My buddy Shane and I often reminisce about the food we ate growing up, or even as young adults. Growing up on the upper side of broke and the down side of working class, we learned early on food was something not to take for granted. I look back sometimes on a moment when I was trying to survive on ninety-four dollars a week. This would have been a challenge in itself but throw in a two-year-old child and a wife going to college, and you can easily see how broke we were. One morning, I went to make a sandwich for lunch. Grabbing a package of ham, I quickly realized it was out dated. Its slimy exterior gave a gel like quality to the touch. And the smell was less than pleasant. I was faced with the dilemma of going to work and not eating for the next nine hours or going back to the school of Hard Knocks I grew up in. So, I took the last few pieces of outdated meat over to the sink and washed them with dishwashing soap until it smelled no more. Tasteless as it was, the sandwich was a meal that day and that was just the way it was.
Although growing up with very little at times, I thought of myself as lucky. We always had something growing in the garden, and there was small game that could be hunted to add a little meat to my belly. But the staple meal was beans, rice, and potatoes. Poor folks live on starch which we all know turns to sugar; feeding the bran dopamine; making something as simple as food addictive. I read somewhere years ago this is why alcohol is such a problem with the poor; it has much the same affect going into the bloodstream quickly, making the brain feel good. The same feelings of comfort we had as kids growing up.
Anyways, Fried Bread, Cat Head Biscuits, Potted meat, and Recycled tea bags are all stuff we laugh about now but have been a reality at different times in our lives. One thing Shane and I have in common is our love for music. Creativity runs high in poor communities. It’s away of escaping the world you find yourself in. A relief from the day in and day out. When I played in bands in and out of the Gainesville Music Scene, I was always able to spot the musicians that were self taught. The creativity seemed to be dripping off them. They were very honest with their emotions and it transcended into their art.
My love for music started early on. I shared a room with my sister Teresa, who was like a mother to me, well, to all of us. She worked tirelessly to make sure we were taken care of. She loved music like we all did in the Hodges household. But some music was forbidden by my mother AKA The Penguin. If it wasn’t being sang in church or by Pat Boone, it was not being played in her house.
So, each day we patiently waited for The Penguin to make her way to the mailbox. Once she was out the door and on her way, the fun began. One brother or sister would always keep their eye on the front gate for her return. My sister Teresa would grab her record single of The Ohio Players Fire, from its hiding spot. Suddenly, the needle was on the record and it was time to get down, as we said in The Seventies. Chairs were pushed to the side of the room. Clogs moving under bellbottoms to the rhythm of a funky bass-line was a wonderful sound that still rings out in my mind. These were really some of the first memories I had growing up… Yes Disco warped my brain at a young age… Dancing like the fun would never stop, and thinking to myself why is having this much fun so bad? It seemed like the song was over before we knew it and the lookout was saying, “She’s at the gate.” The record was quickly put back in its sleeve and returned to its hiding spot. The Penguin would walk in with narrowed eyes that seemed to say, “Guilty,” when she looked upon a roomful of sweaty kids sitting quietly. We had gotten away with a little bit of bad, if only for a moment…
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Michelle
A wise man once said the dash between the years in someone’s epitaph represents their life lived. He went on to say he was happy he'd been a part of that dash in his friend's life who had just passed away. I wrote a poem a short time back called, "A Moment In Time," reflecting a similar concept. Life is nothing but moments in time; good or bad, they can never be relived. Life seems to come and go whether you want it to or not. Family, friends, love found, love lost, and love given are all a part of life, but it doesn’t make the stinging any less painful when tragedy happens…
The day before my sister Michelle passed away, I ran into her at Publix where she worked. She seemed somewhat surprised to see me but happy all the same. She told me she was sick with the flu and had come in to work another person’s shift. This was a little puzzling to me but not to out of the norm for a Hodges to help someone out, even if they weren’t feeling well. I think we get this trait from our father. He’s a kind man that has spent a lifetime helping others, expecting nothing in return. My sister and I had a short discussion about what her wishes were if something ever happened to her. I didn’t think this was to out of the norm because of something our other sister Laura has said countless times, “The Hodges have always lived their lives with a since of urgency.” Never putting off 'til tomorrow. Smiling, I said, “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Michelle.”
Anyways, I told her she needed to go home and get some rest. She absolutely looked like hell. She just smiled and insisted on giving me a hug, and I insisted on telling her if she did I was going to catch the flu. With a stern look she said, “You better give me a hug.” I did, and that’s the last part of the dash in Michelle’s life I was a part of.
A day or so later, I was walking out my door headed to the Suwannee River to spend the weekend, when my phone rang. It was my mother. She asked if I was sitting down and if someone was with me. I knew instantly the next words would be that someone had passed away. I replied, “Did someone die?” She told me she had found my sister that morning. After making sure my mother was okay and was with plenty of family, I told her I needed to get away for a few days. I couldn’t deal with the world at that point. She said she understood, and I started for the river.
