Way I see it, there's only two things I had or have no control over.
The day I was born and the day I die. One was a mistake in judgement. The other is judgement day.
Between the two extremes, I am the sum of all judgements.
When your inside your own personal little heaven, you don't have to breathe and for a long time during the cycle of your birth, you can squirm around your world, kick the crap out of your mom, do spinning cannon balls and piss in the pool.
You didn't have to worry about food or oxygen or grades you were getting while showboating in your own personal dark enclosure and you could suck your finger to your hearts content. Even if you didn't know what any of those words meant.
Then it happens, all hell breaks lose. that moment when you realize you can no longer swim in your pool and you gravitate to the exit door and wait for an opening. Then comes the stark realization that the opening wasn't into another larger pool. Rather, the shock of your existence. The moment when air is no longer supplied by something else and you now have to supply your own.
Cheap shots, life! Thanks for spoiling my party!
You can't see, it hurts to breathe and it is cold as an iceberg. No more happy memories of swimming around in a world of darkness. You're no longer there. Its been taken away. Your heaven has been taken away.
Protesting is not an option you either breathe in this world or you don't. Even if you rebel and refuse to breathe on your own, what do they do? They slap your butt. Where's the justice in that?
Then there's the paper work. The formality of this world's processing system. Put totally naked on something even colder than the air you body hit coming out of salvation. So what do you do when such atrocities occur?
Don't know about the females, but the males just piss in the new pool!
THE NURSERY
For those of you who are parents or are wanna bee parents, you might not know this but this will the last time your little bundle or bundles of joy share the same space in the nursery with the likes of dishwashers, firemen, doctors, lawyers, and socialites is in the nursery.
Our hearing is like radar.
The three things you know just before birth and from inside the your sanctum is the way something around you moves their muscles -- what we're now learning as breathing, the way very close sounds make you feel and the louder than your own heartbeat.
Amplify that a thousand times and that is how we know when that whatever it is, is close.
There is a very distinctive difference in baby cries that tells both sexes that both are present, too. Girls cry at a higher pitch and sometimes softer. Guys just tell the world how badly it hurts to not be able to go back to their water version of their man cave.
MEETING THE ADAMS FAMILY
All babies need to bask in the moment when those scary large creatures in this world are the softest, quietest and nicest people on the planet. It can vaporize in less than 1 second.
The first thing you hear is a familiar, softer voice that once sounded muffled but is now much clearer and louder. And you think, yeah, right.
Ah, excuse me, I hate to break up the party, but you aren't fooling me for one second with that soft sedation, I lived inside of you, remember?
You ain't fooling me!
Your head is on a mound of warmth and your auto response mind says suck but the awkward male needs a mother to guide him to the milking station.
Ever notice that?
Females almost instinctively know where the milk is. Males, on the other had look like they are using their face for target practice.
So, then comes the name calling. Parents ought to be glad we don't have the instant ability to talk back. Or, at the very least be able to express ourselves with our fingers from day one.
"Honey what name should we call him?"
Some foreign affairs actor with a really bad accent and a deep sounding voice says.
"Well, how about Richard since we used my first name on our daughter."
"Wait, what, I thought I was the only one in this universe, now there's three!?
"Hey parents, you do know the short name for Richard is Dick, right?
You really want people to call me Dick?"
If we could..
"Oh, look darling, isn't that cute, he just gave you the fuck off and die you son of a bitch middle index fingers salute. Just like I did, when he was in my womb."
"Oh, he also said 'Get a job dickhead.' just like me. Oh, so wonderful. I feel so blessed."
"You are going to get a job, honey, aren't you?"
Yea! Two against one.
"Save me mommy from that wicked man! Who accidentally dropped me on my head three times today because I told him to get a job dickhead. Again."
Okay, so it is probably a good thing we don't know how to say what's on our minds right off the bat.
But still...
The fact is, parents do gang up on you. No one parent acts the same around you as they do when the two are together. A kind of gang mentality.
They don't want to hear about physical flaws. Religion gets thrown at you when you don't know its name.
Circumcision devalues your masculinity and holly water baptizes you into a sin laden guilt trip to hell. All done with out your permission and for the purpose of your own personal salvation.
The world you just entered is crazy and mean, indeed. But it could have been worse if your genetic pool -- that incubator you live in for the past 9 months you call your mother -- decided you should exist again, but this time in 1949.
For years, it bothered me that I was born in Bound Brook, NJ on November 1st, 1949 when the other three siblings were born in Mount Holly, NJ.
I'm the only left handed kid in the family, I have O- blood, have a lazy left eye, was pigeon toed and was dyslexic as any worse case description could conjure up.
But if someone asked me if I wanted a second chance on life, I would have said no.
There wasn't a cut, bruise, broken arm or any other calamity that happened over my life that I would want to change.
Not even as bad as my childhood days were, I wouldn't want to stop anything that happened. Because, they made me stronger.
