Is there a “gay gene”? Does it really matter? So, we were having one of those Facebook face-offs the other day, about homosexuality, and the issue of a “gay gene” came up. For us...
Many of my ideas about friendship come from watching westerns. It only took a few episodes of watching Roy Rogers and I understood why every kid should have a horse to call his most faithful friend and confidant. I dreamed of endless nights in the Wild West, sitting by a warm campfire with nothing but freshly cooked beans and a horse for company.
The father suit fit best from the moment I was graced with my first child. In fact, it was the father suit that I wore during this period. I knew my daughter was growing up with an example of marriage that was unhealthy. The only way to change it all was to change out of the husband suit.
The two decide to settle down and camp for the night, precisely where each had stopped. Night falls, warm fires lit, both travelers warmed by the provision of the land. Looking up the can both see the amazing star clusters long ago named for the heros of folklore in far away countries.
This is the point in time when the effort to “have it better than me” pays off for a father. He got his first laptop at 11 years of age, now nearly 15, he navigates the Internet, mining information as if he’d been born to it. And all because “have it better than me” was bearing fruits.
We seem to have the attention span and general orientation of a swarm of fruit flies moving among the emotional compost bins. The right exposure can bring an outpouring of attention, good or bad, but never for long. Truckloads of aid roll right by the needy under our noses to people and pets featured for 30 seconds on our televisions and computers, only to disappear into the abyss that lies just outside of the screen. I’m living a good part of my life in a 17″x11″ crack house equipped with the convenience of PayPal.
Do you know where your dream first began to walk on it’s own? I considered this very question as last year was closing out and the new one drew near. My recollection spanned two calendar years to finally rediscover those first steps.
Most of the time, you will not know that someone is suffering chronic physical pain. It simply isn’t something that we announce. Part of the reason for this silence is privacy and personal choice, but part of it is that we do not want pity. Pity is, or can be, a very negative response to human life as it is actually lived—which is generally fully and with complete involvement, even when pain is a constant part of it.