It seemed like I sat by the river for weeks but it was only two days. I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister and others that had passed away in my life. I told my mother before I left that I would speak at Michelle’s funeral. As I sat in the drizzling cold rain, I watched the river flow past like it had for thousands of years. I was thinking at the time how much life was like that river; constantly moving by, whether we’re here or not. I felt incredibly guilty for not hearing her words more clearly. I knew she had struggled with depression for years, but sometimes I think you don’t want to hear what someone is saying to you. Hindsight seems to be 20/20 all the time, yet hindsight can comeback to bite you, if you spend to much time there.
Arriving home, I started to write what I was going to say the next day. Some of the good times I had with Michelle. Her taking me for walks in the woods behind our home when I was a small child. Woods that seemed to be a strange new world of shadows and mystery; animals and strange sounds. She would reach out her hand, looking down at me with her big brown eyes and a warm smile. I would take hold, gripping it with my little fingers. She would say, “Follow me,” and the woods didn’t seem so bad. As I wrote, I could only think that whatever or wherever she was, she would be one of the first to meet me when it was my time to go, with an outstretched hand saying, “Follow me,” and it wouldn’t seem so bad.
Before I knew it, the next day had arrived, and I was standing at the pulpit. I had never spoken in front of anyone before, especially under those circumstances, but sometimes in life you have to do the unthinkable. I was sick by this point with the flu, and my fever had still not broken. I felt as if I were going to pass out. For a brief moment, before I started to speak, I thought of the irony of me being sick with my sister’s cold… A germ alive in me that was alive in her days before. But at that moment I was happy to be sick for it meant I'd hugged her one last time…
The day before my sister Michelle passed away, I ran into her at Publix where she worked. She seemed somewhat surprised to see me but happy all the same. She told me she was sick with the flu and had come in to work another person’s shift. This was a little puzzling to me but not to out of the norm for a Hodges to help someone out, even if they weren’t feeling well. I think we get this trait from our father. He’s a kind man that has spent a lifetime helping others, expecting nothing in return. My sister and I had a short discussion about what her wishes were if something ever happened to her. I didn’t think this was to out of the norm because of something our other sister Laura has said countless times, “The Hodges have always lived their lives with a since of urgency.” Never putting off 'til tomorrow. Smiling, I said, “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Michelle.”
Anyways, I told her she needed to go home and get some rest. She absolutely looked like hell. She just smiled and insisted on giving me a hug, and I insisted on telling her if she did I was going to catch the flu. With a stern look she said, “You better give me a hug.” I did, and that’s the last part of the dash in Michelle’s life I was a part of.
A day or so later, I was walking out my door headed to the Suwannee River to spend the weekend, when my phone rang. It was my mother. She asked if I was sitting down and if someone was with me. I knew instantly the next words would be that someone had passed away. I replied, “Did someone die?” She told me she had found my sister that morning. After making sure my mother was okay and was with plenty of family, I told her I needed to get away for a few days. I couldn’t deal with the world at that point. She said she understood, and I started for the river.
It seemed like I sat by the river for weeks but it was only two days. I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister and others that had passed away in my life. I told my mother before I left that I would speak at Michelle’s funeral. As I sat in the drizzling cold rain, I watched the river flow past like it had for thousands of years. I was thinking at the time how much life was like that river; constantly moving by, whether we’re here or not. I felt incredibly guilty for not hearing her words more clearly. I knew she had struggled with depression for years, but sometimes I think you don’t want to hear what someone is saying to you. Hindsight seems to be 20/20 all the time, yet hindsight can comeback to bite you, if you spend to much time there.
Arriving home, I started to write what I was going to say the next day. Some of the good times I had with Michelle. Her taking me for walks in the woods behind our home when I was a small child. Woods that seemed to be a strange new world of shadows and mystery; animals and strange sounds. She would reach out her hand, looking down at me with her big brown eyes and a warm smile. I would take hold, gripping it with my little fingers. She would say, “Follow me,” and the woods didn’t seem so bad. As I wrote, I could only think that whatever or wherever she was, she would be one of the first to meet me when it was my time to go, with an outstretched hand saying, “Follow me,” and it wouldn’t seem so bad.
