Santa Died This Christmas

I don’t know how the tradition of Santa Claus fits into your particular life, whether you ever believed in him or didn’t, whether you decided to let your children believe in him or chose not to do so, but for me, Santa Claus has been as real for me as anything make believe can ever be for the better part of my life.

I was around eleven or so when I finally realized that a fat man in a red suit traveling around the world on sleigh the size of a pickup truck pulled by a team of animals delivering toys to every kid in the world in one night made no more sense than that same fat man being able to shimmy down a skinny chimney carrying a bag of toys while a fire burned underneath him. Or how he managed to get into locked houses that had no chimneys without waking up the whole house. At some point it no longer made any sense at all. I could no longer reconcile what I was being told by my parents with the science and logic that was right there in front of my eyes.

So, when I was eleven, Santa died the first time for me. It was a sad death, triggering the beginning of a higher understanding of life for me. It was the beginning of the next phase of my life where I would no longer view gifts as magical things that were just given without cost and begin to understand that all the world’s problems would  never be solved on a single night in December by a fat man in a red suit in a sleigh the size of a pickup truck pulled by a team of reindeer. The problems of the real world are much harder than that.

In short when Santa Claus died, so did innocence.

On October 3rd, 1985, Santa Claus was reborn for me in the birth of my son. If you are parents and believe in passing along Santa Claus to your kids then you know the joy I experienced in putting the milk and cookies on the counter or the coffee table the night before. You know the joy of seeing your kids eyes light up in wonder as a tree that was devoid of gifts the night before suddenly was packed with their every wish come true. It is the greatest feeling I have ever known, the most joy I have ever felt as a parent. For twenty-six magnificent Christmas mornings, I was Santa Claus.

On the night of this Christmas Day, 2011, my daughter stood in our kitchen and proclaimed to us that she believed that her mother and I were Santa Claus. She thought we put out the cookies and milk and then ate them when she went to bed.

I told my eleven year old daughter the truth. Her mother and I were indeed Santa Claus.

Upon hearing the news my tender-hearted daughter cried. I held her and part of me ached right along with her, but another part of me ached for me. My daughter has lost Santa Claus for a little while, as long as it takes for her to mature, get married, and have kids. In her kids, Santa will be reborn.

My daughter is the youngest and the last I will ever have. For me, Santa Claus is gone forever.

 

I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas.

Tim

 

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Gangillo – Part Three

Here is the 3rd installment of the Gangillo saga. I certainly do hope you enjoy it. I write for my peace of mind and your enjoyment.     Tim Keen – 12-11-11

Gangillo

 

            “You’re from Earth, right?”

            Gangillo was seated near the big window of the lounge overlooking the mutli-colored surface of Jupiter. He was drinking something the waitress had called beer. Despite his human form, it was a substance that was foreign to him, though not unappealing. He was on his second one when the girl walked up. He looked up from his mug at the woman who had appeared out of nowhere. He instantly noted how attractive she was. He liked women from all species, but Earth woman were especially desirable to him. This one was quite extraordinary.

            “That’s right,” he said with a smile. “How did you guess?”

            “The clothes fit what the Earthlings are wearing these days,” she said. “So does the hairstyle, but what really gave you away was the accent. I overheard you ordering your beer and it was a dead give away. You guys back on Earth just sound different from the people on Mars or even the people on their moons.”

            He smiled inwardly as he sipped his beer, taking some satisfaction. The form, the look, and the clothes had been easy, but the accent had been nothing short of a challenge. The range in the human voice was so limited compared to the Kanulean voices. It had been difficult to master is subtle nuances. The fact that he had nailed it forced a pat on the back from himself. He couldn’t wait to tell his tutors.

            “What part are you from?” she asked.

            She sat down without asking. He couldn’t be sure from Earth customs if it was rude or bold, but he didn’t care. He was going to ask her to join at the first opportunity anyway. She may not have been part of his original plans, but she was now.

            “I am from a little village just outside of Rome,” he said. “In Italy.”

