Who am I to judge, now that I’m a crotchety old bastard with years of experience in treacherous human existence to apply toward the categorization, comparison and evaluation of my fellow man?
Why do I make assumptions, when my opinion doesn’t really mean anything, except to me and the emission of CO2 into the atmosphere, thus further damaging the ozone and the feelings of polite society?
Why am I brainwashed by the brainwashed, why must I reap what others have sown; am I a knowing, paying, thankful consumer of obviously, historical tainted goods?
I am a sheep and I give thanks…
Why am I a flawed man that must reap those poisoned fields of the earlier stewards of land, language and lies?
I don’t understand said the led, restrained horse that wouldn’t, couldn’t drink the water…right up to the point he almost died of thirst….
But, he did drink.
Why couldn’t I just be 8 years old for the rest of my life?
I didn’t know about hate, except in the form of tomatoes and buttermilk.
I didn’t know about fashion, except that I never wore shoes that much anyways.
I didn’t know about politics except that George Washington was first and Lincoln was second.
I didn’t know about mistrust except if it had to do with Yankees and niggers…
I didn’t even know that the sun could give you cancer but, I did know that girls had cooties.
All us boys knew that!
When I was 8, I knew my
Granny loved me and my mom was on dope.
When I was 8, I always wanted someone to play with so bad that I kept playing with the 13 year old boy that kept raping me.
When I was 8, I knew not to make my daddy mad.
He would hit me….a lot.
When I was 8, I believed in Santa Claus and Christmas magic.
I didn’t care about Jesus that much, only a bb gun I wanted.
Besides, I knew Jesus loved me; the Bible told me so, this I know….
When I was 8, I knew the Easter bunny and Tooth fairy weren’t real but, I always kept hoping for Peeps and shiny dollars.
I caught frogs, blew up ant beds, picked plums and blackberries, walked barefoot thru mud and briars…
I read about Uncle Remus and Brer Rabbit, Jack London and Buck. I read and dreamed about “My Side Of The Mountain…”
I dreamed about a home where your parents didn’t count the slices of lunch meat and mark the level in the milk jug….so they’d know if you’re a thief.
I dreamed about being Superman and a Johnny Reb.
I protected my home from northern aggression for years but, they never came.
I dreamed about no more yelling and slapping.
I hoped Granny still had biscuits left over from breakfast.
I hoped I didn’t have to fill the water for the hogs that much today.
I hoped I could steal some change and ride my bike to the store and get a moon pie and a Coke.
I hoped mama wouldn’t notice the milk was a little weak…
Daddy didn’t worry about counting his Baloney slices. He knew I knew better.
When I was 8, I chased lightning bugs and slaughtered them by the thousands…
When I was 8, I could bait my own hook and lie about how big the fish was that got away.
When I was 8, I could lie about anything.
Telling the truth did not go rewarded.
Lying saved me lots of pain.
If it’s done right and points to other people…
Hey, I was 8.
I didn’t like bleeding.
When I was 8, I thought my name was “Stupid” or “Son of a bitch”
Granny called me “Punkin” or “Sugar”
When I was 8, I believed in Jesus but, I still flinched when someone moved too fast.
When I was 8, I believed in Jesus but, he never really saved me in this really, real world.
I hope his promise comes true when I’m dead because if it ain’t, I just went thru all that shit for nothing.
” But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
When I was 8 years old, that verse was pretty.
Now that I’m almost 51, I’m freaking counting on it.
Over-all and roundabout I’d say I had a typical childhood.
I guess that’s pretty sad, if you can describe your childhood as typical…
I didn’t know I had it better off than millions of others, I was 8!
I didn’t know what guilt was, except when dad said it was all our fault that he was poor.
One good thing though…
Jesus taught me about forgiveness.
It works….if you believe in that kind of thing.