Before I knew it, the next day had arrived, and I was standing at the pulpit. I had never spoken in front of anyone before, especially under those circumstances, but sometimes in life you have to do the unthinkable. I was sick by this point with the flu, and my fever had still not broken. I felt as if I were going to pass out. For a brief moment, before I started to speak, I thought of the irony of me being sick with my sister’s cold… A germ alive in me that was alive in her days before. But at that moment I was happy to be sick for it meant I'd hugged her one last time…
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The Badest One Squawks First
Growing up the youngest of seven kids, I quickly realized why my mother ,“The Penguin,” ruled with an iron fist. She had seven Hodges children to put up with day in and day out… At the time, with me being the youngest of the bunch, it seemed her feathers were almost ruffled daily…
Going into town was always an adventure… We would all load up in our old beat-up station wagon; bounce down the long dirt road to the highway; then make our way into town… There’s an old saying in The South, “The Badest One Squawks First…” This saying was never more true than when The Penguin was enforcing the laws of the land she governed… At some point when we were approaching town, my mother would slowly turn down her Gospel Music playing scratchily through the AM Radio, and make her announcement. Gazing into the rearview, her eyes narrowed as if to pinpoint certain kids when she spoke. She said, “Alright, we’re goin’ to the grocery store, you can act out if you wanta, I’m not goin’ to spank you, I’m not goin’ to get on to you, but when we get home, you’re mine…” Then she would turn her Gospel back up and away we rolled into town.
Once at the store, there was always a few of us kids that would start testin’ the water… pushing the buttons of the Penguin’s patience by, as she would put it, not acting right… Looking back, I think we kids were just so excited to be in a building with AC and surrounded by all that food our brain kinda went into overload… Intoxicated by all the wonders of the big city of Gainesville… Being the youngest, it was kinda easy to see who was goin’ to squawk first out of all the Penguin’s Chicks… Her eyes would cut to the side and narrow into little slits, barely showing any whites; her face pulled into a tight frown of disapproval as she would say the two words and a sound that would assure someone was going to squawk that day, “Darn it All!” which was almost always followed by the sound comin’ from clinched lips and flared nostrils, “Hmmm!!!”
Then she would slowly unruffle her feathers and continue shopping, acting as if nothing had occurred… But we all knew which one of us had been showin’ out on isle 3... We knew good and well they had been marked for a squawkin’ in The Penguin’s mental rolodex of her elephant like brain… She remembers everything, especially if it made her mad… It didn’t matter if thirty years had passed, she can tell you what happened on the Stories (Soap opera), the day you acted out in public… And if she told you to be quiet during an avalanche or tornado, you better do it… There could be cows floating by in the wind, houses falling on witches with sparkly red slippers, and The Penguin would still know you made some kind of noise…
Anyways, on the drive back home, all was normal talk and play between the kids in the car, almost like nothing had happened… Then perfectly on cue, some strange sort of quiet would fall upon us kids as we drew closer to home… We all knew what was comin’… The kids that were fixin’ to squawk, their eyes filled with fear and they turned a strange sort of gray… The kids that were fixin’ to witness the squawkin’ were on the edge of their seat, waiting with a slight smirk of, “Yep, you goin’ to get now…” dressing their little faces…
It was then that The Penguin slowed the car and pulled onto the dirt road leading to our driveway… This is when the silence was broken by my brothers or sisters that had acted out in the store… Their tears, quivering lips, and pleading fell on deaf ears… For the Penguin had spoken and now it was time to deliver… The squawkin’ had begun...
Going into town was always an adventure… We would all load up in our old beat-up station wagon; bounce down the long dirt road to the highway; then make our way into town… There’s an old saying in The South, “The Badest One Squawks First…” This saying was never more true than when The Penguin was enforcing the laws of the land she governed… At some point when we were approaching town, my mother would slowly turn down her Gospel Music playing scratchily through the AM Radio, and make her announcement. Gazing into the rearview, her eyes narrowed as if to pinpoint certain kids when she spoke. She said, “Alright, we’re goin’ to the grocery store, you can act out if you wanta, I’m not goin’ to spank you, I’m not goin’ to get on to you, but when we get home, you’re mine…” Then she would turn her Gospel back up and away we rolled into town.
Once at the store, there was always a few of us kids that would start testin’ the water… pushing the buttons of the Penguin’s patience by, as she would put it, not acting right… Looking back, I think we kids were just so excited to be in a building with AC and surrounded by all that food our brain kinda went into overload… Intoxicated by all the wonders of the big city of Gainesville… Being the youngest, it was kinda easy to see who was goin’ to squawk first out of all the Penguin’s Chicks… Her eyes would cut to the side and narrow into little slits, barely showing any whites; her face pulled into a tight frown of disapproval as she would say the two words and a sound that would assure someone was going to squawk that day, “Darn it All!” which was almost always followed by the sound comin’ from clinched lips and flared nostrils, “Hmmm!!!”