            “Rome,” she said while motioning for the waitress to come over. “That was once the center of culture on Earth. Someone once said that to study Rome is to study the history of the world. We studied them and all the great cultures in college from the ancient Greeks all the way up to the United States. It was a great class.”

            The waitress came over and the young woman ordered a double shot of bourbon and a pitcher of beer. She also ordered a basket of fries with a side of pickles, also fried. She did all this while lighting a cigarette. Gangillo winced while choking on the thick smoke that suddenly drifted into his face. The diet of the Earthlings had been somewhat subdued in the early part of the twenty-first century due to the rising consciousness over health concerns. But the advancement of drugs and the stem cell research in the last part of the same century had all but wiped out disease and illness. The humans were practically impervious to death.

            That, of course, was their undoing. With the fear of death and disease gone, the humans saw it as their divine right to whatever they pleased whenever they wanted to do it. Immorality ruled. The new Rome, Gangillo thought.

            “Yes, I find the study of Rome quite interesting as well,” he said. He decided to shift gears. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

            “No,” she said twirling her black hair in her fingers. “I didn’t, did I?”

            The emotions of Earthlings, Gangillo had not quite mastered, but all species regardless of intellect, liked sex. The Kanuleans prided themselves in being able to bed any species any time anywhere. Gangillo was a master at the art of telling whether a woman was interested or not. The woman was flirting and he knew it.

            He glanced at his timepiece. He had more than enough time for some pleasure before the business of ensuring the destruction of the human race began. When the waitress came over with the beer, Gangillo poured her a large helping into a glass and smiled.

            The humans, of course, would see him as a monster for destroying their way of life, but Gangillo didn’t care. He lived a life dedicated to the betterment of the universe according to God’s greater plan. He had spanned many galaxies, taking many forms and enduring many hardships to see the undesirable elements of the universe eliminated. It was a long process. There were so many undeserving races, so many that took its existence and gifts for granted, but the work was very rewarding. Knowing that his work was making the universe a better place was enough and then some. Getting laid in the process was a just an added bonus.

He would remember to thank God for the fringe benefits.

“Well? Do I get to know your name?” he asked. “I will just bet that a pretty girl like you has an equally pretty name. I would love hear it.”

She sat there and drank and ate, but she said nothing. She smiled and licked her lips provocatively, but she said nothing.

“Is it a secret?” he asked.

“I don’t like to give out my name to strangers” she said. “A girl just can’t be too careful. There are a lot of unsavory types in the Solar System.”

Gangillo smiled. How true that was. Her idea of the universe was so small, limited to the understanding of a single solar system, that she had no idea what horrors the universe held. If she knew the totality of the universe as he did, she would understand and cringe at all the unsavory elements. He couldn’t be sure, though, if she would understand where the humans ranked as part of the problem and not the solution. He doubted she would.

But he and the Kanuleans were making it better with the elimination of one unsavory race after another. The humans were next.

“I commend you on your caution,” he said. “You are quite right. There are a lot of crazies in the universe. But I am not one of them. I am just a traveler.”

“Oh yeah?” she said. “Where are you headed?”

Outside the window, a passenger liner dropped out of light drive. One second it was just a blip of light, like a star that kept getting closer and closer, then it was this massive travel vessel, carrying thousands of passenger. It had been a tiny streak in the sky moving faster than any meteor could have ever flown. Now it began its slow descent into the dock.

Gangillo watched the maneuvers with fascination. These humans were so primitive compared to the rest of the universe it was hard to believe that they were predicted to be at the far reaches of the universe in just under a century. But they were. The projections of the Kanulean High Command were never off by very much. They would be in backyard of the entire universe long before they were socially ready. It was completely unacceptable.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he said.

“And you haven’t told me yours, either,” she replied.

The game, in human terms, he thought was cat and mouse. He wasn’t sure if he was playing it right. He forged ahead.

“But I didn’t invite myself over to your table,” he said. “I was minding my own business and you decided that you would join me. So, as the phrase goes, you first.

She reached out and placed one on her hands on the back of his. The essential parts of his body began to tense up. He was glad that the High Command had recommended baggy pants.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said.

She paused playfully and continued stroking the back of his hand.

