Tuesday, November 19, 2013

What now????? (Her Life-Part I)

WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Explicit SEXUAL language

 I'm Pregnant. What do you think?

 After my divorce was finalized, it was time to catch up on lost youth. Sort of funny considering I was barely twenty six years old but I had to make up for lost time. Lost time meaning a lot of drinking, a lot of smoking, and a lot of fucking. After the initial shock and depression of divorce wore off I was off and running. I had youth, a great job, and nothing but time. I smoked a lot of dope. I drank a lot of beer. And I fucked a lot of whores. Although looking back on it, it would be unfair to call any of them whores, because I was in fact the whore. But this lovely story starts at a friend's wedding in early '03. Holy shit! Did I get wasted. I remember going out to the car with a bridesmaid and smoking some weed. She was kind enough to give me a blowjob in the parking lot. Good times, right? 

 We went back into the wedding an continued our collective good times. I should mention at this time, that even though I was a whore and a pig, I was honest with all the women I whored with. I let everyone know off the bat that I was not interested in a long term girlfriend/boyfriend relationship. With that said, I was at the table bullshitting with some buddies. I was stoned out of my mind and drunk as hell. I may have even indulged in some blow (cocaine). Who could remember with all the debauchery. And then she walked over and sat down. Just another whore in my eyes, but she was beautiful. She was also my friend's cousin. We both ended up walking back to my hotel room after the post wedding party. I remember that one famous line. "You can't wear a condom. I'm allergic to latex". Whoo hoo I thought.

 The next morning when I awoke, I was shocked for two reasons. First, this broad was ugly. Second, how the fuck did I allow myself to not wear a rubber? I showered, got dressed, and prepared to leave when she asked, "So when will we see each other again?" "UHHHH, did I say we would?" "No", she replied. I explained to her that what ever happened, happened, but I was not looking for a monogamous relationship. To my amazement, she replied,"That's fine. I was leaning more towards friends with benefits." So from that point on, I would call her every once in awhile. We would get together and fuck. Looking back, I must have been drunk and stoned, because she really wasn't attractive. This carried on for about five months, when suddenly I received a call from this woman asking if I would like to go to dinner. At first I declined, but she persisted. So I eventually agreed. At Dinner, she dropped the bomb that she was pregnant. I was shocked. Not because I impregnated a woman, But because this woman told me that it was okay that I didn't wear a condom because she had ovarian cancer as a teenager and pregnancy was an impossibility. Not to mention her severe allergies to latex. Of course, I brought this up. I was told that it was some freak miracle of God, at which point I replied, "I don't believe in God". So she asked me,"Would you like me to get an abortion?" I replied, "Absolutely not! I just need a day or two to process this."

 But I really didn't. At the very moment I received this information, I knew I was ready for this. I was ready to be a Father. I was ready to share all the knowledge that I lived a quarter century to gain. I was ready to share my heart, my love. But most importantly, I was ready to experience true love. The only problem was that I was not ready to share this experience with this woman. Looking back on it, I knew this bitch was crazy, but I spent days trying to figure out the best case for my child. I contemplated life with her and life without her. I was very conflicted. What would be best for a child born into this situation? The Mother and the Father being consenting adults, who acted as care free whores. After three days, I called this woman so that we can have Dinner. You told me, "I'm Pregnant. What do you think?" I said, "It's too bad that this kid will not be born under ideal conditions, but I will never be in a relationship with you. However, I am ready to be a Father, and look forward to being in my kid's life."

 "Perfect", she replied. "I'm nowhere ready to be married or anything, but I am looking forward to being a Mom". From the very beginning, I had my doubts. But I was not ready to go through what my parents went through. I wasn't prepared to be 50 years old and hating the fact that I was married. I lived and experienced how devastating it can be for a child to live with two people who stayed together for "The Kids". The problem was that from  the very beginning, I doubted this woman's sincerity. But I was excited none the less. I was excited to be in the life of a child that I created. I was excited to pass on the little knowledge that I had. But most importantly, I was excited at the fact that I helped bring a human life into this world. And that we would share all the experiences that a Father and child experience. 

 In the end, out of all the things that occurred in my life at this point, this was the most fulfilling. The only problem was that I didn't know what to expect from this woman. I had my fingers crossed that it would be painless and loving. But because of my opinion on this woman and her deception, I feared the worst. But I could never imagine how these future events would transpire.


Sunday, October 27, 2013

The one that got away???? (My Life-Part IX)

 When I was eighteen years old when I met a girl that was going to be the love of my life. I don't know what it was, but she was the one. Her name was Theresa. She had long blond hair and a gorgeous smile. I met her at work. It took three months for me to work up the courage to ask her out on a date, but she quickly said yes. I figured I was in love. She was over at my apartment all the time. If we weren't there, we were at her house. Her parents loved me, and I loved them too. They were the parents I wished I had. On April 10 (Her birthday) 1998, I asked her to marry me and she said yes. By this time we had been together for four years and unfortunately her Father passed away. Maybe that's something that drew us closer together. By this time, I had lost everyone. My Mother died and my Father had,,,,,,well fuck him. I was able to be her rock.
 The wedding date was set for December 11th 1999. It was great. I was 23 years old and dancing with the love of my life. It was a wonderful night. But somehow things went south from there. In retrospect, maybe I married too soon. My maturity level may not have been there. Maybe I was never in love to begin with. But what did I know? It wasn't hostile, or fighting all the time. It just seemed like we were two buddys that fucked every once in awhile. She went out with her friends, and I went out with mine. One day I came home from work and she says to me' "We have to talk." You know that's never good. She proceeded to tell me that she loved me, but not in THAT WAY. I of course being all man told her, "Yeah you're right. I feel the same way and maybe it's best if we don't waste our time staying married."
 It was Summer of 2002 and I remember hugging each other. I then gave her a kiss on the cheek and left. As I walked to my car a cried uncontrollably. It was only the second time in my so-called manhood that I felt such heartache. I remember spending a lot of time with friends during my divorce. Of course everything was fine on the surface. I just shrugged everything off as whatever. I mean really, there's tons of fish in the sea?
But inside, it sucked. I was just rejected by the love(?) of my life. But my buddys took me out all the time and it was awesome(?).