Then she would slowly unruffle her feathers and continue shopping, acting as if nothing had occurred… But we all knew which one of us had been showin’ out on isle 3... We knew good and well they had been marked for a squawkin’ in The Penguin’s mental rolodex of her elephant like brain… She remembers everything, especially if it made her mad… It didn’t matter if thirty years had passed, she can tell you what happened on the Stories (Soap opera), the day you acted out in public… And if she told you to be quiet during an avalanche or tornado, you better do it… There could be cows floating by in the wind, houses falling on witches with sparkly red slippers, and The Penguin would still know you made some kind of noise…
Anyways, on the drive back home, all was normal talk and play between the kids in the car, almost like nothing had happened… Then perfectly on cue, some strange sort of quiet would fall upon us kids as we drew closer to home… We all knew what was comin’… The kids that were fixin’ to squawk, their eyes filled with fear and they turned a strange sort of gray… The kids that were fixin’ to witness the squawkin’ were on the edge of their seat, waiting with a slight smirk of, “Yep, you goin’ to get now…” dressing their little faces…
It was then that The Penguin slowed the car and pulled onto the dirt road leading to our driveway… This is when the silence was broken by my brothers or sisters that had acted out in the store… Their tears, quivering lips, and pleading fell on deaf ears… For the Penguin had spoken and now it was time to deliver… The squawkin’ had begun...
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Ol' Sparky
We all have moments in our lives where we look back and laugh. If you don’t, then you should look a little closer. Growing up, my father had a great sense of humor. Well, maybe a little warped at times, but never once as kids did we not feel loved by him, and even tough loved at times…
One spring morning, he was out working on our garden tiller, getting it ready to turn the ground. Suddenly, with a shout and a boyish grin, Dad called out to us kids to stop playing and come over to where he was working… We all stopped what we were doing and raced over, eager to see what wonderful new experience dad had in store… Note: Key words to be leery of growing up in the Hodges Household… “Trust me… You’re going to love this…”
Having all of us line up behind the Tiller and hold hands, we waited with eyes wide, watching my father pull the wire clamp from the sparkplug. Carefully, he opened, and shaped it to the size of the first child in line’s finger. Sliding it on with a smile he said, “Trust me, you’re going to love this.” Watching with excitement we waited for what wonderful new joy he was about to bestow upon us. Grabbing the pull string and looking back, he asked, “You ready boys and girls?” To this we shouted, “YEAH…” Dad pulled the cord and this strange bite like sensation flowed from my sister's hand I was holding, making me want to let it go with the quickness. At the same time, my brother let out a good yelp at the front of the line… As my father began to laugh, we all quickly let go and could here the words electrically charged echoing in our brain, “Trust Me…”
My mother “The Penguin,” didn’t share in the same kind of hummer as my father… She was a no nonsense kind of gal… But looking back in my memories, I chuckle at her chasing us seven kids with her paddle dressed with the words across its surface, “Heat For The Seat…” Trust me… Those short little penguin legs of hers were as fast as Mickey Mantle and when she caught you, you would think he was swinging that damn thing… One day I was walking around the yard tossing a baseball around, and somehow it made its way off course to my target, and made its way on course to the barn… Crash, was the sound the ball made as it bounced off the back of the lawn mower… My knowledge as a kid that The Penguin was somehow always watching, made me walk as nonchalantly to inspect the damage as I could… Side note: “My parents could have made copper wire from starching a penny…” I mean they were tight. So, if you broke something, you better try to fix it before The Penguin found out about it… Getting to the front of the barn, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The baseball had hit the sparkplug perfectly, breaking it off in the engine… What the Hell? How am I going to fix this without The Penguin finding out? She’ll see Duct tape fo sho. I know, I’ll glue that bad boy… So, there I was walking into the house, trying my best not to draw the attention of my mother. Finding some Elmer's School Glue I slid it into my pocket… Making your way past The Penguin’s Watchful Eye with a bottle of glue in the front pocket of tight eighties jeans was no easy task… But somehow I made it back to the barn… So, there I was holding the glued sparkplug back together praying it would hurry up and set so I could let go. I had to have looked like a Crack Head watching the kitchen window hopping The Penguin would not look out and see me… Man I was bugged out… Finally, the glue set and I walked away with a sigh of relief… Thank God The Penguin didn’t catch me… Within a few days, I was thinking nothing of the event of gluing the sparkplug back together… Until one morning I heard this strange sound coming from outside… Looking out the window I could see The Penguin pushing the lawnmower and hear it’s motor going up and down in power… It turned off and The Penguin stood back placing her hands on her hips… Suddenly, to my horror, The Penguin’s head turned slowly back towards the house, as if to have psychically known who was responsible… Oh Boy… You better run or something’. She’s goin’ to go Mickey Mantle on your ass… So, out the front door I ran making my way to the woods across the street from my house… I spent the day hiding out in an old sinkhole until I thought The Penguin had cooled off and was busy making supper… I stood a lot better chance of escaping the Heat For The Seat by doing so…
