September 12, 2009
1 pm, east of L.A.
Old me, over the hill
I turned 12 way back in the Bicentennial hahaha, 1976.
So fucking old seems so long ago. 1976 I was 12 sheesh. Now people are
still turning 12 still bordering on the cusp of adolescence and puberty and
discovering how fantastic and horrible
life can be to those who let it….be.
And my son turned 12 now here in 2009.
And as is natural you turn back the clock mentally and regurgitate the same time period and place yourself in that long-ago context and think
how was I, how was mine, how was it exactly when I turned 12??????
and judge and contrast
have we progressed
you experience the natural generational inclination. To see your offspring enjoy a better and healthier and more fulfilling life than you it’s what we want for our children
and you compare
are we better now?
And rushing to the ex’s house where the party will begin in 2 minutes because we left late (and even though no one else will typically be on time, it’s the thing to do, 1:00 start means 1:40) and on the way and before leaving
than mine ever is, my dusty cell phone neglected by self-imposed
But my son’s beeping and chirping away, phone calls texts blahblahblah so very popular with lots of friends, last minute additions, someone else coming, little, ok not little but young, boys coming to the party.
Rush get to the house, forgot Halo 3 and my camera the party cannot go on without! Drop son off
run back grab the stuff run run run!!! Mad rush time why do parties inevitably turn this way rush rush
Still no one arrived, eat. For there is lots of food, some people trickle in, parents and kids but kids are the focus parents take the backseat
and are the obligatory watchdogs but parents begin their long and futile
journeys of discarded artifact-hood NOW.
The kids are where it’s at, the bedroom where they filter as soon
as they step through the door it’s as if they have some
sort of KidRadar and know exactly where to go they rush to the tiny bedroom where their rapidly growing bodies
assemble and crowd
but it’s all good.
They do not mind. It’s fun. Laughing and playing video games and acting out the pre-adolescent rambunctiousness and know-it-all-itude.
And parents keep away, for it’s no country for old men or women in that tiny room.
Step in step in and leave the comforts of your aging world and step into the next generation
where there is no mercy! And stupidly, foolishly, blindly, I step in, exposed, harshness!
It’s like like…like stepping through a science fiction-like portal into another dimension, another Twilight Zone world. It’s to step into an adjoining reality connected but not
and the air is hot and stuffy with the blanket of too many people in one room but smiling and laughing and enjoying
a private little world and joke which
you can and should never be part of
and you realize that whatever has happened and transpired, and that which will happen and transpire is beyond
And the ultimate humbling experience happens NOW.
12, 13, years of age, the cusp of a new stage where you are cruelly relegated to the background. Are you not vital anymore it surely seems not
not as much
as these young and energetic boys
who will carry the torch for the next few laps. You now at this point in time realize
your grasp on that fiery torch
and though these children want to hold the torch for now they bore and tire and hand it back to you before long
in the years coming very shortly
they will want to hold on to that torch and not relinquish it
and one day
the torch will no longer be yours
they are primed and ready as are you, in the opposite direction.
Leave the room quickly
for you cannot reach the laughing boys it would take ages to catch up to their humor and by then you’ll be dead.
Go take a leak stand and hanging is a calendar.
Your ex has decorated on the shit wall.
A girly calendar made of staw-like segmented material
a pretty picture.
A girly picture with a young bear girl and colorful flowers.
2009, 12 months.
And the words
FLOWERS MAKE LIFE MORE BEARABLE
whatever the hell it takes!