“Yeah?” he asked. He tried to ask casually, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not.

            “You are cute as hell and I am, well, in the mood, if you know what I mean. There is a little place in the back where we can be alone, where we can get to know one another. And when we are done, you won’t even care what your name is, much less mine. What do you say?”

            “I say I can’t wait,” he said. “I say you won’t regret it.”

            “Oh, I know that,” she said. She stood up. “Follow me.”

            She moved away from him, her hips swaying back and forth as she maneuvered her way through the crowd. Her movements, like much of the rest of her, were incredible. He stood to follow her. He liked this game of cat and mouse. He thought he was very good at it.

            Now, he thought as he navigated his way through the crowd after her, it is time for the cat to devour the mouse.

 

Part III

 

            Gangillo was turned on by the seductive movements – the very well orchestrated movements – of the exciting you woman, but he was far from mesmerized. Unlike the weak human psyche, the Kanulean mind was capable of experiencing both great thought and attention to the most minor of details while the body was engaged in great physical pleasure, especially sexual pleasure. Gangillo was more than capable of providing great satisfaction to both this woman and himself while planning her demise as well. That, of course, is exactly what he was going to do.

            He checked his timepiece once more. The fleet was moving into position. Soon they would be expecting the codes he had procured from the last human female to fall to his unmatchable charms, the codes that would lower the defenses of the entire region. The governing body the Earthlings liked to call The Solar Alliance, would be defenseless. The current space station, Forward Point, would fall first. Next, Mars would be defeated and, finally, the hub of the solar system and the human race, Earth.

            There was nothing to be done that could stop it now. He only needed a few minutes of silence in some out of the way place and it would all be over. He would send the codes, seal the fate of the human race, and then get back to the business of enjoying this young woman while he had the time to do so.

            He was following through the crowd, through the maze of tables that let to wherever she was trying to take him. He paused to avoid running headlong into a young couple, a young couple who were intensely involved in one another and oblivious to their surroundings.

            “Are you coming?”

            The girl, his nameless girl, the girl he had been following was standing a few feet in front of him, stamping her foot impatiently. He couldn’t no longer tell whether he look was merely playful or something else. Her tone was a mystery as well.

            “We don’t have much time,” she said. “Let’s go.”

            He knew very well about the time. He grinned his best Earth grin and motioned to the young couple. As soon as they passed, he was on the move again through the maze, this time at double speed to make up for lost time. Once he was moving again, she turned and she was moving again, her amazing hips swaying back and forth with incredible rhythm and incredible speed. He had to really hustle to catch up to her. By the time he did catch up to her, they were heading down a long, dark corridor.

            He liked it. But, at the same time, he didn’t like it. He wasn’t scared of her to be sure, but he needed a place to transmit the codes. While the dark corridor was a perfect place, if he didn’t do it soon, before they had their rendezvous, there would be no rendezvous. He would have to kill her.

            The mission was first. That was the Kanulean way. Everything else was secondary.

            “Where are we going?” he asked.

            “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Just trust me. You will love where we are going and what we are going to do. It will be a memory that will last you a lifetime.”

            He followed on. Even in the darkness his acute Kanulean senses managed to allow him to check his timepiece once again. The numbers on the watch looked back at him accusingly. He had made an error in judgment when reading the watch. He didn’t have nearly as much time to deliver the codes as he had first thought. The Kanulean fleet would be moving into position soon. They would be visible. Having the codes to lower the humans’ defense shields just as they became visible was the key to everything. If the fleet didn’t have the codes, then Gangillo mission would be a failure.

 Any delay in the lowering of the shields and the element of surprise would be lost. Without the element of surprise, the battle would not be lost, but the prime objective would be. Victory was not the primary objective. Annihilation of the human race was. In the time it took the Kanuleans to break through the Earth defenses, it was not only possible, but likely that the humans would scatter like ants or bees whose nests had been disturbed. They would scatter and they would eventually regroup and survive.

That was unthinkable. He had to do something fast.

“How much farther?” he called to her.

“Just a minute or so,” she said.