The day I was born and the day I die. One was a mistake in judgement. The other is judgement day.
Between the two extremes, I am the sum of all judgements.
When your inside your own personal little heaven, you don't have to breathe and for a long time during the cycle of your birth, you can squirm around your world, kick the crap out of your mom, do spinning cannon balls and piss in the pool.
You didn't have to worry about food or oxygen or grades you were getting while showboating in your own personal dark enclosure and you could suck your finger to your hearts content. Even if you didn't know what any of those words meant.
Then it happens, all hell breaks lose. that moment when you realize you can no longer swim in your pool and you gravitate to the exit door and wait for an opening. Then comes the stark realization that the opening wasn't into another larger pool. Rather, the shock of your existence. The moment when air is no longer supplied by something else and you now have to supply your own.
Cheap shots, life! Thanks for spoiling my party!
You can't see, it hurts to breathe and it is cold as an iceberg. No more happy memories of swimming around in a world of darkness. You're no longer there. Its been taken away. Your heaven has been taken away.
Protesting is not an option you either breathe in this world or you don't. Even if you rebel and refuse to breathe on your own, what do they do? They slap your butt. Where's the justice in that?
Then there's the paper work. The formality of this world's processing system. Put totally naked on something even colder than the air you body hit coming out of salvation. So what do you do when such atrocities occur?
Don't know about the females, but the males just piss in the new pool!
THE NURSERY
For those of you who are parents or are wanna bee parents, you might not know this but this will the last time your little bundle or bundles of joy share the same space in the nursery with the likes of dishwashers, firemen, doctors, lawyers, and socialites is in the nursery.
Our hearing is like radar.
The three things you know just before birth and from inside the your sanctum is the way something around you moves their muscles -- what we're now learning as breathing, the way very close sounds make you feel and the louder than your own heartbeat.
Amplify that a thousand times and that is how we know when that whatever it is, is close.
There is a very distinctive difference in baby cries that tells both sexes that both are present, too. Girls cry at a higher pitch and sometimes softer. Guys just tell the world how badly it hurts to not be able to go back to their water version of their man cave.
MEETING THE ADAMS FAMILY
All babies need to bask in the moment when those scary large creatures in this world are the softest, quietest and nicest people on the planet. It can vaporize in less than 1 second.
The first thing you hear is a familiar, softer voice that once sounded muffled but is now much clearer and louder. And you think, yeah, right.
Ah, excuse me, I hate to break up the party, but you aren't fooling me for one second with that soft sedation, I lived inside of you, remember?
You ain't fooling me!
Your head is on a mound of warmth and your auto response mind says suck but the awkward male needs a mother to guide him to the milking station.
Ever notice that?
Females almost instinctively know where the milk is. Males, on the other had look like they are using their face for target practice.
So, then comes the name calling. Parents ought to be glad we don't have the instant ability to talk back. Or, at the very least be able to express ourselves with our fingers from day one.
"Honey what name should we call him?"
Some foreign affairs actor with a really bad accent and a deep sounding voice says.
"Well, how about Richard since we used my first name on our daughter."
"Wait, what, I thought I was the only one in this universe, now there's three!?
"Hey parents, you do know the short name for Richard is Dick, right?
You really want people to call me Dick?"
If we could..
"Oh, look darling, isn't that cute, he just gave you the fuck off and die you son of a bitch middle index fingers salute. Just like I did, when he was in my womb."
"Oh, he also said 'Get a job dickhead.' just like me. Oh, so wonderful. I feel so blessed."
"You are going to get a job, honey, aren't you?"
Yea! Two against one.
"Save me mommy from that wicked man! Who accidentally dropped me on my head three times today because I told him to get a job dickhead. Again."
Okay, so it is probably a good thing we don't know how to say what's on our minds right off the bat.
But still...
The fact is, parents do gang up on you. No one parent acts the same around you as they do when the two are together. A kind of gang mentality.
They don't want to hear about physical flaws. Religion gets thrown at you when you don't know its name.
Circumcision devalues your masculinity and holly water baptizes you into a sin laden guilt trip to hell. All done with out your permission and for the purpose of your own personal salvation.
The world you just entered is crazy and mean, indeed. But it could have been worse if your genetic pool -- that incubator you live in for the past 9 months you call your mother -- decided you should exist again, but this time in 1949.
For years, it bothered me that I was born in Bound Brook, NJ on November 1st, 1949 when the other three siblings were born in Mount Holly, NJ.
I'm the only left handed kid in the family, I have O- blood, have a lazy left eye, was pigeon toed and was dyslexic as any worse case description could conjure up.
But if someone asked me if I wanted a second chance on life, I would have said no.
There wasn't a cut, bruise, broken arm or any other calamity that happened over my life that I would want to change.
Not even as bad as my childhood days were, I wouldn't want to stop anything that happened. Because, they made me stronger.
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