride to the gas station probably circled around and put the citation there.
We got back into the tow truck, and the driver slightly tipped his hat and informed us his name was Clinton. We were in a town called Rocky Mount. Clinton must have taken a liking to Gloria, and decided to give us a free tour through his town.
He pointed out different locations, including an old, abandoned warehouse where a guy had committed suicide after he got caught selling moonshine.
This was a smaller town than the one we wanted to escape. The thing I liked about it was that there were no franchises, none of the same stores were built together—all free standing, and there were no strip malls. Everything was right there in the small town, although I couldn't imagine living there. I didn’t see a House of Waffles anywhere.
On our way to Clinton's shop, he stopped at a heating and air conditioning business. The man who came out to greet us wore a shirt that was similar to Clinton's, only it was sky blue with a patch on one of the pockets. I couldn't read what it said.
Clinton asked, "How's it going?"
The man said the same. Then there was a long silence.
Clinton said, "Bye."
The man said the same, and then we were off again. I guess they could only speak in short greetings in the town of Rocky Mount.
Finally, we arrived at Clinton's shop. We got out of the tow-truck, and Clinton asked to see my AAA card. As he inspected it, all of his workers walked at their own pace to their next job in the scorching sun. And they all wore the same striped shirt that Clinton wore, with patches that showed their name.
A few of them said, "Hey, Clinton."
Clinton said, "Hey,” back.
He put Gloria's car in one of the three garages. Then he came back to me, gave me my AAA card, and told us it would be a little bit of a wait.
Gloria and I sat on the curb in front of Clinton's gas station/shop. We watched his customers fill up their cars with gas. The old gas pumps were underneath a shelter that looked like it could fall at any moment if the wind changed direction. From where we sat, it looked like the whole area had a spilled oil finish, and the hut where the customers paid looked like a shack made of brick aged by car exhaust.
Even though Clinton's business looked like a smoker's lung, it seemed to run smoothly. People left there happy, as we did when Gloria's new tire was put on.
We said, "Thank you."
Clinton smiled back. His teeth were the only thing that lit up on his face. The rest of his face was permanently stained with his knowledge of cars. When a man like Clinton smiled, you had to smile back.
Gloria decided she would spend her gift certificate some other day, but I would have kept on going. We went home, and she told me that most of the people coming in to get gas at Clinton's reminded her of the family of her dad's girlfriend. Her dad paid for his girlfriend to go through hair styling school, but still she just sat on her ass and smoked pot. Gloria told me how weird her family was and how normal she felt compared to them. I told her how normal my family was and how weird I felt compared to them.
We arrived in Roanoke as the clock in her car hit noon. Was it really just noon? It seemed so much later. She brought it to my attention. This was the usual time my day started.
"Now, see everything you can do when you don't sleep in? You would have missed riding in a tow-truck."
We went back to my apartment and took a swim in the pool. Afterwards she went home, and I went to work.
www.jasonjepson.com, amazon, barnes and noble
Picasso Exibit a VMFA
Picasso used anything he could get his hands on to create art. Atleast that was how it seemed to me. He used what looked like to be paper towels, pastel which are simliar to crayons on canvas, cloth and wood to name a few.
In the cubism portion of the exibit, I thought one of the paintings looked as if my first grade nephew was trying to make a maze.
The painting entitled Guitar and bottle was 3d. You could see the curves of a guitar as well as rectangular shapes. You really had to stare at the art in Cubism to see what he was going for.
One of my favorites was the painting named weeping woman. You could see the emotion. Maybe this woman is kind of going into convulsions.
My favorite part of the exibit was one that was influence by his wife's Olga health. He had alot of anxiety during this period. Some people described it as troubling imagery. It was very colorful and uplifting to me for some reason.
Picasso had something with eyes. I didn't see two eyes that looked the same in the whole exibit. I don't know what to make of this. Such as the painting named Celestina. Old Celest had one crazy eye. Woman with joined hands had two different eyes. In Bust of a Man one eye wasn't even there.
There was a quote by Picasso on a wall. It read, "Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth." I am sure that people have debated what this quote means. I think it means our hands are the filter for the art which comes out of whatever you want it to be. DIfferent eyes including your own will what is really going on by the lie that was influence by reality.
In the cubism portion of the exibit, I thought one of the paintings looked as if my first grade nephew was trying to make a maze.
The painting entitled Guitar and bottle was 3d. You could see the curves of a guitar as well as rectangular shapes. You really had to stare at the art in Cubism to see what he was going for.
One of my favorites was the painting named weeping woman. You could see the emotion. Maybe this woman is kind of going into convulsions.
