This Is How I Roll...

I found the posted image of myself and figured I'd put it up as a reminder of better days. This picture is of me I'm assuming around the age of 3. Look at me with that mower, I imagined I cut the grass with that thing a thousand times. My mom recalled me following my dad around when he cut the grass with the real push mower. The two of us would go in circles in the yard and as he would cut, I was certainly there as a backup to mush any grass down that was left in his wake. And after we labored in the yard, my dad would take me to the store next door for an orange pop and a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. I have to admit this seems like such a simpler time. I mean back then I could just get a simple orange drink and I had my choice of only two kinds of Doritos, Nacho Cheese or Ranch. It was a simple choice and I'm sure within minutes my face and clothes were covered in both snack items.

Now even when posed with as simple choice, such as what flavor of Dorito, I don't know what the hell to pick. There is everything from "X-13D Flavor Experiment" to "Tacos at Midnight." This shit is totally wack. I think sometimes I was born in the wrong era. I wish I had been around for times when people could smoke on black and white panel game shows and Eames Atomic was the pattern on my dinnerware. These were the days when things weren't such a monumental clusterfuck, or so it seems. I would have loved nothing more than to court my "number one gal" to the soda store for a float, followed by a walk home together past mom & pop department store windows showing off their new radios in storefronts. Back when someone would hand write a letter or offer you a glass of milk, and it would be presented to you in an actual glass, and you would accept it graciously.

I realize that it wasn't all good, I'm sure there was still plenty of racial tension and there was only one hairstyle, for guys anyway. And I'm certain my name would have been John or Howard and I could have possibly had a nickname like Buddy or Chip, all monotonous and cliché. Televisions were the size of mini-coopers and you would bust your ass all day for a a quarter, fifty cents if you were fortunate. 

Maybe I'm just living beyond reality, but it also seemed like emotions and feelings weren't as frivolous and overlooked as they are now. Possibly I'm just from the old school and I won't even open my mouth about emotion unless it's someone who has made a profound difference in my life. In high school I had gym class with a smooth talking italian guy nicknamed "Chopper". He had the ability to be with any girl he chose, I think this gift is wasted on people like him. The guys would bet him to sleep with certain girls and on other occasions try and get them pregnant. And if anyone had this ability, it was him. I asked him once how he did it, what was his secret. His only response was..."this is how I roll."

I used to want to be that guy with the power to make any girl instantly fall in love with him. In Chopper's case it was to bag as many virgins as possible and try and possibly get one pregnant. For me it was more about devoting my life to this other person, and living my life so that I did everything in my power to insure their happiness. And hopefully this person would feel the same way.  Guys like me, the nice guys, are typically the bronze metal guys. Falling far short of Chopper's "this is how I roll" attitude, and below another level of  mindless jocks. Squeezing in someplace in between the kids that always got picked on, and the kids who's faces were constantly forgotten. In the case of handing out valentines, no one in this gray area was safe when it came to getting left out.

I think I get this deep love and devotion from my grandmother. She met a man while waiting tables at WalGreens named Simon Lopez. The two had a small chat and she was instantly infatuated. She spent the rest of her life trying to write him letters and contact him. She dreamed of the day when the two of them could have a home together. She wanted the life portrayed in magazine advertisements for butterball turkeys and jiffy popcorn. A life spent dedicated to her lover, having meals ready when he got home from a long day at work. Having the kids tucked in before he retired to their home in the evening. She wanted to go on moonlit walks and sit on park benches together. She whole heartedly devoted just short of sixty-five years to this idea. In all this time, she never gave up, and never doubted that one day he would return to her. All this built on one conversation, and in all that time, she never received a letter or any type of communication. Following her death we discovered hundreds of letters written throughout the years, all stamped with either "return to sender" or "invalid address."  In thinking about this, you have to consider if this was a wasted life? Or was this just her way of having something to believe in and hope for in a crazy and ever changing world. I firmly believe that Simon Lopez was of the "this is how I roll" school, and my grandmother a dying breed of devoted individuals the believed in something greater for themselves. I think she knew that only she could bring a certain level of love and devotion to this man's life. In her life, Simon Lopez was her Moby Dick and in having him to chase after, just as the Mody never knew it, and Simon never will either and in this way, they complimented and completed one another.

I know how she felt and still continue to do so, and maybe, just maybe, one day I'll catch my white whale. I have with much regret missed the opportunity once in my life, I just hope that things will be different the next time around and things will work out for the best.