And it starts
Sometime around midnight
Or at least that's when you lose yourself
For a minute or two

As you stand
Under the bar lights
And the band plays some song about forgetting yourself for a while
And the piano's this melancholy soundtrack to her smile
And that white dress she's wearing, you haven't seen her
For a while

But you know
That she's watching
She's laughing, she's turning
She's holding her tonic like a cross
The room suddenly spinning, she walks up and asks how you are
So you can smell her perfume
You can see her lying naked in your arms

And so there's a change
In your emotions
And all of these memories come rushing like feral waves to your mind
Of the curl of your bodies, like two perfect circles entwined
And you feel hopeless, and homeless, and lost in the haze of the wine

And she leaves
With someone you don't know
But she makes sure you saw her, she looks right at you and bolts
As she walks out the door
Your blood boiling, your stomach in ropes
And then your friends say "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

And you walk
Under the streetlights
And you're too drunk to notice that everyone's staring at you
You don't care what you look like
The world is falling around you

You just have to see her
You just have to see her
You just have to see her
You just have to see her
You just have to see her

You know that she'll break you in two

 After seeing her out with her new boyfriend, I was torn apart. I could say that it was a finality that I wasn't ready to deal with. But in the end, I think maybe I just wished she would change her mind. Or at the very least, grow old and lonely while I found someone else that would make me feel happy, or at least content. AND DID I EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Making believe,
That you still love me.
It's leaving me
Alone and so blue.
I'll always dream, but I'll never own you.
Making believe,
Is all I can do.
I can't hold you close,
Darling when you're not near me.
You're somebody's love,
You'll never be mine.
Making believe,
I'll spend my lifetime
Loving you
And making believe.

This concludes My Life................
But stay tuned. I still have (Her Life) and (Our Life) to get to..

Sunday, August 25, 2013

It's called a cock kid, you'll love it.... (My Life-Part VIII)

 By the time my relationship with Dad was gone, I had a full time job and a part time job. I registered for Senior year of High School. I had my own apartment and shit was going pretty good. I was surviving, and what more could you ask from a seventeen year old entering his Senior year of High School. A dude got hired at my part time job. His name was Greag Bedner. We kind of hit it off since we both loved busting balls. He was six years older than me, but we got along great. And through him, and my own future experiences, I would come as close as a kid could come to sexual molestation, without ever being touched.

 We  hung out all the time. Due to weird family things going on with my own siblings, and the fact that Mom had passed, his Mom and Sister became like a surrogate family. His Mom became, simply, Ma Bedner. We spent the next five years forming a bond, I never had before. I had heard his sister Dana bring up their Dad James before, but never cared enough to ask. I just figured he was a jag off like my old man. One day we were drinking at my pad, and I decided to inquire. My life would be changed forever.

 "What happened to your Dad Greag?" We chatted back and forth for awhile but something didn't seem right. All of the sudden, he came clean. He told me in detail about what his Father did to him. He told me how he had swallowed his Father's sperm because it was a magic potion. Masturbation. Anal sex. As it turns out, this Motherfucker did things to my best friend that I had never heard of. But my friend never forgot. Since the day I met him, he was always into the harder drugs, and I didn't understand why. Opium and Cocaine. That was his escape. I always thought it was retarded. Looking back on it, who am I, or any of you to judge. I thought my Father was a prick. This dude's Dad did things to him that I never heard of.

 He was my best friend. my BEST FRIEND. He was my best man at my first wedding. He was Keira's God Father. The only time I ever saw him cry, was when I asked him to be her God Father. You would have thought that his own daughter had been born. Greag died on October 31st 2004. Heart failure due to a drug overdose. I will never forget the phone call I got from Ma. As I lay my head back on my couch cushion with tears pouring. I can't help but think there had to have been more I could do. Ma didn't know the extent of what happened. What if she did? Greag forced me to not say a thing. He was deathly afraid it would kill Ma. But in the end, it killed him. Which in turn, created a shell of who Ma used to be. This was the first time I had ever been introduced to pedophilia. It killed my friend, and I can't help but think that I could have saved him.

The truth is, due to Greag and Keira's birth, I finally started realizing how devastating molestation was to a child. I tried to be there for him but I could never help him overcome his demons. I will always regret that..

God, my eyes were wide...an open casket smile
You were never liked at all, and I'm fucking glad you're gone
You would rip off, a pervert jack off, big talk-no show
Broken back bone

You never looked better, dead and gone
I never felt better, you're dead and gone and...
I wish I would have done, what nature finished first
I'd done it with my hand, then left and shot myself

You never looked better, dead and gone
I never felt better, you're dead and gone and no more bother
I never lose sleep, I don't regret a thing
Believe me when I say, I'm fucking glad it's over

The praising of a higher hate
Don't doubt a fucking word

The darkest month, the darkest month is here
When you can't move so freely
Chill out, detox, rehab, clean out

I can't watch, I can't bear it
I just want to hang myself
Chill out, detox, rehab, clean out

I committed a felony, I never had much trouble before
First time offender

But I got put through the ringer
And my bank account shrunk a lot
They set an example, however
There's not a chance, no way through me

You've never forgiven, exploited in dirt, it bothers you, it tortures you
One more plight, left in life, shoot me dead, in the head
Catch me if you can...

Never touch me, never come near me
You're a punk, a bunch of words, not one percent
You're found out...if you were me, you'd be in luck
But you're not, so you suck

Show me a dollar, I'll show you no heart
Show me a heart, and I'll show you my eyes

Wrong inside

Given the inch, crippled a mile, the pull of the dragon, the pull of the drug
I can't see what the big fucking deal is?!
No repentance, no respect, blown up eyes, blown up skies!
I can't see what the big fucking deal is?!
And I cannot wait till the love is a fuck...

Back to the world, the tourniquet knot is slipping apart
Bones left to pick, they radiate and splinter away

Greag's Father disappeared sixteen months after Greag's burial. It was a somber news event. Who really gives a shit about an unemployed pedophile anyway. I would like to think, that in his death, he experienced as much pain, as he delivered in his life.
His body was never found and newscasts feared the worst had happened. The worst? if you say so...

Sleep good my friend. I hope death brought you the peace that life could not. I love you.

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Death of an Honor Society scholar and star athlete. Birth of a quick triggered thug (My Life-Part VII)

                                             SUMMER 1993

 A lot had happened since March. I finished my Junior year of high school on the National Honors Society for the third straight year. Ended with a 3.7 GPA. Met with football coaches from Iowa, Mich St., Minn, and Purdue. Also met some baseball coaches from all over. California, Florida, Pennsylvania, and Wyoming to name a few. But I had spent the last 9 weeks of that year in a daze. Even at the height of baseball season, I just didn't care. Sure, I was throwing in the low 90's and finished the season with a 397 BA. But March was BAD. http://job60445.blogspot.com/2013/03/moms-deadmy-life-part-ii.html

 Mom was buried on March 4th, Her Mother's birthday (Mammau). I thought I was hit hard, but I never took into account my Father's feelings. After all, I was just shy of my 17 birthday and was the most selfish I had ever been. But the one thing that day taught me, was true loss. An aching of the heart that I had never experienced before. I was the Momma's boy. The youngest child in a family of two girls and two boys. I was the apple of my Mother's eye. I could do no wrong, and I knew it. God Damnit did I take advantage. And all of the sudden it was gone. Just gone. She taught me how to write and play music. She helped me with math. And she cheered for me at little league. And suddenly, she was gone. It devastated me in ways that I never knew possible. Depression, chemical dependence, violence. I would discover it all. But I still had the old man, who was over three years sober at this point.