The hall narrowed even more and, if possible became even darker. The fleet was approaching, the deadline drawing nearer. He had to act now if the mission was to be a success. The rendezvous with the girl was no longer possible. He had to take her out.

He could see back of her neck, supple and desirable, but, more importantly, fragile and unguarded. One sharp blow from his trained fist and the spinal chord would sever. She would drop to the floor in a heap. No signals from the brain would be transmitting. There would be nothing to tell the body to move, nothing to tell the diaphragm to move the lungs up and down. She would be dead the moment of the blow. It would only be a matter of her mind catching up to what her body already knew.

In the darkness, he closed in with the stealth of a cat. He tightened his fist and prepared to strike. The mission would be a success no matter what.

 

 

Please check out my book on Amazon for more stories by Tim Keen

           

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00413PZ6G
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00413PZ6G
 

 

 

 

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Tiny Little Drops – A Second Change of Pace

Tiny Little Drops

 

Tiny little drops

From puffy red orbs

There is only pain, no wipers here

Tiny little drops wash away the fear

 

Tim Keen

11-28-11

 

I have other little stories waiting for you on Amazon. I hope you will enjoy them.

 

 

 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00413PZ6G
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00413PZ6G
  

 

Another Thunderbolt. I had no idea that I was going to write or post this evening. Gangillo is not dead to be sure, but I wanted to share this with you.

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Gangillo Part Two

I added Part Two to the end of Part I. I hope you enjoy the story. Your feedback, as always, is desired.

Gangillo

 

            “You’re from Earth, right?”

            Gangillo was seated near the big window of the lounge overlooking the mutli-colored surface of Jupiter. He was drinking something the waitress had called beer. Despite his human form, it was a substance that was foreign to him, though not unappealing. He was on his second one when the girl walked up. He looked up from his mug at the woman who had appeared out of nowhere. He instantly noted how attractive she was. He liked women from all species, but Earth woman were especially desirable to him. This one was quite extraordinary.

            “That’s right,” he said with a smile. “How did you guess?”

            “The clothes fit what the Earthlings are wearing these days,” she said. “So does the hairstyle, but what really gave you away was the accent. I overheard you ordering your beer and it was a dead give away. You guys back on Earth just sound different from the people on Mars or even the people on their moons.”

            He smiled inwardly as he sipped his beer, taking some satisfaction. The form, the look, and the clothes had been easy, but the accent had been nothing short of a challenge. The range in the human voice was so limited compared to the Kanulean voices. It had been difficult to master is subtle nuances. The fact that he had nailed it forced a pat on the back from himself. He couldn’t wait to tell his tutors.

            “What part are you from?” she asked.

            She sat down without asking. He couldn’t be sure from Earth customs if it was rude or bold, but he didn’t care. He was going to ask her to join at the first opportunity anyway. She may not have been part of his original plans, but she was now.

            “I am from a little village just outside of Rome,” he said. “In Italy.”

            “Rome,” she said while motioning for the waitress to come over. “That was once the center of culture on Earth. Someone once said that to study Rome is to study the history of the world. We studied them and all the great cultures in college from the ancient Greeks all the way up to the United States. It was a great class.”

            The waitress came over and the young woman ordered a double shot of bourbon and a pitcher of beer. She also ordered a basket of fries with a side of pickles, also fried. She did all this while lighting a cigarette. Gangillo winced while choking on the thick smoke that suddenly drifted into his face. The diet of the Earthlings had been somewhat subdued in the early part of the twenty-first century due to the rising consciousness over health concerns. But the advancement of drugs and the stem cell research in the last part of the same century had all but wiped out disease and illness. The humans were practically impervious to death.

            That, of course, was their undoing. With the fear of death and disease gone, the humans saw it as their divine right to whatever they pleased whenever they wanted to do it. Immorality ruled. The new Rome, Gangillo thought.

            “Yes, I find the study of Rome quite interesting as well,” he said. He decided to shift gears. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

            “No,” she said twirling her black hair in her fingers. “I didn’t, did I?”