Looking back now it’s all dripping with humor to me… Through good times or bad, my father and mother did the best they could to feed seven kids and provided a safe place to call home. That’s all any of us could have ask of them…
One spring morning, he was out working on our garden tiller, getting it ready to turn the ground. Suddenly, with a shout and a boyish grin, Dad called out to us kids to stop playing and come over to where he was working… We all stopped what we were doing and raced over, eager to see what wonderful new experience dad had in store… Note: Key words to be leery of growing up in the Hodges Household… “Trust me… You’re going to love this…”
Having all of us line up behind the Tiller and hold hands, we waited with eyes wide, watching my father pull the wire clamp from the sparkplug. Carefully, he opened, and shaped it to the size of the first child in line’s finger. Sliding it on with a smile he said, “Trust me, you’re going to love this.” Watching with excitement we waited for what wonderful new joy he was about to bestow upon us. Grabbing the pull string and looking back, he asked, “You ready boys and girls?” To this we shouted, “YEAH…” Dad pulled the cord and this strange bite like sensation flowed from my sister's hand I was holding, making me want to let it go with the quickness. At the same time, my brother let out a good yelp at the front of the line… As my father began to laugh, we all quickly let go and could here the words electrically charged echoing in our brain, “Trust Me…”
My mother “The Penguin,” didn’t share in the same kind of hummer as my father… She was a no nonsense kind of gal… But looking back in my memories, I chuckle at her chasing us seven kids with her paddle dressed with the words across its surface, “Heat For The Seat…” Trust me… Those short little penguin legs of hers were as fast as Mickey Mantle and when she caught you, you would think he was swinging that damn thing… One day I was walking around the yard tossing a baseball around, and somehow it made its way off course to my target, and made its way on course to the barn… Crash, was the sound the ball made as it bounced off the back of the lawn mower… My knowledge as a kid that The Penguin was somehow always watching, made me walk as nonchalantly to inspect the damage as I could… Side note: “My parents could have made copper wire from starching a penny…” I mean they were tight. So, if you broke something, you better try to fix it before The Penguin found out about it… Getting to the front of the barn, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The baseball had hit the sparkplug perfectly, breaking it off in the engine… What the Hell? How am I going to fix this without The Penguin finding out? She’ll see Duct tape fo sho. I know, I’ll glue that bad boy… So, there I was walking into the house, trying my best not to draw the attention of my mother. Finding some Elmer's School Glue I slid it into my pocket… Making your way past The Penguin’s Watchful Eye with a bottle of glue in the front pocket of tight eighties jeans was no easy task… But somehow I made it back to the barn… So, there I was holding the glued sparkplug back together praying it would hurry up and set so I could let go. I had to have looked like a Crack Head watching the kitchen window hopping The Penguin would not look out and see me… Man I was bugged out… Finally, the glue set and I walked away with a sigh of relief… Thank God The Penguin didn’t catch me… Within a few days, I was thinking nothing of the event of gluing the sparkplug back together… Until one morning I heard this strange sound coming from outside… Looking out the window I could see The Penguin pushing the lawnmower and hear it’s motor going up and down in power… It turned off and The Penguin stood back placing her hands on her hips… Suddenly, to my horror, The Penguin’s head turned slowly back towards the house, as if to have psychically known who was responsible… Oh Boy… You better run or something’. She’s goin’ to go Mickey Mantle on your ass… So, out the front door I ran making my way to the woods across the street from my house… I spent the day hiding out in an old sinkhole until I thought The Penguin had cooled off and was busy making supper… I stood a lot better chance of escaping the Heat For The Seat by doing so…
Looking back now it’s all dripping with humor to me… Through good times or bad, my father and mother did the best they could to feed seven kids and provided a safe place to call home. That’s all any of us could have ask of them…
Friday, July 29, 2011
Friends
Today I watched a young man around twenty years of age, running around in a parking lot downtown with both hands pressed firmly on his ears, desperately trying to escape the voices in his head… At least it seemed that way to me… No one seemed to be paying too much attention to him really. It just seemed par for the course in the city of Gainesville. Then, a little later, I watched a man walk into a diner I was eating lunch at only wearing a hospital gown, back open with no underwear… He calmly placed his order, and then the person behind the counter filled it with smile… Side note: I did not want to know where he was keeping the 5 dollar bill he produced for payment… After he strolled out and started down the side walk, I thought, I know it takes a lot to be my friend but damn! Being his friend or the man who heard voices 24/7--now that has to take someone with heart. For me, friends come and go in this life… Some come in at just the right moment, they really do… Some are there for tragedy and some are there for laughter, and some are just fun to aggravate… One such friend Tony, I’ve known for many years and have aggravated from time to time because we are as close as brothers… Tony is someone that is extremely ticklish, but I am also someone that is extremely ticklish… Side note, my on personal hell would be, being tickled for eternity by the Devil while having to listen to Celine Dion in the background… Tony had become very leery of me