 I remember going out to Dinner with him one night after school ended. He ordered a Budweiser. My jaw dropped. I didn't think anymore of it other than the fact that he wasn't suppose to drink due to the medication. http://job60445.blogspot.com/2013/07/intraocular-cancer-my-life-part-vi.html
But he was an adult and I was a teenager, so what did I know. All I did know, was at this point, I needed and leaned on him. Within weeks, my Father's Dinner beers became much more. By the end of July he was back to whiskey and beer by the truckload. I had just went on my merry way. I was working out and doing my thing. Lifting weights in the morning, work in the afternoon, and martial arts at night. Mean time, the old man was drowning his sorrows in brown bottles after work. Four months had passed since the dirt was dumped on Mom's grave, and the old man was back to his old form. But I was older now. I just did my own thing and he did his thing. Both of us being hardheaded Irishman didn't know how to handle this time. So he went back to drinking, and I buried myself in football, weights, and Muay Tai.

 I remember coming home one night in late July to find a woman sitting in my Mother's chair. She was a repulsive fat hillbilly named Linda. She lived in Cedar Lake Indiana. "Hey kiddo, this is Linda, she's going to help take care of you." That was a polite way of saying, this is the woman I was fucking while your sister took Mom to radiation. Dad was always quite the ladies (?) man. But I soon realized that the old man was spending evenings with this pig while Mom was Dying. That's not for effect, she was literally fucking dying. But whatever. What was I going to do. This woman moved in to take care of me. Soon she was driving my Mom's car. And I was just oblivious. I had so much hurt and pain that I just buried.

 Over the next four weeks, my Father's drinking got worse. He always had little comments for me, but I was in my own little daze. Two weeks before Senior years was going to start, I came home after work. Dad was on the recliner with a beer and a Wild Turkey on the rocks next to him. "Hi Dad", I said as I passed him on the way to my upstairs bedroom. "Hey, how was your day?" he asked. I said, "Good, how was yours?" He replied, "Well since you ask, it was pretty shitty. I've been going through Mom's things." I didn't know what to say, so I stood there in silence with my right foot on the first step. "Just so you know, she would still be alive if it weren't for you." That is seriously what he said. My Father blamed me for Mom's death. "You had to keep feeding her those cigarettes, didn't you?" I didn't say a word. I just went to my room. I unpacked my gear and threw a bunch of clothes in my bag.

 "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he yelled as I walked passed him again. "I'm going to Erik's house." I said. "Oh yeah, you walk out that door, don't even bother coming back!", he said. At this point I just kept walking pass the old man towards the back door. I knew he was drunk, and he just told me that it was my fault Mom died. So I just wanted to get out of there. All of the sudden I got shoved in the back. I lost my footing and slammed my forehead into the Dining Room table. As I was on both knees on the floor I squeezed my forehead. It hurt so bad. I dropped my head a little bit towards my knees, and I saw the blood start pouring onto the carpet. At that very moment, I had my first psychotic break. I stood up, turned around, and proceeded to motion to my Dad to come get some more. I distinctly remember saying, "Alright MOTHERFUCKER, let's go!" Up to this point, I had never as much even disobeyed my Father. But at this very moment, at this very time, I saw a lot of things. I saw my Mother. I saw myself handing her a pack of Virginia Slim Lights. I saw her bald head. I saw a whore sleeping in her bed, with her husband. And I saw my blood.

 He took about six steps towards me with his right hand cocked back. As he threw the punch, I drew my left arm up. As I blocked the punch, I slid my hand behind his head. While I was doing this, I threw my right hand behind his head as well. I now had my Father in a "Clinch". I proceeded to throw four knees to his drunkin face. When he went down, I started raining down elbows. In the end, My Father went to the hospital, and I was under arrest. I had beaten my own Father so bad that he spent three days in the hospital.

 The scariest part is that I didn't even see him as my Father at that moment. All I saw was a man who accused me of being the reason my Mom died. He was nothing to me. An after thought. The charges were eventually dropped. He eventually married his "one true love". I went on with my thing.

 The last word I ever said to my Father was "Let's go Motherfucker!!!!!". That was 20 years ago. Jesus, Twenty years ago. I have spent my entire life burying this incident. My wife didn't even know this tainted part of my life until about six months before our wedding. It's not something to be proud of. I am downright ashamed of it. But in the last twenty years, I've justified it. "FUCK HIM" I would say. My own Duaghter has no idea that she has a Pampau. My Father has never met his Granddaughter. But who cares? Fuck him!!!!!!!

 The truth is, I've battled with this since I was 21. I have a Father who is alive. Not only does he not exist in my life, but the last time I spoke to him, I was breaking his jaw. I have been planning this post since my last. Taking notes and everything. After all, this year is my biography. But as things work, life has thrown a curveball.

 I got a call from my sister today. My Father is in the hospital. He is 77 years old and going in for a quadruple bi-pass surgery on Thursday. He will most likely not make it out of surgery. It's been twenty years since I've seen him. But I have to let him know that even though I do do not forgive him, I do love him. After all, he is my Father. He gave me life. The least I can do is let his last possible moments on Earth be forgiving, and to let him know that he is loved.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Intraocular cancer (My Life-Part VI)