My favorite part of the exibit was one that was influence by his wife's Olga health. He had alot of anxiety during this period. Some people described it as troubling imagery. It was very colorful and uplifting to me for some reason.
Picasso had something with eyes. I didn't see two eyes that looked the same in the whole exibit. I don't know what to make of this. Such as the painting named Celestina. Old Celest had one crazy eye. Woman with joined hands had two different eyes. In Bust of a Man one eye wasn't even there.
There was a quote by Picasso on a wall. It read, "Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth." I am sure that people have debated what this quote means. I think it means our hands are the filter for the art which comes out of whatever you want it to be. DIfferent eyes including your own will what is really going on by the lie that was influence by reality.
A Good Man
A Good Man
The secret lives of men
Voices creeping up your flesh
Until you respond
No knows but you
Except the walls
And the close door
Invaded by your thoughts
Carry on routine
And try to forget
But to no avail
It could be anything
Another woman
A needle
Hardcore skin to skin revelations on your computer skin
Wine that flows like blood in the warzone
And yet we are seen as a Good man
The secret lives of men
Voices creeping up your flesh
Until you respond
No knows but you
Except the walls
And the close door
Invaded by your thoughts
Carry on routine
And try to forget
But to no avail
It could be anything
Another woman
A needle
Hardcore skin to skin revelations on your computer skin
Wine that flows like blood in the warzone
And yet we are seen as a Good man
Thursday, May 12, 2011
overcasted day
it's like a school yard friend
standing behind you
with her hands over
your eyes
asking
"Guess Who?"
we can still play today
before the rain
the jungle gym is calling our names
and we're to young
to worry about adulthood's grasp
right now it feels like we're be this age forever
little arms, little legs
in little shoes
with a dirt stain
shoe laces untied
might trip
and yet we don't cry
our stammering feet just keep
on going
standing behind you
with her hands over
your eyes
asking
"Guess Who?"
we can still play today
before the rain
the jungle gym is calling our names
and we're to young
to worry about adulthood's grasp
right now it feels like we're be this age forever
little arms, little legs
in little shoes
with a dirt stain
shoe laces untied
might trip
and yet we don't cry
our stammering feet just keep
on going
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Be an above Average Whiteboy
I was in my sophomore year of high school and on my way to screen printing class when a black student put his fist up to the sun and shouted, “It’s your world Whitey!”
I instantly thought, “My world? I don’t want it! You take it!”
The student was also in my screen printing class, and later in the year, we actually became friends, such good friends that one day he asked me what my nationality was. I thought he was asking about my speech impediment-it did give a slight accent.
He told me that he knew about my speech impediment, and he didn’t care about that. He added that he never got along this well with a white person. I could relate to his statement because I had never gotten along this well with a black person.
We did get along. He and I had some of the best discussions in that class. We talked about the internet, and he was surprised to find out that I was not hooked up to the internet. I guess he thought all white people had computers hooked up to the internet. We also talked about Al Pacino and Robert De Niro movies which I especially enjoyed since I seldom talked about those movies with my other friends. We even planned our own robberies. He made my screen printing class much more interesting.
He made the teacher call him Charles but I called him Chuck.
There was another black student in the class. We shared the same name. One day I asked Chuck where I could buy some weed. Chuck pointed to the black student. I had never bought drugs before.
I went up to the student nervous. I even had my twenty in my hand. He saw the twenty, I asked.
He told me he didn’t have anything on him. I gave him the twenty and asked if he could get some. He nodded.
The next time I saw the student in the halls. I went up to him asked if he had anything on him. He was with his friends and he just walked away.
I tried talking to him some more times after that, but I never got anything.
In screen printing the teacher let go around campus with a camera. We would take pictures then develop them in the dark room in the back. The only thing was that we had to go in pairs.
I was discussing things with Chuck. I told him how I gave the student my money but he never gave me anything in return.
Chuck scratched his chin.
“See what you need to be now is an above average white boy you should get your money back.”
“You mean I have to fight him?” I asked.
“I’m not saying anything.”
I asked the student if he wanted to go take some pictures.
He nodded.
Then I asked the teacher. She said yes.
We grabbed two cameras and then we left.
I didn’t take very many pictures. I was trying to sike myself up to jump him. We walked all over the campus.
My high school at the time was made up of about four different buildings. When we got to last one, I started walking slower so there would be some distance between us. He was several steps in front of me, when I decided to run and tackle him.
I quickened my steps then start to go into a sprint. When I got to him, I stopped. I couldn’t fight anybody. He looked a little scared, and then he started laughing.
Finally we went back to screen printing. Chuck shook his head, and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the class. I was no above average whiteboy.
