Is the word uneaten.
My big brother taught me that at the tender age of 8. I have always spoken with grace and intellect, and others immediately gravitated towards me because I was confident and loquacious.
Especially the shy kids.
I don’t sugarcoat the fact that I was very much insulated to the whole ethnicity (read racism) thing being in a military family. As a matter of fact, my very first girlfriend was Japanese, my second was an American, my third French, and my fourth girlfriend was a very proper British teenager (and my first sexual liaison).
I write about my first time in the story The Real Summer of Love. It is included as one of the thirty-four short and short-short stories in my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!
I was raised in days of political incorrectness, and the norm sucked. I was taught the “N” word when I was three by one of my uncles. My grandfather taught me how to say what roughly translates to bastard at the same age.
I would sit on the front porch on his big house in Ventura, California, and he would rock in his chair and smoke his pipe. He spoke to me only in Spanish and I had no earthly idea what he was saying most of the time. There was this big German Shepherd that lived across the street and every day he would come come over and take a big shit on my grandfather’s lawn. So my job would be to wait on the porch until the dog would cross the street and then I would leap off the porch and run right at him shouting “Go home cabron (bastard) go home!”
The dog would stop in his tracks and head back home.
My grandpa would break into hysterics every time I did it, and like clockwork, grandma came out and gave him a good ass-chewing.
He just winked at me, and being his willing supplicant, I winked back at the secret that only me and my grampa shared.
I feel strongly about many things, but one of the many benefits of being raised in both a travelling military family and then a union boss and politician, I do spout off, but only to Karen.
Sometimes I rant on this blog, but I have always been aware that I cannot write one blog without offending someone.
So instead, I have chosen to offend everyone.
If I take a shot at the ex-Chippendale dancer-Senior Division Donald Trump, then in the same blog I will talk about that weak, senile old dreamer JoJo Biden.
See how that works?
And it’s not just the bloated white males, oh hell no.
Here’s three words that should give you nightmares.
Marjorie Taylor Greene.
I also speak from experience.
We all do.
Nobody listens to us.
I know, because at my recent charity Christmas show, I got a few rounds of applause from my aged and infirmed audience when I went off script and talked of how our society doesn’t recognize the true value of experienced elders. I’m not saying you have to revere them (us) like other, much older civilizations do; just don’t forget them (us).
Stay well.
Mark's Playhouse 