Tag: Divorce

Every other weekend

Blue, orange, and pink skies make way for the rising sun. I’m sitting on my mobile home’s black metal steps. It’s getting light outside after sitting here for over thirty minutes. Today will be a great day! I’m waiting for a glimpse of his midnight blue Ford pickup truck. I am eight years old and my parents are divorced. Every other weekend a fair trade is made between my mom and dad. Today I belong to dad. Thinking back, I was spoiled by both of them and loved like crazy. This made it all ok, mostly. Our trailer was the last one at the end of the gravel road. It sat parallel to a forty feet wide ditch that ran for miles and miles. Pasadena Texas was the perfect place to grow up in. Childhood adventures were limitless.  I ride motorcycles and I’m damn good at it. I ride a Honda mini trail 50. All the lights are stripped off and my racing plate is sporting a big X made out of electrical tape. X was Speed Racer’s brother’s racing number! Racer X. Loved that guy.

Dad will be here any minute. He picks me up every two weeks and takes me to the Rio Bravo motocross track. It’s our ritual. I have plans to get an XR 75 and truly start racing but for now, all I get to do is ride the track during practice before the real races begin. After that, I will spend the day watching every race with my dad either with me or at least nearby. Lucky for him they sold a lot of beer; lucky for me they sold a lot of hamburgers and soda.

I can see his blue truck coming down the gravel road now. I can see his jet black hair and smiling face as he gets closer. Today will be burned in my memory forever. It was not necessarily more special than the rest, but for some reason, this very morning always comes to mind. I have a vivid recollection. I can still see the grin on his face as he pulls up and says, “Let’s go!”.

Haven’t seen him in over 27 years since he left this spinning earth. Forty-eight years later I still remember that morning, watching him pull up to take me to the races. So many more memories to ponder. For that, I feel lucky and blessed.

Happy father’s day dad.

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Triggers

Working on my book, The Consequences of Breathing and finding the triggers of original emotions can expedite a more honest group of words. The triggers are easy to recall through music selections and photographs and memories. The pain and turmoil that these triggers release are not so easy to shed, which can really suck when you’re not writing and attempting to be a hardworking bill paying normal man.

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Writing!

Feeling good about the progress on “The Consequences of Breathing” Hopefully have a product in the next few months.

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Getting back to the keyboard!

After putting out the first two books I needed to take a break from my goofy thoughts, painful words and dreams that spill out my late night’s speaking soul. New urges and needs are beginning to bubble up so the creation of book three can now resume! Late nights and coffee will be coming back into my routine like a driven mad man with something new to create! This is good.

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