Chuck later graduated from high school, and I never saw him again.
I was in my sophomore year of high school and on my way to screen printing class when a black student put his fist up to the sun and shouted, “It’s your world Whitey!”
I instantly thought, “My world? I don’t want it! You take it!”
The student was also in my screen printing class, and later in the year, we actually became friends, such good friends that one day he asked me what my nationality was. I thought he was asking about my speech impediment-it did give a slight accent.
He told me that he knew about my speech impediment, and he didn’t care about that. He added that he never got along this well with a white person. I could relate to his statement because I had never gotten along this well with a black person.
We did get along. He and I had some of the best discussions in that class. We talked about the internet, and he was surprised to find out that I was not hooked up to the internet. I guess he thought all white people had computers hooked up to the internet. We also talked about Al Pacino and Robert De Niro movies which I especially enjoyed since I seldom talked about those movies with my other friends. We even planned our own robberies. He made my screen printing class much more interesting.
He made the teacher call him Charles but I called him Chuck.
There was another black student in the class. We shared the same name. One day I asked Chuck where I could buy some weed. Chuck pointed to the black student. I had never bought drugs before.
I went up to the student nervous. I even had my twenty in my hand. He saw the twenty, I asked.
He told me he didn’t have anything on him. I gave him the twenty and asked if he could get some. He nodded.
The next time I saw the student in the halls. I went up to him asked if he had anything on him. He was with his friends and he just walked away.
I tried talking to him some more times after that, but I never got anything.
In screen printing the teacher let go around campus with a camera. We would take pictures then develop them in the dark room in the back. The only thing was that we had to go in pairs.
I was discussing things with Chuck. I told him how I gave the student my money but he never gave me anything in return.
Chuck scratched his chin.
“See what you need to be now is an above average white boy you should get your money back.”
“You mean I have to fight him?” I asked.
“I’m not saying anything.”
I asked the student if he wanted to go take some pictures.
He nodded.
Then I asked the teacher. She said yes.
We grabbed two cameras and then we left.
I didn’t take very many pictures. I was trying to sike myself up to jump him. We walked all over the campus.
My high school at the time was made up of about four different buildings. When we got to last one, I started walking slower so there would be some distance between us. He was several steps in front of me, when I decided to run and tackle him.
I quickened my steps then start to go into a sprint. When I got to him, I stopped. I couldn’t fight anybody. He looked a little scared, and then he started laughing.
Finally we went back to screen printing. Chuck shook his head, and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the class. I was no above average whiteboy.
Chuck later graduated from high school, and I never saw him again.
The Bird Watching Trip
The Bird Watching Trip
“Jacob, you wrap it carefully…like so.”
My grandpa knew everything there was to know about birds. He taught me about how to mend a wing and about their environments. We took walks in the woods, and he pointed out birds: robins, wrens, and blue birds, if we were lucky. Whenever the nearby farmers came upon an injured bird, they brought it directly to my grandfather. They knew that he would be able to set that bird to flight again. I can remember many times when he said to me that he wished that he could fly like the birds. We both knew that dream would not come true.
One day Grandfather was too ill to go on our daily bird watching trip, so I walked on back into town. Everyone was talking about the big show that was coming to town in a few weeks. When I was going into the drugstore, a poster caught my eye. In big letters, it said, “Fly like the birds in a hot air balloon! For only $1.00. That sign gave me an idea.
I went back to my Grandfather’s house to check on him. His skin had a grayish tone to it. I asked him how he was feeling.
“Fine,” he whispered.
He had energy to speak. Since it was lunchtime, I went to the kitchen and fixed him some soup for lunch.
As I left for home I knew that Grandfather would not be with me much longer. I had to give him something to thank him for all that he had taught me. I needed money-fast, but how?
The next morning I asked Mr. Greene, my next door neighbor if I could earn some money working for him.
“I need to raise money fast, Mr. Greene, so I’ll only need to work for about a week.”
“Why do you need money?” Mr. Greene asked.
“I’m getting a gift for my grandfather,” I answered.
“The bird watcher, replied Mr. Greene. “Well, a boy your size can’t do much for a man like me, but I’m sure I can find something for you. Come to see me at 8: oo tomorrow.”
Next I went to the General Store and asked for a job. I knew Mr. Brown, and he gave me a job on the spot for fifty cents an hour. I worked for two hours, and I got a dollar. I put the money in an old pickle jar.
My father told me that Grandfather probably wouldn’t last until the end of the month. He said that Grandfather’s days were numbered.
That whole week I worked very hard. Mr. Greene gave me twenty five cents for every hour I worked, and I got more money from Mr. Brown. Finally I had enough money in my pickle jar. My hard work had paid off.
