For years one of my friends has asked me to write a story in which he was one of the main characters, and while he and I have shared many adventures together there was never a story I could tell without it being just a very simple and short, “I have always considered him a close friend, who I care about dearly.” He and I have never been in a fight together at a wedding. Thankfully there was never an incident between the two of us which concluded with jalapeño juice debilitating me for hours afterwards. Never have he and I accidentally gotten married in a bar, while being overly intoxicated. No, his and my friendship has always been what many people would have considered to be a normal one. We would get together and watch Red Sox games, which is actually how we met, then go out after the game was over and play darts until they made last call at the Edgefield in East Nashville. We would part ways, then get together on the next Friday (or Saturday, depending on work schedule) to watch another game, and continue the cycle. The story I have the extreme pleasure of telling is the story of the best conversation I have ever had (Sorry, Carter), and I’ll always be glad that conversation occurred with my good friend, my brother, Nate (His real name. He deserves all the credit in the world for being a fantastic individual). Continue reading Friendship, Family, and a Great Converastion
(Sally: I think this is mainly ok for you to read. There may be a little harsh language throughout, but I hope you get a chance to enjoy. And for all the people who know Sally and read my blog, let her know)
There are a few areas in life where I am not fully adept at coping in the proper ways. I am lucky enough to know this about myself and am glad I can recognize this as my flaw. I have never been the best with handling breakups, either as the dumper, or the dumpee, which is why I don’t date anymore. I would rather just hang out with someone until we mutually get tired of each other and then amicably split ways. I have found it is much less messy that way. When real labels and emotions are placed on relationships is when people’s feelings get hurt. This drags on way too long and eventually I am either breaking up with you in a fashion where you will call me a narcissistic sociopath (Shannon), or you are breaking up with me and I have to struggle through months of alcoholism in order to come out on the other side realizing you are a terrible individual who has the ability to be the Typhoid Mary of every STD known to man and the only benefit to our relationship was that I didn’t end up with some disease that would have cost me my (and some friends of mine, their) favorite body parts. Normally, though, one can tell when a relationship is about to end and can typically brace themselves for the shock of losing someone they considered someone who would be a positive influence in their lives. What I don’t deal with is when you don’t see a relationship of any stature ending. This can apply to significant others, parents, family members of any variety, friends, Romans, countrymen and so many other types of relationships. What I don’t cope with properly is when people pass away. Continue reading Putting the Fun Back in Funeral
(Sally: Do not! Do not! Do not! You don’t want this in your head. I 100% promise you that. Do not open this link.)
(Everyone else: If you know me, this may change the way you see me and not in the same way as other stories may have changed the way you see me. This story is really dark. Be warned before proceeding.)
Right now, Jupiter can be viewed from earth by the naked eye. That doesn’t have a lot to do with the story I’m about to tell, but does have a lot to say about the importance of timing in our lives.
Timing is uncontrollable, and undeniable. There is this girl I had a crush on a while back, but I didn’t have her number so I couldn’t get in contact with her. One day I went to the gym (because even perfection needs maintenance) and realized once I got there I had left all of my swimming gear at home. I drove back to the house, grabbed my gear, and got back to the gym as quickly as I could. As I was walking through the lobby of the gym, the girl I had a crush on happened to be walking through at the exact same time. We talked for a few minutes, and I almost asked her out, but I am a huge sissy when it comes to asking out girls that I actually like, so I didn’t (I know, the ending is very anticlimactic, but it goes along with the theme). If I hadn’t forgotten my gym stuff, I would have already been in the pool swimming with absolutely no chance of running into her, the opportunity to ask her out would not have presented itself, and I would be able to live with the delusions I would ask her out if ever I randomly bumped into her out in public. Now, I can’t.
(Sally: Let someone else tell you about this story. It has some rather harsh language you may not approve of.)
As I begin this story, I am sitting in my south Florida bay home staring out the window at a rainstorm, which has just knocked out my power. I am writing this on a computer with only 26% battery power (which disappears quickly these days) before this, too, has lost its usability. The sounds of sirens are going off in the distance. I’m certain due to a wayward lightning strike, which has set a building of little import to most of society on fire. Beyond the large elm in my front yard, well past the stone walkway and the dogwood trees, an occasional car will pass down the road. The car drives ever so cautiously in the rain, certain to be looking out for any rain-soaked animals, or children, running from the lightning in fear, searching for shelter. The sky is an eerie grey, not the black of night one might expect from a storm powerful enough to send me searching for candles and a lighter. This sky is one of an early morning, an overcast morning that could be filled with potential and possibility. This night, however, does not feel full of potential. I find myself sitting here, staring out the window, thinking one thing: “I am really glad I already cooked dinner.”
(*Sally, this story is theoretically okay for you to read. Don’t blame yourself, blame the DNA I got from this guy*)
My grandfather, Richard Rulon Wright, was a proud man. He had lived through the depression having to drop out of school at a young age to get a job and make money to help support his mom and himself, since he never really knew his father at least on a father/son relationship level. He was lucky enough to say he had sired four boys (yes, I said sired. I never thought I would have a chance to use that word), my dad, and my three uncles. He was alive to see the birth of not only the other 9 grandchildren and the 7 great-grandchildren but also the birth of me. In which that last one would truly be the real blessing. Continue reading The Great-Grandson of a Rainmaker
(*Sally, this story is okay for you to read if you don’t mind the fact that I admit fully that I am not a religious person anymore. If you mind I would recommend skipping down three paragraphs and stopping three or so early*)
I am not a religious person. Anyone who has read many of my stories already knows this. I describe myself agnostic, or “the poor man’s atheist.” What many people don’t know is I was not always this way. In fact, I was an exceptionally religious person for along period of my life. I was very involved in church groups, the FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes, or as my buddy Fink has called it since high school, “The Federation”.) and Young Life. I was even a puppeteer who performed plays about God at different Vacation Bible Schools or in front of churches. We even won a couple of awards at national competitions (in Hershey, PA. Which I always looked forward to because the chocolate factory was basically my crack den when I was 14). I was one of those kids that would stand around the flag pole that one day of the school year to support prayer in schools. I was dedicated to the cause. I definitely was not the same person I am today. All of who I was, lead me to who I am, but it is hard to believe I was who I was back then, especially knowing me now.
Continue reading My Last Prayer