getting within ten feet of him at work… And I’m sure when it was his day off he would have never imaged seeing little ol' me in the grocery store… Because if he did, he would have never placed his arm in the blood pressure machine; letting it tighten down on his arm in an inescapable situation… Yes, to see the look on his face was priceless when he saw my face with eyes full of glee; glazed over by uncontrolled happiness of what was to come… As the profanity laced warnings started to come out of his mouth and the squirming and jerking of his arm trying to break free started, a sense of euphoria settled over me… I thought, now this is what friends are for… As I was within touching distance, I could see he was really uncomfortable, and I think he was saying something about high blood pressure, but I can’t be sure… I decided to let him slide… As much as it was the perfect moment, it didn’t seem right to torture my buddy… Plus, I knew all to well once he got free, he would want pay back…
But I think that’s kinda what friends are for… I know I’ve had my share of squirming from friend’s mischievous ways… The worst memory of this was a few years into puberty, when the awkwardness of being a male can show itself in the most embarrassing ways… When this first occurred, I thought, what the hell is wrong with me? I found myself trying to make sense of this new sensation. I even tried to reason with it, go away! Why are you here? Anyways, this is where a friend did the unthinkable… Well, I think he was thinking of how funny it would be to see me squirm… We were driving over to pick up his girlfriend. Who was a real head turner… He had a small truck with not much room inside… I assumed once we picked her up I would be riding in the back and she would be up front with him… Boy was I wrong… As the truck came to a stop my friend with a big grin says, “Hop in, you can ride on Jason’s lap…” I quickly turned to my friend and looked at him with, please don’t do this eyes. Smiling even bigger, if that was even possible he said, “Come on hop in, we’re going to be late… So there I was, and there she was, and there I was thinking, my good, what is he doing? He is doing this on purpose! Why is he hitting every bump on the way back? I know, he knows, what she may be thinking… Is she thinking? She’s thinking what I’m thinking… Oh no I hope not… But wait I’m not thinking of anything… Oh I wish this was over. This is not funny Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Sweat was running down my neck and I know I probably looked like Waldo in the Hot For Teacher Video… It seemed the ride would never end… I thought for sure I was going to have a heart attack right there in the truck… Finally we stopped at her destination and she stepped out… She said goodbye and we drove away… My friend laughed all the way home…
But I think that’s kinda what friends are for… I know I’ve had my share of squirming from friend’s mischievous ways… The worst memory of this was a few years into puberty, when the awkwardness of being a male can show itself in the most embarrassing ways… When this first occurred, I thought, what the hell is wrong with me? I found myself trying to make sense of this new sensation. I even tried to reason with it, go away! Why are you here? Anyways, this is where a friend did the unthinkable… Well, I think he was thinking of how funny it would be to see me squirm… We were driving over to pick up his girlfriend. Who was a real head turner… He had a small truck with not much room inside… I assumed once we picked her up I would be riding in the back and she would be up front with him… Boy was I wrong… As the truck came to a stop my friend with a big grin says, “Hop in, you can ride on Jason’s lap…” I quickly turned to my friend and looked at him with, please don’t do this eyes. Smiling even bigger, if that was even possible he said, “Come on hop in, we’re going to be late… So there I was, and there she was, and there I was thinking, my good, what is he doing? He is doing this on purpose! Why is he hitting every bump on the way back? I know, he knows, what she may be thinking… Is she thinking? She’s thinking what I’m thinking… Oh no I hope not… But wait I’m not thinking of anything… Oh I wish this was over. This is not funny Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Sweat was running down my neck and I know I probably looked like Waldo in the Hot For Teacher Video… It seemed the ride would never end… I thought for sure I was going to have a heart attack right there in the truck… Finally we stopped at her destination and she stepped out… She said goodbye and we drove away… My friend laughed all the way home…
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Under The Skin Of A Friend
A security guard at a place I worked a few years back was telling me that he didn’t like chasing the homeless people off into the woods by himself. I understood his concern yet something stirred inside me… For some reason I wanted to give him a hard time about it. With a smile I said, “You need to be careful, they may tie you up and leave you in your underwear.” To this I got no response. So, then I said, “Better yet, they may tie you up and put their underwear on you to wear. You know that junk is stank…” His face soured in front of me with disgust as he said, “Something’s wrong with you Hodges.” Shaking his head he then walked away.
It’s not all the time I get under people’s skin, just sometimes. But it’s only ‘cause they let me in the most inviting way. I think it’s the eyes that do it for me. The almost gone mad look they have after their button has been pushed. The first time I really remember getting under someone’s skin I was around ten years old. After waiting for what seemed like the longest line on the planet, it was my turn to play the foursquare king. I know, it sounds like a pretty lame game except there were little games to play at the school I was in at the time. Most of the kids there were some kind of delinquent and if they were cool with the game so was I.