 The age of thirteen was fucking awesome. I was in the Ponys, which was little league, but with regulation bases and fences. I was practicing offensive line play with my Brother's friend Don (Played 8 years with the Birmingham Bulls). And I was kicking ass at Muay Tai. I remember coming home one day to see my Mom with a sour puss look. But even more shocking was seeing my Father home. "Hey Guys" I said as I made for the stairs. "WAIT", my Mom said. "You need to sit down". So I sat down on the couch.
 Your Father went to the Doctors, and he has some problems, my Mom said. I asked her,"What's going on?" My Dad continued. "Bud, I have Intraocular Cancer". "What is that?", I asked. "I have Cancer inside of my left eye. But it's okay. It can be maintained with medication. I won't even lose my sight.", he explained. I remember looking down on the carpet just befuddled. I always knew growing up that my parents were odd. Odd meaning that they were much older than my friend's parents. Later in life, that whole thing. But I never thought about it in a mortal sort of way until I got this news.
 Now make no mistake about it. My Father was a hard nosed fucking prick. But I worshiped him. After all, he was my Father. He spent more time at the bar drinking and bedding with whores than he spent with me, or Mom for that matter. But he worked his ass off driving that dump truck just to make sure we wanted for nothing. In my estimation, at the age of thirteen. He was a great man. A great Dad with a lot of faults. But a great Dad none the less. So needless to say, the news of this cancer freaked me out. It scared the shit out of me to be honest. All my Grandparents had passed on at this point, but this was the first time that I felt the sadness and mortality of disease.
 I remember looking up from the carpet at my Father. A stoic manly look on my face, I'm sure. But I was fighting back the tears. "That sucks Dad, let me know if you need anything." I said, and then kind of looked over to the Dining room. Maybe just in case I got teary. Then something happened that shocked the fuck out of me. My Dad stood up, came over to the couch, and sat down. He softly grabbed my face and lifted up so that he could look into my eyes. "Listen big guy. I love you. I know I haven't always shown it. But there were other things always going on (Alcoholism). I will be fine and I can't wait to watch you play football, and don't you have a baseball game coming up? " My Father placed his hand on my head and said,"Things are going to be a little different now. Your Mother and I think it will be changes for the better."
 As it turns out, my Father's Cancer was contained within the eyeball. There was little chance of the Cancer spreading. No chemo, no radiation. Just some medication. But for the medication to work, the old man would have to stop drinking carbonated drinks. Which meant soda, and beer. The alcoholic would have to go on the wagon. And he did! And for three years he was like the fucking Brady Dad. 
 At the age of fourteen I was playing my last year of Pony's. My Dad was in the bleachers when I hit a 330 foot homerun. And my fast ball got clocked at 81 miles per hour. He wasn't screaming at me to do better. He wasn't slapping me for hitting a double when I should have been standing on third. He was standing up clapping vigorously. He was proud of his baby boy. Catholic school coaches were there to watch. They had these fancy gadgets when I was pitching. But none of that mattered. My Father was proud of me. But for the first time in my life, I felt like he would have been proud of me even if I went 0 for 4. For the first time in my life, he was just proud to be my Father. I guess this sobriety shit isn't so bad.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

A break in my biography.....

 I was going through my blog roll yesterday and something popped out at me. There was a new post from MrsAl. I had known that MrsAl was ill, but never knew the extent. After reading her recent post, I found out she was battling cancer. It's funny when you think about it. Since I've started blogging I've been battling other bloggers over ideology and political beliefs. This wonderful lady has been fighting for her life. putting all political feelings aside, something like this really puts life into perspective. A week ago I found out that a good man who goes by the name Up the Flag was in the hospital. Now MrsAl.
 MrsAl left her first comment on my blog in January of 2012. This is what she wrote, "I interrupt this thread to add additional estrogen to the mix, J.O.B., the pic of you and your Little Princess is priceless."
 Completely kind and beautiful. That's MrsAl in my opinion. No matter what her political beliefs are, she never has a bad thing to say about anyone. 
 This post is a tribute to a wonderful and beautiful woman who goes by the name of MrsAl.

This was a musical post that she commented on. It was right when I started Johnny O'Bloggin's Musical Mondays. She informed me in the comments that her Husband had purchased an electric piano.

She also let me know that she preferred Chopin. Which I completely understand.

 A lovely woman with a fine taste in music. But when I read her post I thought of only one song, and I know she won't like it. But I hope she believes in it.

I know your fear of loss
And your struggles with faith
And how it takes everything that you have to face the day
The virtues you possess now bring you eternal pain
All you have is contempt for a life you can't obtain
All your heroes have failed you
Yet you try and prevail
Face your torment and dismantle your doubt
Refuse this legacy of shame and deceit
Cause the only real truth in your life that you know is hostility
Your world is coming apart
Remain steadfast
Against all opposition
Crushing all limitations
Pure strength through solitude
Discipline and determination
You can't accept what you've been told
Anchored in sin you must reverse your descent
Declare the weight of the world has yet to claim you
And admit that your faults will not restrain you
Glimpses of fate bring light to your despair
Realise hope isn't short of your grasp
Resurrect every dream that you've buried alive
And never succumb to the war that you fight in your heart
Your world is coming apart
Remain steadfast
Against all opposition
Crushing all limitations
Pure strength through solitude
Discipline and determination

 When life looks at you and tells you it's time to go MrsAl. You tell life to go fuck itself. You're not done yet. You will be in our prayers and hearts. Stay strong, you have so much more to give and you can always count on me to stand with you.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

"Sorry Honey, but I don't want you playing. How about Martial Arts instead? (My Life - Part V)

 It was late Summer of '85. I was nine years old and just finished up my first season of little league. After the all star games were over I got bored rather quickly. So I decided I wanted to give football a try. After all, I played with my friends all the time and my Brother had spent the last year teaching me the techniques he learned during his first year of college. So after lunch one day I told my Mom, "I want to play football this Summer". She told me that she would find out when the registration was, and she would sign me up.

 She came home a few weeks later and told me, "Registration is in two weeks for Pop Warner". "Cool", I said. I didn't really think much of it. After all, my Father was all for it. Granted, I was a little nervous because I never so much had even wore pads. But, I played with my friends all the time. And I practiced with my Brother (who I idolized) and his friends. So I figured no big deal. I remember going to the park district for registration. My Mom gave a person all my medical papers and her permission releases. After that one of the men asked me to step onto a scale, which I did. 124 Lbs. he said out loud. Awesome I thought. I remember hearing my Mom talking to some guy about my age. As it turns out, there were weight limits in Pop Warner. I distinctly remember Mom telling some dude that her "BABY" wasn't going to play football with a bunch of 12 and 13 year old kids. The same guy told my mom, "Let Jonathon come to the first practice and see how he does".

 She obviously agreed, because three weeks later I was walking over to a shack on the the practice field at Trinity Christian College where I would be fitted for equipment. As I walked over to the practice field, I saw the other kids, and was not that impressed. I knew they were three and four years older than me, but they weren't that much bigger. we started by lining up in a formation for stretching and calisthenics. As we did this, two coaches walked up to everyone asking what position they would like to play. When they got to me, I told them Linebacker. I just loved the idea of hitting someone, with pads. They wrote on their chart and moved on to the next kid.