            The emotions of Earthlings, Gangillo had not quite mastered, but all species regardless of intellect, liked sex. The Kanuleans prided themselves in being able to bed any species any time anywhere. Gangillo was a master at the art of telling whether a woman was interested or not. The woman was flirting and he knew it.

            He glanced at his timepiece. He had more than enough time for some pleasure before the business of ensuring the destruction of the human race began. When the waitress came over with the beer, Gangillo poured her a large helping into a glass and smiled.

PART II

 

            The humans, of course, would see him as a monster for destroying their way of life, but Gangillo didn’t care. He lived a life dedicated to the betterment of the universe according to God’s greater plan. He had spanned many galaxies, taking many forms and enduring many hardships to see the undesirable elements of the universe eliminated. It was a long process. There were so many undeserving races, so many that took its existence and gifts for granted, but the work was very rewarding. Knowing that his work was making the universe a better place was enough and then some. Getting laid in the process was a just an added bonus.

He would remember to thank God for the fringe benefits.

“Well? Do I get to know your name?” he asked. “I will just bet that a pretty girl like you has an equally pretty name. I would love hear it.”

She sat there and drank and ate, but she said nothing. She smiled and licked her lips provocatively, but she said nothing.

“Is it a secret?” he asked.

“I don’t like to give out my name to strangers” she said. “A girl just can’t be too careful. There are a lot of unsavory types in the Solar System.”

Gangillo smiled. How true that was. Her idea of the universe was so small, limited to the understanding of a single solar system, that she had no idea what horrors the universe held. If she knew the totality of the universe as he did, she would understand and cringe at all the unsavory elements. He couldn’t be sure, though, if she would understand where the humans ranked as part of the problem and not the solution. He doubted she would.

But he and the Kanuleans were making it better with the elimination of one unsavory race after another. The humans were next.

“I commend you on your caution,” he said. “You are quite right. There are a lot of crazies in the universe. But I am not one of them. I am just a traveler.”

“Oh yeah?” she said. “Where are you headed?”

Outside the window, a passenger liner dropped out of light drive. One second it was just a blip of light, like a star that kept getting closer and closer, then it was this massive travel vessel, carrying thousands of passenger. It had been a tiny streak in the sky moving faster than any meteor could have ever flown. Now it began its slow descent into the dock.

Gangillo watched the maneuvers with fascination. These humans were so primitive compared to the rest of the universe it was hard to believe that they were predicted to be at the far reaches of the universe in just under a century. But they were. The projections of the Kanulean High Command were never off by very much. They would be in backyard of the entire universe long before they were socially ready. It was completely unacceptable.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he said.

“And you haven’t told me yours, either,” she replied.

The game, in human terms, he thought was cat and mouse. He wasn’t sure if he was playing it right. He forged ahead.

“But I didn’t invite myself over to your table,” he said. “I was minding my own business and you decided that you would join me. So, as the phrase goes, you first.

She reached out and placed one on her hands on the back of his. The essential parts of his body began to tense up. He was glad that the High Command had recommended baggy pants.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said.

She paused playfully and continued stroking the back of his hand.

“Yeah?” he asked. He tried to ask casually, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not.

            “You are cute as hell and I am, well, in the mood, if you know what I mean. There is a little place in the back where we can be alone, where we can get to know one another. And when we are done, you won’t even care what your name is, much less mine. What do you say?”

            “I say I can’t wait,” he said. “I say you won’t regret it.”

            “Oh, I know that,” she said. She stood up. “Follow me.”

            She moved away from him, her hips swaying back and forth as she maneuvered her way through the crowd. Her movements, like much of the rest of her, were incredible. He stood to follow her. He liked this game of cat and mouse. He thought he was very good at it.

            Now, he thought as he navigated his way through the crowd after her, it is time for the cat to devour the mouse.

 

Please check out my book on Amazon for more stories by Tim Keen

           

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00413PZ6G
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00413PZ6G
  

 

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Gangillo

It has been a bit since I have checked in. I have been working on something. This will be coming to you in parts over the next few weeks. Please take the time to digest it and provide the criticism that is critical to every artist who takes the work seriously. As always, I hope you enjoy it. If I truly wrote only for myself, you would never see this.