After finally knocking the king off of his spot I began my little victory dance, and speaking the most amount of jive I could about knocking the king off his thrown. Something along the lines of, “Can you feel it? I’m the foursquare king! I’m the foursquare king…” Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye floating toward me like magic, but believe me it was not magic. It was half a red brick that had moments earlier left the hands of the x-foursquare king. I suddenly came to lying looking up at all the kids standing over me with what felt like a watermelon on my forehead. Although, the brick was brought on by my dance skills and jive-talk, sometimes, it’s my charm that makes people shine through with madness and overwhelming love for me…
My friend Grizzly Madams loves me like a brother… But that being said, our first trip together into the mountains made her want to beat my ass like a brother. I’m from Florida and have spent many days in the thick woods here. It gets cold but not like the mountains. Grizzly being from Colorado knew good and well to bring the right equipment, I did not… I guess looking back; I had spent a lot of my life outside from working in the dirt, to sitting on street curbs after skating at two in the morning. I knew firsthand what cold was and thought I had packed what I needed. It didn’t help that the night before we flew out my friends threw me a going away party. The next morning, hung over as hell, I grabbed an old sleeping bag out of the closet, put it in my back pack with a few things and took off. After a long flight and too many beers in Dallas, I suddenly was starting to set up camp in the mountains. Once it was night time the temperature started to drop rapidly. Climbing in my tent I quickly realized I was in for a long night with a short sleeping bag. In my state of hung-overness I grabbed a youth size sleeping bag. One my son had used years earlier. Being six-foot one made me stick out about three feet… Yeah I was screwed with the night air quickly dipping into the twenties. I climbed out of the tint and made my way to the fire, which was now just a memory. I searched the ground but there was no real wood nearby. So I began walking in a circle around camp trying to stay warm. By this point the beer from the flight had turned into a good hangover. That’s right two hangovers in one day… Suddenly, things went from bad to worse. I heard Grizzly stir from her slumber. I knew I was in for it… “Hodges is that you?” “Yeah it’s me.” “What the hell are you doing out there?” “I’m cold. I didn’t bring the right sleeping bag and there’s no firewood.” "Hmmmmmmmmmmmm errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Damn it Hodges… I knew that pack looked light and here I’m carrying an eighty pounder. You know it’s in the twenties out there…” “I know…” “You would have froze to death by morning… I should kick your ass… Come on get in the tent…" Opening her sleeping bag she then said, “Climb in and put your back to me, and if anything even so much as moves or rises in this tent I will beat your ass… I mean it… You won’t be able to get away from me.”
So, there I was sleepless in a sleeping bag, warm, and with my best friend that wanted to kill me… It was good times under the skin of a friend…
It’s not all the time I get under people’s skin, just sometimes. But it’s only ‘cause they let me in the most inviting way. I think it’s the eyes that do it for me. The almost gone mad look they have after their button has been pushed. The first time I really remember getting under someone’s skin I was around ten years old. After waiting for what seemed like the longest line on the planet, it was my turn to play the foursquare king. I know, it sounds like a pretty lame game except there were little games to play at the school I was in at the time. Most of the kids there were some kind of delinquent and if they were cool with the game so was I.
After finally knocking the king off of his spot I began my little victory dance, and speaking the most amount of jive I could about knocking the king off his thrown. Something along the lines of, “Can you feel it? I’m the foursquare king! I’m the foursquare king…” Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye floating toward me like magic, but believe me it was not magic. It was half a red brick that had moments earlier left the hands of the x-foursquare king. I suddenly came to lying looking up at all the kids standing over me with what felt like a watermelon on my forehead. Although, the brick was brought on by my dance skills and jive-talk, sometimes, it’s my charm that makes people shine through with madness and overwhelming love for me…
My friend Grizzly Madams loves me like a brother… But that being said, our first trip together into the mountains made her want to beat my ass like a brother. I’m from Florida and have spent many days in the thick woods here. It gets cold but not like the mountains. Grizzly being from Colorado knew good and well to bring the right equipment, I did not… I guess looking back; I had spent a lot of my life outside from working in the dirt, to sitting on street curbs after skating at two in the morning. I knew firsthand what cold was and thought I had packed what I needed. It didn’t help that the night before we flew out my friends threw me a going away party. The next morning, hung over as hell, I grabbed an old sleeping bag out of the closet, put it in my back pack with a few things and took off. After a long flight and too many beers in Dallas, I suddenly was starting to set up camp in the mountains. Once it was night time the temperature started to drop rapidly. Climbing in my tent I quickly realized I was in for a long night with a short sleeping bag. In my state of hung-overness I grabbed a youth size sleeping bag. One my son had used years earlier. Being six-foot one made me stick out about three feet… Yeah I was screwed with the night air quickly dipping into the twenties. I climbed out of the tint and made my way to the fire, which was now just a memory. I searched the ground but there was no real wood nearby. So I began walking in a circle around camp trying to stay warm. By this point the beer from the flight had turned into a good hangover. That’s right two hangovers in one day… Suddenly, things went from bad to worse. I heard Grizzly stir from her slumber. I knew I was in for it… “Hodges is that you?” “Yeah it’s me.” “What the hell are you doing out there?” “I’m cold. I didn’t bring the right sleeping bag and there’s no firewood.” "Hmmmmmmmmmmmm errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Damn it Hodges… I knew that pack looked light and here I’m carrying an eighty pounder. You know it’s in the twenties out there…” “I know…” “You would have froze to death by morning… I should kick your ass… Come on get in the tent…" Opening her sleeping bag she then said, “Climb in and put your back to me, and if anything even so much as moves or rises in this tent I will beat your ass… I mean it… You won’t be able to get away from me.”