  My first ever drill was the three on three. Two down lineman on both side of the ball. A running back and a line backer. I was the linebacker. The coach screamed Hut, Hut. the Lineman engaged. I remember the running back making the move to the right. I paralleled and buried my helmet right into his chest. I think I heard his breath expel from his body. My first hit in pads, and I was addicted. The force, the contact, and the end result was exhilarating. Practice went on for two hours. It included numerous drills with we always feeling like I did well. It seemed like hitting and heavy bodily contact almost came natural. I remember looking at the other kids after practice. They were carrying there shoulder pads with their jersey draped over it. They were carrying them by the facemask of their helmets which was inside the opening in their pads. As I went to imitate them, one of the coaches came over and said, "Just leave all your pads here Jonathon". I was confused, but I didn't ask any questions. When I got to the car where my Mom was standing I told her what happened.

 "I'm sorry Honey, but you're not going to play football this year". "Why not?", I asked. "Honey, you're nine years old. Those kids are twelve and thirteen years old". "But I did good, didn't I" I asked. "Yes Honey, you did great. But I do not want you to get hurt". We got into the car and started driving home. My Mom asked me, "How about that martial arts stuff Honey?" "Sure" I replied in the most sarcastic nine year old voice you can imagine. We pull into a parking lot that says Muay Tai kick boxing. While we're walking in she looks down at me and says, "This is for the best Honey".

 A bigger mistake could not have been made. Thanks Mom.

i am the thing that makes you sick
i am the blame that gets placed quick
detect the crack within your lie
I'll be the wrath of your disdain
I'll be the fear in you ingrained
become the facts that you deny

i can feel this pain is real
i hate deep down inside
and like broken glass you'll shatter
with bloody fists i'll batter
like a ten ton hammer son

I'll be the trembling in your breath
trickle of blood upon your flesh
you'd love to watch me take the fall
I'll be the thing that you despise
cause I'm a be there standing tall


i can't stand or take another day my friend
you could learn a thing or two


Trapped in a ceaseless fever of spite
An unending fit of resentment and anger
Caught in a moment of unforgiveness
In the snapshot of a hate filled second

The speechless flickering of uncomprehending eyes
Dilated in disbelief
Your vacant gaze distorted
Twisted in its accusing glare

Teeth glimmering in emotional rage
Spit of hate suspended mid-air
Bodies strained in fury
Devoured by jaws of despair

One single image frame I wish to forget
Now replayed in succession of millions
The one second I will always regret
My hell found in its reiteration

Held within the visualization
The continuous rerun of my own violence
A fraction of time perpetuated
By my regretful soul animated

Please forgive the evil in me
The darkness within
Ferocious, inherent demon
Adrenaline gland resident

Threatened subconscious snake
Repressed into striking coil
Surfacing that black second
Ascending with the boil

Saturday, April 20, 2013

You can either be fat, or stupid. But I will kick your ass if you're both....(My Life - Part IV)

 I walked in the back door and Mom said, "guess what?" "What", I replied. "I am signing you up for little league tomorrow." she said. I was super excited. I had been waiting a whole year to play baseball. All my friends were playing, while I just did chores and other stupid shit. I was Nine years old, and had never been involved in any organized sports prior. "And I got great news", she said. "What", I asked. "Your Dad is going to be a coach." I didn't know what to think. I remember being scared to death. I was super nervous because I had never played an organized sport before. I didn't want to let the Old Man down. "Coooool", I replied. But I was torn up inside.
 There are obviously no try-outs in little league. I remember my Father being Head Coach of the Palos Hills Giants. I entered little league in the Minor division. I was 9 Years old. 9 and 10 year olds played in the Minors. 11 and 12 year olds played in the majors. At this age we all played on small fields. I remember the signs down the left field and right field lines reading 203 FT. Moving on, the Minors had six teams. My Father was one of the coaches. He and the other five Fathers actually had a "DRAFT". LOLOL. Drafting nine and ten year olds. That's just so funny to me, even as I type it. Obviously I was given to my Dad. All the coaches' kids were automatically on their Father's teams. I was now a Giant. I was terrified though. I remember one day after a "Coaches" meeting at my house. My Mom sensed that something was wrong. She asked, and I told her. "All these kids have been playing ball for one or two years. What if I'm no good?". "You'll be just fine Honey", she replied.

 We had our first practice on a weekend. I remember stepping into the batter's box being scared as hell. The pitcher tossed, and I let rip. Now I don't believe in God, but there must be some sort of God Given Ability. I remember lacing the third pitch into the concessions,. Roughly 240 Ft. After my very first batting practice I went into the dugout to get my mitt. My Dad gave me a pat on the shoulder and said, "Now you'll understand why I didn't want you playing Tee-Ball. These other kids won't hit half as good as you because they're pussies." I remember thinking how he must have known what he was talking about. So many kids were barely hitting the ball out of the infield. When we got home, he was so proud. And I was so satisfied. He said to Mom, "This kid's a natural".

 It was halfway through the season. We were the visiting team. Top of the sixth. (Only six innings at this age).  I remember being down with one out and I went up to the plate with one out and men(?) on first and third. On a 3-0 count the pitcher threw a cherry. I roped it down the first base line. I remember rounding first and hearing stop. But I saw the kid on first running towards home, so I rounded second and headed to third. I was thrown out, but I had tied the game. As I started running back to the dugout, I saw my Dad. He had a look of utter shame. I just kept my head down and headed to the bench. My Father grabbed me by my hair and said, "You pay attention to your Coaches, you fucking idiot."

 My teammates and I were at the concession area eating the shittiest pizza you ever tasted. But to a nine year old fat kid, it was great. We won the game by three runs, and I was really happy because I had tied the game. My Father opened the car door for me. I felt like a champ. Must have been that God given ability. When my Dad sat next to me in the Driver's seat, he stared at me. I looked at him and asked,"Is something wrong Dad?" He put his hand on the left side of my head and shoved it into the side window of the car. As I started to cry he said, "You can either be fat and slow, or stupid. If you ever do something like that again, I'll give you something to cry about."

 We walked to the back door. I went in first. I took off my spikes and immediately headed to my bedroom. I heard my Mom ask, "How was the game?" My Dad replied,"Jonathon has some God given ability." I closed my door, fell onto my bed, and cried. I couldn't figure out for the life of me what I had done wrong.........
But at least I had that God Given ability.


Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Tee-Ball is for Pussies....(My Life - Part III)

 MOM, MOM, MOM. "What!", she replied rather annoyed. "I'd like to play tee-ball this year." I said.

 I was eight years old. We had just moved to a new neighborhood,. and luckily there were plenty of kids my age. That Spring, I found out they were all being signed up for little league tee-ball. "Your Father will be home for Dinner tonight. We'll tell him about it and sign you up tomorrow." I remember running outside and telling Brian and Mike about it. I was so excited. We found a big stick in the open field next door to my house. Mike went home and came back with a Tennis ball. I distinctly remember playing Baseball (Stick Ball) for hours. Even though my Mom was an avid Sox fan, it was the first time I had swung a bat (tree branch) in my life. I remember making Brian call me Ron Kittle.