Thanks,

Tim Keen

Gangillo

 

            “You’re from Earth, right?”

            Gangillo was seated near the big window of the lounge overlooking the mutli-colored surface of Jupiter. He was drinking something the waitress had called beer. Despite his human form, it was a substance that was foreign to him, though not unappealing. He was on his second one when the girl walked up. He looked up from his mug at the woman who had appeared out of nowhere. He instantly noted how attractive she was. He liked women from all species, but Earth woman were especially desirable to him. This one was quite extraordinary.

            “That’s right,” he said with a smile. “How did you guess?”

            “The clothes fit what the Earthlings are wearing these days,” she said. “So does the hairstyle, but what really gave you away was the accent. I overheard you ordering your beer and it was a dead give away. You guys back on Earth just sound different from the people on Mars or even the people on their moons.”

            He smiled inwardly as he sipped his beer, taking some satisfaction. The form, the look, and the clothes had been easy, but the accent had been nothing short of a challenge. The range in the human voice was so limited compared to the Kanulean voices. It had been difficult to master is subtle nuances. The fact that he had nailed it forced a pat on the back from himself. He couldn’t wait to tell his tutors.

            “What part are you from?” she asked.

            She sat down without asking. He couldn’t be sure from Earth customs if it was rude or bold, but he didn’t care. He was going to ask her to join at the first opportunity anyway. She may not have been part of his original plans, but she was now.

            “I am from a little village just outside of Rome,” he said. “In Italy.”

            “Rome,” she said while motioning for the waitress to come over. “That was once the center of culture on Earth. Someone once said that to study Rome is to study the history of the world. We studied them and all the great cultures in college from the ancient Greeks all the way up to the United States. It was a great class.”

            The waitress came over and the young woman ordered a double shot of bourbon and a pitcher of beer. She also ordered a basket of fries with a side of pickles, also fried. She did all this while lighting a cigarette. Gangillo winced while choking on the thick smoke that suddenly drifted into his face. The diet of the Earthlings had been somewhat subdued in the early part of the twenty-first century due to the rising consciousness over health concerns. But the advancement of drugs and the stem cell research in the last part of the same century had all but wiped out disease and illness. The humans were practically impervious to death.

            That, of course, was their undoing. With the fear of death and disease gone, the humans saw it as their divine right to whatever they pleased whenever they wanted to do it. Immorality ruled. The new Rome, Gangillo thought.

            “Yes, I find the study of Rome quite interesting as well,” he said. He decided to shift gears. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

            “No,” she said twirling her black hair in her fingers. “I didn’t, did I?”

            The emotions of Earthlings, Gangillo had not quite mastered, but all species regardless of intellect, liked sex. The Kanuleans prided themselves in being able to bed any species any time anywhere. Gangillo was a master at the art of telling whether a woman was interested or not. The woman was flirting and he knew it.

            He glanced at his timepiece. He had more than enough time for some pleasure before the business of ensuring the destruction of the human race began. When the waitress came over with the beer, Gangillo poured her a large helping into a glass and smiled.

           

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00413PZ6G
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00413PZ6G
 

 

 

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What Are You Afraid Of – A Little Change of Pace

Here’s a little something different from me. I hope you like it.

What  Are You Afraid Of?

 

I lie curled up in my bed

Against the dark of the night

Tight beneath my covers

I shiver from my fright

And though it hear it, I won’t look

Afraid of what I might find

It scratches at my door

The fear that haunts my mind

 

Tim Keen

8-17-11

 

Please check out my book on Amazon.

 

 

 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00413PZ6G
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00413PZ6G
 

 

 

 

 

 

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John Boy

I hope some of you find a common thread in the story below.

Tim

 

 

John Boy

 

 

            I grew up just a little different than most people.

            Now, when I say that, I must also qualify that statement, because the people who know me best would say something completely different and, from their perspective, they would be right.