The next day I got grandfather’s wheelchair, and my dad gave us a ride into town where we found the hot air balloons. I bought Grandfather some cotton candy for our balloon trip.
“Jacob, where are we going?” He asked.
“We are going bird watching.” I said.
Grandfather shook his head.
“Jacob, you know I can’t walk a step. The doctor gave me this wheelchair so I could get around.”
“Who says we’re walking?” I said as I pointed to the huge balloon.
His mouth opened and his eyes widened.
“It’s beautiful, but Jacob, I didn’t bring any money.”
“Don’t worry. I have it all taken care of.”
“I’ll be waiting on the ground for you kids,” my dad said with a smile.
I gave my pickle jar to the man controlling the balloon. It jingled as he unscrewed the lid and grinned at my grandfather and me. We had some trouble getting my grandfather into the balloon, but that couldn’t stop us.
When we were finally in our position inside, the balloon roared as it ascended. As we got higher, Grandfather’s smile got bigger and bigger. He began pointing out the birds all over the place… some I didn’t even see. Grandfather seemed like himself again in that balloon.
When we got back on the ground, I saw a tear run down his face, but he was happy. He had been able to go bird watching for one last time, and this time, he had been right up there with the birds on display.
“Jacob, you wrap it carefully…like so.”
My grandpa knew everything there was to know about birds. He taught me about how to mend a wing and about their environments. We took walks in the woods, and he pointed out birds: robins, wrens, and blue birds, if we were lucky. Whenever the nearby farmers came upon an injured bird, they brought it directly to my grandfather. They knew that he would be able to set that bird to flight again. I can remember many times when he said to me that he wished that he could fly like the birds. We both knew that dream would not come true.
One day Grandfather was too ill to go on our daily bird watching trip, so I walked on back into town. Everyone was talking about the big show that was coming to town in a few weeks. When I was going into the drugstore, a poster caught my eye. In big letters, it said, “Fly like the birds in a hot air balloon! For only $1.00. That sign gave me an idea.
I went back to my Grandfather’s house to check on him. His skin had a grayish tone to it. I asked him how he was feeling.
“Fine,” he whispered.
He had energy to speak. Since it was lunchtime, I went to the kitchen and fixed him some soup for lunch.
As I left for home I knew that Grandfather would not be with me much longer. I had to give him something to thank him for all that he had taught me. I needed money-fast, but how?
The next morning I asked Mr. Greene, my next door neighbor if I could earn some money working for him.
“I need to raise money fast, Mr. Greene, so I’ll only need to work for about a week.”
“Why do you need money?” Mr. Greene asked.
“I’m getting a gift for my grandfather,” I answered.
“The bird watcher, replied Mr. Greene. “Well, a boy your size can’t do much for a man like me, but I’m sure I can find something for you. Come to see me at 8: oo tomorrow.”
Next I went to the General Store and asked for a job. I knew Mr. Brown, and he gave me a job on the spot for fifty cents an hour. I worked for two hours, and I got a dollar. I put the money in an old pickle jar.
My father told me that Grandfather probably wouldn’t last until the end of the month. He said that Grandfather’s days were numbered.
That whole week I worked very hard. Mr. Greene gave me twenty five cents for every hour I worked, and I got more money from Mr. Brown. Finally I had enough money in my pickle jar. My hard work had paid off.
The next day I got grandfather’s wheelchair, and my dad gave us a ride into town where we found the hot air balloons. I bought Grandfather some cotton candy for our balloon trip.
“Jacob, where are we going?” He asked.
“We are going bird watching.” I said.
Grandfather shook his head.
“Jacob, you know I can’t walk a step. The doctor gave me this wheelchair so I could get around.”
“Who says we’re walking?” I said as I pointed to the huge balloon.
His mouth opened and his eyes widened.
“It’s beautiful, but Jacob, I didn’t bring any money.”
“Don’t worry. I have it all taken care of.”
“I’ll be waiting on the ground for you kids,” my dad said with a smile.
I gave my pickle jar to the man controlling the balloon. It jingled as he unscrewed the lid and grinned at my grandfather and me. We had some trouble getting my grandfather into the balloon, but that couldn’t stop us.
When we were finally in our position inside, the balloon roared as it ascended. As we got higher, Grandfather’s smile got bigger and bigger. He began pointing out the birds all over the place… some I didn’t even see. Grandfather seemed like himself again in that balloon.
When we got back on the ground, I saw a tear run down his face, but he was happy. He had been able to go bird watching for one last time, and this time, he had been right up there with the birds on display.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)