 Quite some time had past when I saw my Father turn down our street. As he pulled in to the driveway I remember feeling even more excitement. As my Dad walked in he waved at us and I waved back. But I didn't want to bum rush him. I stayed outside playing ball with my friends.Sometime later my Mom stuck her head out the window and yelled that it was Dinner time. I said goodbye and headed inside with great anticipation. After I washed up I headed to the fridge and grabbed a beer for the old man. I sat down and we began our meal.

 "So, I'm going to sign Jonathon up for tee-ball tomorrow.", said Mom. "What", replied the old man. As my Mom explained everything to my Dad, he sat there shaking his head. I remember just looking down at my plate. After he finished his beer, he shouted, "Absolutely not!". My Mom asked "Why?". The old man went on to explain that "Tee-ball is for little pussies". "You might want my Son playing piano like a little Faggot, but I'm putting an end to this shit right now!" "No way is he going to be some little pussy". I couldn't even look up. Never before had I seen my Father like this. But then again, between work and the pub, I rarely saw him anyway. I didn't know what to think besides for the sadness. I even started to tear up a bit. 

 Before I knew it, the old man streamed around the table and smacked me on the back of the head. I grabbed the back of my head and tucked my chin into my chest. Dad grabbed me by my hair and yanked my head back. "You keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about. No Son of mine is going to be a pussy!" At that moment my Mom stood up and shoved my Dad away. She yelled at me to go outside. I sat on the steps of the back porch wondering what the fuck I had just witnessed. I had spent eight years in this family without ever seeing anything like this. Why was my Dad so angry? Why did he hit me? What did I do? Why did my Mom push my Father? Why does tee-ball make me a pussy? What's a faggot? I remember an anger falling over me, a hate that I could not explain. I was so mad.

 Mom came out a few minutes later and sat down with her legs straddled on either side of me. She wrapped her arms around my chest and gave me a firm, gentle squeeze. "Are you OK honey", she asked. "I guess so." She went on to explain something that I had not heard before, and it wouldn't be the last time. "Honey, your Father loves you, but he has what we call the 'DISEASE'." The disease as I came to understand it was nothing more than an excuse for alcoholism and abuse. It was the Irish way of saying, "That person is a piece of shit, but they love you". So with a glimmer of hope I asked, "Did he say I can play tee-ball". Too which she replied, "I'm sorry honey, but Dad would rather you wait until next year when you can play regular baseball. But he agreed that you can take those kickboxing classes that Your friend takes." At this time I could care less about kickboxing, or muay thai. But I nodded in agreement as if everything was fine. I did ask her, "Can I still play piano with you". She replied, "Of course you can honey. You can play piano as long as you want."

 I gave my Mom a smile and a kiss. But what she didn't know is that a deep seeded anger, resentment, and hatred was planted. A seed that would grow within for the next decade. Maybe it really is a disease.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Politics? AGAIN?

 I guess I just can't escape venting. Don't blame me though, there is some major retardation going on out there. And sometimes it is just too much for me to take. Today I was reading through the internet, when I stumbled upon a series of different articles that drove me nuts. On March 14th, Senator Rob Portman (R) of Ohio came out in support of Gay rights, and marriage equality. This occurred after Portman's son came out as a gay man.

 Now anyone that has read this blog knows of my life and gay rights. My Nephew made a big leap about 5 years ago and came out of the "closet". He admitted to me that he was gay, and was shown love and comfort by me with open arms. Since that day, I have been a strong advocate for marriage equality and gay rights. Because of my experience, I applaud Senator Portman. And that is where my disgust begins.

 First, I stumbled upon THIS article. Here is the opening paragraph from the piece.
"WASHINGTON -- Hypocrite. Narcissist. Wingnut. Bigot. Those are some of the epithets -- not counting the expletives -- that have been hurled at Sen. Rob Portman, R-Ohio, since he announced Friday that he now supports same-sex marriage because his son is gay. But these epithets aren't coming from the right. They're coming from the left."
Absolutely amazing. To those Liberal heroes of the world that agree with this paragraph. You are complete and utter jerk offs. I really don't need to put it into words, since the article in the link does a pretty good job of that. But I would like to add one thing not found in the article. Everyone knows that The POTUS decided after long Dinners with his family that Gay Marriage is okay. This was deemed acceptable, and by most, a Way To Go Buddy moment. Obviously the same people who claim Sen. Portman's new thoughts on gay equality lack empathy are the same people that thought Obama's change of heart was way Cool. Of course what you Lefties fail to realize is that this is not the first change of heart the President has had on the subject. In fact, the President's view on marriage equality seams to change as often as Chicago's weather. Depending on whose vote is being courted of course. So do yourselves a favor Liberal detractors. Leave Sen. Portman be. Let him travel down this new road with the Son that he obviously loves. And wouldn't you prefer a Senator who writes laws from the heart, instead of the Church anyway?

 Second, If you haven't seen THIS article yet, feast your eyes. Here is a quote from the GingPac article.
"Homosexual sex is ultimately just as destructive as cocaine use. Would Portman suddenly call for the legalization of cocaine if his son had announced that he was a cocaine addict? Would that be “loving” and “compassionate”?"
To you Conservative freedom fighters that agree with this parsgraph, HOLY FUCK!!!! That is one of the most retarded things I have ever heard. I may have to bring the beat-off of the month contest back. You people can not possibly be ready to make this argument. Now I apologize if this offends anyone, but my wife and I still have oral sex. Are we fucked? Or is that okay since we are heterosexual? You are comparing a woman going down on another woman and a man going down on another man, to a powder that is made by manufacturing the Coca plant with Ether? Are you people fucking delirious? Hey Right Wing fucktards, you're against gay marriage, I get it. But when you claim that sexual acts performed by same sex partners is as destructive as Cocaine use. Well, now you are nothing but lost souls. I will say a prayer for you.

Read more here: http://www.star-telegram.com/2013/03/19/4715115/liberals-reaction-to-portman-shows.html#storylink=cpy

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Happy St. Patrick's Day.............

 Just thought I would celebrate my holiday with all of you the only way I know how.

