I am a brotha known for recreating myself. I like change. From a high-top fade to back-lenth dreadlocks, sure as the seasons change, so does my hairstyle. The most noticible change came when I started working out during my mid 20s. At 123-pounds, I started working out at the gym, and within a just a couple of years I had put on an additional 30 pounds of muscle, and transformed myself into a competition-level bodybuilder(natural, bodybuilding for skinny people). I started receiving double-takes from people who had'nt seen me in years. I not only looked different, but I felt like a new person. Writing has changed me, too, in much the same way. I was sort of aloof, quiet and observing, not focusing too much attention on anything besides the art project at hand. Writing causes me to stop, pay attention, and to take notice of the world around me. I now find myself in a continued search for a story, even in the mundane. For Instance:
Like son, like father
I strapped the son into his carseat, testing the taughtenss to be sure he was securly strapped in. I pushed down the lock on the door, then slammed it shut. "KaBlam!" My raggedy truck can make such an awful noise when closing the door, and since the latch needs replacing, I have to slam it with practically every muscle in my body to get it securely closed. The experience of getting my son dressed and transported to day care is an adventure in itself, and this day would be no different. As I walked away from his door, I thought I heard a faint sound, a cry for help, but the sound was much too faint, so I didn't pay it much attention. I continued around the front of my truck and opened the door.
"Ahhh! Daddy, Daddy-Daddy! Woooo-Wooo! Ahh!" the son is screaming, vigorously flapping his hands and slapping the air all around him.
"A bee, a bee! Ahh! A bee! The terror in his face signaled a terror within me, but in these kind of situations, I don't think, I react. I jumped in the car and grabbed at his seat belt in an attempt to release him. I got whacked in the face a couple of times from his futile attempts at warding off this unwanted foe. Just as I get him loose, I heard it buzz toward my ear, around my head and it passes my eyes. The frantic pitter-patter of my beating heart stopped abrupt in the instant my eyes met our enemy. It was a fly. And a tiny fly at that.
"Man!" as I call him. "It's only a fly, not a bee. A fly is not going to hurt you," I'm yelling, irritated at him for almost giving me a heart attack. I mean, If I'm going to have a heart attack, I'm pretty good at doing my own stupid stuff to cause one. The fly continues buzzing in circles around my head and out the open door. "Doggit, is he some kinda girl?" I'm thinking to myself.
Fast forward two weeks later...
It's shortly past 2 p.m. and I'm on my way to work. My ever-growing waistline catches wind of a char-grilled aroma as I pass the corner Burger King. Now, the last thing my ever-expanding waistline needs is a burger. But try telling my waistline that. The beauty in the aroma of a char-grilled burger had awaken him, like a sexy lady in a too-short pink mini skirt, and now he and my brain were momentarily at war. The brain must have lost the fight because suddenly all three of us, my brain, my waistline and my truck were making a U-turn headed for the drive-through window of that Burger King restaurant.
"I'll have a Whopper with Cheese, a large fry and a diet coke," I made my order with no hesitation in my decision. I then pulled up to the cashier window. I'm practically salivating at the thought of the treat that awaited me. I made the transaction and the cashier hands over my food. That's when I heard it.
"Bzzzzzzz-zzzzz" A low pitched buzz, probably from...A BEE! Probably a wasp! Maybe a hornet! I dropped my bag and it crashed to the floor, it's contents of french fries and ketchup packets bursting all over into an already mass of trash that should have been thrown out long ago. I started flapping my hands at the air, waving and smacking and hitting at this unseen foe. I could hear this rascal buzzing behind my head, the vibrations from its wings pounced on the back of my ears sending my hands aflutter in a panicked reflex. That's when I realized, I was trapped. My seatbelt latched closed, and my door buttressed against the frame of that drive-through window. I didn't want to make a fool out of myself by climbing over the arm rest, and jumping out the passenger side door, but I'll climb before I get stung in the head by an oversized creature wearing a yellow jacket. I jutted forward toward the door ready to make the fool of myself, probably the bigger fool than what I already appear to be. Then I heard it again, it buzzed toward my ear, around my head and it passed my eyes. The frantic pitter-patter of my beating heart stopped abrupt in the instant my eyes met my enemy. It was a fly. And a tiny fly at that. The fly continues buzzing in circles around my head and out my open window. I smiled at the cashier, picked my food up off the floor. Thanked him. Bit my tounge.
Before I stared blogging, I wouldn't have given either of these situations a second thought. And surly wouldn't have written about them.
Quote for the day: As per my son: "I put a penny in my booty and I can't find it." I hope this means he lost a penny in his shorts, or this could be a problem.