            I grew up on a farm in a farming community where everyone had two jobs; the job they went off to in the factories, the lumber companies, the banks, and the retail stores and the job they woke up to and went to bed with. This job was farm and family. In my world – a very good world to be a kid in – you could not separate the two. I cut my working teeth in hayfields and tobacco patches and in barns. I was making money working from on the farm from the time I was thirteen.

            As far as the other aspects of my life, they were quite normal. I went to school. I played sports. I fished and I hunted. We played backyard football, pitched horseshoes, and, in the winter, played card games until we couldn’t stand to play them any more. I did all these things and, everyone I grew up with, did these things as well. I dreamed of girls, sneaked around and chewed tobacco, smoked cigarettes and did things on a motorcycle that no one would have approved of. Just like everyone else did.

            So when I say I grew up different than everyone else, what I really mean to say is that I grew up different on the inside. For, on the inside, in the place no one could see, in the place that fueled the fire that drove the body, soul, and mind was the writer.

            In my small farming, hard working community, full of people I continue to love and admire, someone who likes to write is someone that they just don’t understand. It is something that they can not comprehend. These are people who make their living, literally, by the sweat of the brow. Hours upon hours of backbreaking, body depleting labor went into the continued assurance of their existence. They worked hard all day, watched television at night, attended church on Sunday and went to singings and revivals in the summer. It is a steady diet of work, religion, and tame entertainment. This was the life of my family and community.

            Amidst all this comes a kid who, from the time he was seven, wrote stories. Here’s a kid who has been touched by the writing gods, who can see a blank pad of paper and pen and feel his heart burn for a desk and a quiet moment where he can be alone with his thoughts. Here is a kid that had a gift that no one around him understood. I was like a sculpture being born to family of loggers or an artists being born to a family of housepainters. No one knew what to say to me or do with me.

I learned early on to just not say anything about what I did. There wasn’t any point to it. No one understood what was going through my mind. No one who is not a writer can understand what was going through my mind and, in a community of way less than five hundred people, it is not like there was a workshop or a seminar close by to discuss my ideas and feelings with. So, I just stayed silent. I read my books and wrote my stories and I kept it myself not out of fear but out of practicality. It didn’t matter whether I wanted to talk about it or not talk about it. Nobody would understand if I did talk about it. I was talking the Greek language in Italy.

Then, out of the blue, when I was preteen (between eight and twelve or so) there was John Boy. Like a Godsend, there was this young man, living in a small, rural, farming, hardworking southern community who not only wanted to be a writer but was embraced by his family as a writer. They not only went to church, prayed at the dinner table and busted their asses from dawn till dusk to make ends meet, but they also had time to encourage their writer son. I was drawn in immediately.

One episode had Santa bringing a Big Chief writing tablet to John Boy for Christmas (Santa heard you wanted to be a writer, John Walton said).

One episode had John Boy submitting a novel only to find that they didn’t accept handwritten work (he had to find and learn how to use a typewriter).

Another episode had him struggling to rewrite a novel after it had been burned up in a fire (It is easy the first time around, but it is hard to duplicate inspiration).

My favorite episode was one in which he had finally made it and his grandfather was looking a word John Boy had used to describe him. Grandpa Walton had to go through several words and interpretations to finally understand original word John Boy had used. When he finally got to the last word – and the meaning as he understood it – he spent the rest of the episode mad. (Reference my blog “It’s You”).

These things – and so many more on the show – were things that I was either feeling or would later feel as a writer that no one was talking about when I was a child. I can’t overstate this enough. No one can understand an artist but an artist. No one can understand a writer but a writer and here was this guy, through the magic of television, talking about things that no one else I knew was talking about, things that no one else got but me and others like me.

It has been a long time since The Waltons was on. I still watch from time to time in reruns. While it remained a very good show thanks to great writer and acting, for my taste, it never was the same after John Boy left the show. I don’t think it was for anyone. I think for most the loss of Richard Thomas and his ability as an actor left a void that couldn’t be filled.

For me, the fact that John Boy was no longer on the show was a bit more personal.

 

Who have you identified with either on television or the movies or in books?

 

Thanks for reading.

 

8-10-11

 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00413PZ6G
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00413PZ6G
  

 

 

 

 

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