Friday, March 1, 2013

MOM'S DEAD....(My Life - Part II)

 "I'll be back in a couple of hours Mom. I have to go home and do a little homework and I'd like to take a shower". "OK honey", she replied. It took me a little over an hour to finish my homework and then I got into the shower. I remember taking a very hot and long shower. Just standing under the water thinking, hoping, even praying. Praying to a god that I had no belief in, but praying none the less. How could things go so wrong? How could life be so cruel to such a wonderful person? As I got out of the shower I remember looking at my skin in amazement. How could I have been so wrapped up in my own thoughts that my skin was as pink as Ms. Piggy? LOLOLOL. Trust me, it was pink. That water must have been real hot. As I'm getting dressed I hear the front door open. "Jonathon!", says the voice. I threw on my shirt and ran downstairs. There in the doorway was my Brother-In-Law. I saw his eyes teared up and he was sort of trembling. "What's wrong?" I asked even though I knew. "Mom's dead", he whaled as he shrunk into my shoulders. I think that's when I experienced what Therapists call "Shut Down".

 I remember back in October of '92 my Mother was complaining of a bad sore throat. Right after her birthday she made a Doctor's appointment. I came home one day after Football practice and she says, "Honey, I need to Talk to you". "What's up", I asked. "Well Honey, I had to take some tests at the Doctor's" she said. "OK" I replied. "It turns out That I have cancer and that's why I have had a sore throat." "But don't worry, I will be just fine." She must have said that because she saw the look on my face. I can only guess that it was a look of "What the Fuck". But I believed her. After all, she worked in the cancer ward of Palos Community Hospital. I guess I knew deep down that this wasn't good, but I took my Mother's word for it.

 The Radiation treatments did nothing except turn my Mother into a shell of her former self. Anyone who has had someone close to them die of cancer has my utmost and complete sympathies. I remember Christmas time is when my Mother had shaved her head. She was losing her hair in big clumps, so she decided to keep her pride and shave her head. She was now a 55 year old bald woman. I did the only thing a loving Mama's boy could do. I shaved my head. (Yes this is where my shaved head look started) As an added bonus her license was revoked. Now I'm not sure if it was the intensity of the treatment, or if Radiation is that much different than Kemo, but she was no longer allowed to drive. Some time shortly after New Years my Mom asked me for a small favor, that would end up changing my life forever. "Jon, I need you to do me a favor and go get me some cigarettes." I was shocked, "You quit smoking, I can't buy you cigarettes." She started to cry, which really tore me up. Never in my life had something I've said or done made my Mother cry. "Honey, I need a cigarette. So please just do this for me, and then we'll talk". So, I did it. I went and bought cigarettes for my Mother, who had Esophageal Cancer which was due to smoking.

 I got home and she had a cup of coffee and a cigarette. She told me to come sit with her at the table. "Honey, my cancer has progressed. I decided to end my radiation treatments." "Why", I asked. "Jon, this is going to be hard for you and it is very hard for me. But I'm going to die honey. I don't know when, but it is inevitable." I lost it, I started balling right there. She came over and knelt down and held me in her arms. "Look at me honey." I took my head away from her shoulder and looked at her. "Now you have grown up to become a wonderful young man. I am so proud of you and proud to call you my Son. I don't know how much time I have left but I'm sure it's not much. I just want to enjoy the little time that I have left with you, your Brother, and Sisters." She assured me that I could handle this, and right then I decided to be the young man that she told me I was. "So what do you want to do now", I asked. "Go get Monopoly", she said. We played Monopoly for three hours that day. It was great.

 As weeks went by, I spent all my free time with her. We watched movies, played cards, and just had fun doing mundane stupid shit. Dad would come home and cook Dinner, or order in. My Mom talked to my Principal, so I was able to take a lot of days off of school. Mom continued to smoke and I continued to get them for her. I remember it was early February when Mom started getting real bad. We spent less and less time playing games as most of her time was spent on the couch, moaning in pain. The cancer was eating her alive and I had a front row seat. She spent the last eight days of her life in a private room at the hospital she worked at, on the floor she was a nurse.

 When I got to her room I grabbed her hand. She was still warm. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 20 years ago tonight, right now at this very moment, we were all sitting and standing in her room. Waiting for the funeral home to come pick her up. March 1st has never been a fun day since.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Politics? AGAIN?

 I am making an attempt to dedicate 2013 and my blog  into somewhat of a biography. I figured I would leave politics to my friends in the blogosphere, with me commenting when I had a thought or correction. But as I looked through some local newspaper articles today, something caught my eye that I felt necessary to post. You may have read THIS.

 So here is what really pisses me off. Today, the second Congressional District of Illinois (Encompasses the South side of the city as well as Southern suburbs) is holding a special Democratic primary to fill the vacant seat of Jesse Jackson Jr. Yes, THAT Jesse Jackson Jr. So anyway, Ms. Debbie Halvorson seemed to be leading the race. The problem? Ms Halvorson, a Democrat, received an A rating from the NRA. Why? She is against a ban on assault weapons and she has always supported conceal/carry in Illinois.

 Now here is where my blood pressure rises. Since Halvorson who is a gun friendly Democrat is looking like the winner, someone stepped in. You may have heard of him. A Mr. Michael Bloomberg. I guess he's the Mayor of a town called New York. Something about fountain drinks comes to mind right now. So anyway, Mr. Bloomberg, who is a staunch supporter of tighter gun control decided to lend a hand. Or shall I say two million hands. That's correct, for whatever reason, the Mayor of New York has decided to take 2 million dollars from his little political chest and hand it over to the next best candidate, Ms. Robin Kelly. It just so happens that Ms Kelly is a staunch gun control supporter herself. Now here is a quote from the Yahoo article that I linked above.
"Bloomberg elbowed his way into the race, blanketing Chicago television with ads attacking Halvorson and endorsing Kelly."
 Why do these people do things that piss me off so much? And here's the best part. That New York money could very well have been donated that believed in Bloomberg's bullshit cause. Where's their money now? Helping to finance one Democrats aspirations, while defeating another Democrats beliefs. Unreal!

 I have donated $150 to the Illinois State Rifle Association. But I promise you this Mr. Bloomberg. If Ms. Robin Kelly wins tonight, I will donate another $150 to the ISRA. But I will also double that figure to the NRA. And most importantly, I will donate at least $600 to whomever runs against you during the next election.

 Keep your opinions and money to yourself Mr. Bloomberg, you should stick to soft drinks. You piece of shit.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Innocence Lost....(My Life - Part I)


This post will contain many racial epithets. 
If you are easily offended, please do not continue.

 It's been a long time since my last post. I haven't been visiting other blogs too much either. Holidays were great. I was in a bad frame of mind for a little bit there. Not gun to the head, start fires, bed ridden for weeks bad. But it seemed like a lot of shit hit me all with in a week or two. One thing that set it off was an incident that happened to my Daughter at school, which led me to think of my own upbringing.

