God is a practical joker at heart

It isn't lost on me, this dark side of yours.
You take from me everything I love. My love, my living, my home, etc.
This action from you is focused. Dedicated.
Your aim has been true. You have hit your target.
I have fallen into depths which I could never fathom.
Well, I couldn't fathom prior.

But you slipped, God.

You fell short of your goal to destroy that which you have created here.
In chipping away from me, you have left the important parts whole.
You have gotten soft, God...I see this now.

In taking from me all that is important, you have held a card or two in that deck and JUST like the blackjack table that wants you to stay a while longer, you are pulling out those cards now.

You gave me a World Series. My father approved.

You gave me a NBA Finals. He would have liked that as well.

You gave me a comic book convention and showed me the way to make myself stand apart. My mother smiled on me that day.

But HERE, I have to draw the line.

1992.
Ray, Jay, Trey, Chris and I play Sega Genesis. Our favorite game is NHL Hockey. We have nights that we play this simple game for double digit hours. We all picked our favorite teams, we remained loyal throughout all the itterations of this game. Jay loved his Blackhawks. Ray loved his Devils. Trey stuck with the Dallas Stars. I was torn between two teams. But only these two teams. Regardless of their rankings, I stuck by these teams like they were family.

Boston Bruins (The team I have loved since seeing that a man can truly fly)
Vancouver Canucks (The team that showed me that the true path to greatness is the marraige of skill and heart.

Now, in your infinte jest, you have delivered upon me this quandry. When given everything you ask for, how do you decide what is important?
Do I root for the Canucks? They are so talented.
Do I root for the Bruins? Pop taught me the game watching them on ESPN at Uncle Joe's house.

The Bruins have defined me for a great portion of my life. Ray Bourque broke my heart just as he did the city of Bostons when he jumped ship and became a traitor. I often imagine I am the goalie that stopped that shot Bobby Orr gained infamy on.
But I still get goosebumps thinking of Pavel Bure streaking in on a defenseless goalie.

You are trying to buy my allegiance, God. I can see this with the wisdom you yourself have granted me. In other words I am not fooled. I see the conciliatory nature of your gift and I refuse to accept it. I choose here and now.

I stand behind the Bruins, God.

Do Your Worst.

Favorite All Time Mom Moment

We all have one. For some it's getting that perfect present for Christmas. For others it's having your first really bad boo boo taken care of.
For me, it's art related. I'm certain this comes as little shock to anyone.
I was going to Sunset High School and my art teacher had picked me as the best artist of my school to join similar artists at a DISD sponsored Artist Guild thingy. We met every wednesday at a park rec center and focused on ne aspect of art each time, broadening our scopes. It allowed us to meet like minded people and talk shop. I enjoyed the Hell out of it.

My Art Teacher (Mrs Woods) and I never saw eye to eye. Ever. To this DAY she is still the only art teacher to ever fail me. She saw me helping another student in class and hauled me to the hall for a 20 minute lecture on condecension. We just didn't like each other.

The finale of the Youth Artist's Guild was a gallery showing of our collected best work at City Hall with ALL of Dallas' dignitaries present. The Mayor, teh council, all the leading business people and various reporters and followers. It was a Who's Who of 1987 Dallas. I had submitted a fairly complex painting of a single cloud that garnered a lot of attention. I was not the best artist in this bunch by far. But my cloud painting took everyone off guard. They were expecting a bob when I gave them a weave. A LOT of folks gathered around my painting and were talking to me about it. The Mayor was asking me questions...one of Dallas' premier Black Artists, Arthello Beck was complimenting me on my use of some of the techniques that he taught me when it happened. Mrs Woods walked up to my mother, standing behind me beaming in the adoration of over 20 of Dallas' finest and said in her OUTSIDE Voice, "Mrs Wilbanks? Your Son Has A Potty Mouth!" This stunned everyone present except for mom. She looked at my teacher and laid into her with such...words fail me here. Leave it to say that afterwards, Mrs Woods need have no doubt where I got my Potty Mouth from, be it in this life or the next.

Never been prouder of my Mom.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.
--rog--

So Here's your pound of flesh...

How does it taste?
Does it erase t he memory of your loved ones burning?
Does it replace theimages in YOUR head of people jumping from the towers to their death?
All I see when I think of Osama Bin Ladin are flames and twisted metal. Burning bodies and smoking wreckage. Screaming bystanders and gape-jawwed outsiders. Which are you?
Did YOU die in the flames?
Did YOU jump to your death as I watched?
Did your family or friend roast alive as they waited for some unknown rescuer doomed to his OWN death?
I ask you this as a friend who has felt all of these...where does your satisfaction come from today?
Do you roll out in the streets today to celebrate?
Do you burn candles today in tHANKS?
Do you drink a toast?
How does this make you feel?
I ask you this plainly as I am able. How does us killing another man make you feel?
Do you feel like running the streets as they do in Iran?
As they do in Pakistan?
As they do in Saudi Arabia?
Does our pound of flesh make you feel whole?
This is a very simple question. Does OUR act of savagery make us as a nation better or does it simply make us whole and replace a piece that was missing?
Think of this as you tap the keg and call for a national day of celebration.
We just executed a man. How are we different from them?
It's a simple question.