So, there I was sleepless in a sleeping bag, warm, and with my best friend that wanted to kill me… It was good times under the skin of a friend…
Friday, July 1, 2011
The Penguin And The Posty
Mornings are a special type of wonderful in the Dirt Worker’s World, or I should say wonderfully entertaining. I was riding into work a few years ago and a coworker said “I just don’t understand all the bumper stickers we keep seeing.” Which ones I asked? He points to the car in front of us and said, “My Boss Is A Jewish Computer.” This is where reading silently pays off. I see the sticker says, “Jewish Carpenter.” Then I look up to see my boss looking back at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes narrowed with amusement as he tried not to start laughing. Don’t get me wrong, I misread things all the time. We’ve all done it, but answering at this point with a straight face was almost impossible… Somehow, I was able to pull it off with just a slight grin and a nod. “I don’t understand them either, my man…”
Riding with coworkers is always interesting, but riding with my super religious mother when I was in high school, well, that was a trip all to itself. Having a southern accent kinda goes along the territory when you grow up in North Florida… My pronunciation could be at times comical to friends. So, one day a friend, while riding in my car, decided to help me out by writing a word down for me on a posty note that I had been saying wrong for quite some time. As she stuck it to the dash board of my car she said, “It’s Vagina, not Fagina Jason!” I didn’t think much of the posty note at the time, it kinda blended in with all the skateboard stickers on my dash. So a day or two went by and I found myself driving back home after a night out on the town. As I looked down the long stretch of highway I saw a familiar sight, my mother’s car on the side of the road, and my mother, The Penguin standing with her hands on her hip. She acquired The Penguin as a name from one of my good friends that thought she acted like the nun in The Blues Brothers. The one that could float across the room and beat people with rulers and stuff…
I pulled over and asked her if she wanted a lift home. She was coming back from church and it was already mid-afternoon, way too hot for The Penguin to walk in her best Sunday clothes. She climbed in and we started back home. As we rode, she seemed talkative at first, then she became eerily quite. I could sense something was wrong but what could it be? Then I saw it, the posty note with all caps, “VAGINA.” I thought, What? Damn! How can I distract her and grab it before she sees it? Jason, she has already seen it. Even The Penguin knows what that word is. My God, what could she be thinking of right now, "Why is my son riding around with a note that says VAGINA on it? What is wrong with that boy?"At that point of the ride I just watched the road, hoping my driveway would somehow magically appear in front of my car. I can see you haven’t been to church lately! Was The Penguin’s favorite saying when I was growing up. I just knew, I would hear those words, but I didn’t. In a way I wish I had, but instead nothing but silence. A fate worst than any other coming from The Penguin.
Riding with coworkers is always interesting, but riding with my super religious mother when I was in high school, well, that was a trip all to itself. Having a southern accent kinda goes along the territory when you grow up in North Florida… My pronunciation could be at times comical to friends. So, one day a friend, while riding in my car, decided to help me out by writing a word down for me on a posty note that I had been saying wrong for quite some time. As she stuck it to the dash board of my car she said, “It’s Vagina, not Fagina Jason!” I didn’t think much of the posty note at the time, it kinda blended in with all the skateboard stickers on my dash. So a day or two went by and I found myself driving back home after a night out on the town. As I looked down the long stretch of highway I saw a familiar sight, my mother’s car on the side of the road, and my mother, The Penguin standing with her hands on her hip. She acquired The Penguin as a name from one of my good friends that thought she acted like the nun in The Blues Brothers. The one that could float across the room and beat people with rulers and stuff…
I pulled over and asked her if she wanted a lift home. She was coming back from church and it was already mid-afternoon, way too hot for The Penguin to walk in her best Sunday clothes. She climbed in and we started back home. As we rode, she seemed talkative at first, then she became eerily quite. I could sense something was wrong but what could it be? Then I saw it, the posty note with all caps, “VAGINA.” I thought, What? Damn! How can I distract her and grab it before she sees it? Jason, she has already seen it. Even The Penguin knows what that word is. My God, what could she be thinking of right now, "Why is my son riding around with a note that says VAGINA on it? What is wrong with that boy?"At that point of the ride I just watched the road, hoping my driveway would somehow magically appear in front of my car. I can see you haven’t been to church lately! Was The Penguin’s favorite saying when I was growing up. I just knew, I would hear those words, but I didn’t. In a way I wish I had, but instead nothing but silence. A fate worst than any other coming from The Penguin.
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