 The first week of December was boring. I always get bored when I'm not working. Got laid off just after Thanksgiving. Since my home is pretty immaculate, my down time is usually spent doing basic household chores, and playing on the computer. But when my Daughter spends the week here, it's a lot less boring. So I pick her up and as we are driving home we are talking about her day. As I'm driving we are listening to some music. Then while we are stopped at a light, she says "Hey Dad". "Yeah Hun", I reply. "What's a Nigger?".  My jaw dropped. "We'll be home in three minutes Hun, we'll talk about it then."
 As we walk in the door she immediately sits down at the table to start her homework. I actually go to the fridge and grab a beer. "What the FUCK?" is what I'm thinking. So I take my beer and sit down next to her. With T.V. off and no distractions I ask her, "Soooooo, where did you here that word kiddo?" "Emma called me a nigger lover." she said. "What exactly happened?" I asked. "When I came in from recess I sat down, and Emma leaned over and called me a nigger lover" she replied. "Well what happened at recess Hun?". "Nothing, I was playing hopscotch with Sabrina" she told me. I asked her, "Is Sabrina the little black girl in your class?". "No Dad, She's in Mrs. McQuinn's class, not mine." "OH,  sorry", I replied sarcastically. "Go ahead and finish your homework Hun, we'll talk more later." So I start cooking dinner. While I'm cooking, I start doing a lot of reflecting on my own past life.

 When I was about nine years old, I heard my Father say nigger for the first time. Then my Mother is frantically telling him to shut up, "Jonathon is in the next room". I knew right away that I heard a bad word, but had no idea what it was. That's one of the most beautiful things about children. They are so naive to the ugliness.
 Now my Father is what I call a "Taught Racist". He was taught from an early age that black people are beneath him. I believe this is the type of racist that is most likely to join a hate group. But, since he was raised in Kentucky by an Irish immigrant Father, he had some rather colorful nicknames for black people. By the time I was six, I thought crickets lived on the moon, cute bunnies lived in the jungle, and we had apes living in the backyard. But when I heard the word nigger, I was at that perfect age where I was naive and inquisitive. So I asked my Mom, "What's a nigger?". "Honey, that's a very bad word that you don't ever repeat."
Moving to Chicago in the 60's was probably a bad thing for my parents. I can see how my Father's seeds of hate only grew during the riots. I would think that's how it went down, and my Mother must have told him about our conversation. Because shortly thereafter, the word nigger was used more and more commonly in my home. "Oprah is a good looking woman for a nigger" is one thing I remember hearing. "If Walter wasn't a nigger, he wouldn't be half the runner he is now" is another thing I remember hearing about Chicago's very own and beloved Walter Payton. I thought nothing of this language, as I started hearing it all the time. By the time I reached Jr. High, we lived in a nice Chicago suburb that was pretty much all white. But at that age you start picking up little stories on TV and in news papers. And just as it is now it was the same back then. The majority of crime, especially violent crime in Chicago was committed by black people. So seeds start being planted. But then when I got into High School, big changes took place. I became defiant. As with most white kids in my situation, you start developing a love for the black kids. It would be nice to say that this is because you start developing empathy in your life. But that's bullshit, at fourteen years old, you're the most selfish you have ever been. You express love for the black community not out of empathy, but out of defiance. Pretty much a big fuck you to the old man. At this time I remember a young black doctor coming into our home to perform a physical on my Father for his work. I'm sitting on the couch waiting to hear my Father tell this young guy to get out of his house because no niggers are allowed. But just the opposite. All smiles and handshakes from the old man. Even friendly banter during the physical. As the doctor finished my Mother and Father walked him to the door. All smiles and waves as he walked out. I remember thinking, maybe my Father had changed his ways. He walks into the kitchen, grabs a Budweiser, and walking to his special chair he gives me a wink and says "I better take a shower soon and wash this nigger off of me". I remember shaking my head and thinking, "Wow, the old man is a Pussy Bigot". That was my own special name for people that were to afraid to express how they truly feel.

 As I've grown older, I've often thought about racism and how it equates to upbringing. My Uncle, Aunt and Cousins still live in Kentucky. I don't think any of them are prejudice in any way, although I've never asked. That is from my Mom's side (her Brother). They are also all college educated. So does education have anything to do with it? Maybe. But my Mother was not racist at all, and she didn't even finish High School. Maybe it was my Maternal Grandfather (Pampau). Maybe there was a lot more love in my Mother's home than my Father's. Or is it experiences?
 My own prejudices or at least the ones I think I have are solely based on life experience, or is it? I'll be the first to admit, I have become desensitized. Dago, Wop, Krout, Mick, I've said them all. But what is it that makes Nigger so dirty. It's got to be the worst, even worse than kike. So dirty, that when someone on some news channel paraphrases, they don't say nigger. They say "The N word". Which by the way, I've always hated that. I'll let one of my favorite comedians explain why.

 To be honest with you, I've done the same thing. I once called some old white lady a dumb nigger. As I look back on language I've used, I realize none of it's right. But Nigger has got to be the most offensive. Seriously, calling me a Mick, or Hillbilly doesn't even compare. And I don't even know why I say it. Even with the life experiences I've had with people from the black community, I've never looked at another black man or woman and thought, "What a nigger". But yet I feel no guilt saying the word. I think I have become desensitized. By a combination of media, experiences, and of course my Father. (Thanks Dad)
 But since the incident with my Daughter, I find it necessary to eliminate some language from my vocabulary. I am the first to admit, that I am a foul mouthed prick. Unabashed for sure. What do you expect, I was raised by a trucker. But I have always prided myself on "Watching" my language around my Daughter. I'm proud to say that the worse thing my Daughter has ever heard was Hell. I think she might have heard me call someone an asshole once, but I don't want to ask. But still, I have never stopped to think of what that word really means to the black community, and I think it's time. I can see how it is offensive. Not to you Liberal professor types, who may very well have family that owned black people long long ago. But to a black man whose Great Great Grandfather may very well have been owned.

 Continuing with our conversation during dessert. "So Hun, you asked what a nigger is". "Yeah", she replied. "Well, a nigger is a very bad word that some people use for black people". "What does it mean?" she asks. "It has no meaning Honey, it's called a slur. A slur is a bad, hurtful way to refer to someone's nationality or race." I replied. "Oh, so why did Emma say it?" she asked. "Well, Maybe Emma's parents raise her differently than I raise you. Did Emma say this to Sabrina?". "No", she replied. "Good, what Emma said was not nice, and I don't want you talking to her." I said. " I don't talk to her anyway Dad, she's kind of mean." She replied. "Good, so what do you want to do this weekend?" I asked. "Can I have a play date with Sabrina?" she replied. "Of course you can honey" I said, with a smile on my face.