Sometimes the human touch, the connection made between two members of the species, is the answer.
I have spoken of a mysterious young girl that lived across the street from my condo in North Las Vegas in the early eighties.
I suspected she was in an abusive situation, but I had no concrete evidence.
One day, while I was practicing my guitar, I heard a knock at the front door.
When I opened it, a young black girl stood and looked at me with the saddest pair of eyes I have ever seen.
She didn’t say a word and neither did I.
Instinctively, I held my arms out to her and she quickly clung to me. We stood there in the doorway in silence for a full thirty seconds.
When we stepped back, I led her to the couch where we resumed our silent embrace until her arms slackened and we parted.
She left without uttering one word.
No sex.
No conversation.
Just hugging.
I was at the top of my game; I was young, good-looking, had a great job, and three hookers renting out the top floor of my condo.
Just the opposite of what I saw in the young girl’s eyes.
I saw pain and worse yet, I detected a heartbreaking hopelessness.
She would come over another couple times before I would eventually leave for a condo over off the strip near Sahara Avenue.
We never spoke.
I never got her name or her story, but I have never forgotten her and I hope she ended up OK.
I also remember many hugs that I got in New York City’s Irish District, somewhere around Woodlawn Heights. We were in some bar in the Bronx and my two roommates from college were there with me to go watch the NIT Basketball tournament final between Notre Dame and Virginia Tech. In conversation, we revealed we were students at Notre Dame and you would have thought the Rolling Stones had blown into the bar.
‘We couldn’t buy a drink the entire rest of the night and so of course we used our “golden ticket” by announcing our Irish affiliation in every bar we went to, and there were several.
Plenty of hugs.
A lot of people, especially my wife, the Domestic Despot, doesn’t get all the “hugging” by athletes.
That is because she has no idea whatsoever, about the concept of competition or the exhilaration of winning; of seeing all your hard work, practice, and training pay off with a positive result.
No.
Another one of those bleeding-heart liberals who thinks that every child in the league, whether they are excellent athletes or the little dumbasses who are on the team because their parents insisted, should receive something positive, so as not to damage their frail little psyches.
Take my excellent parenting advice (you know its legit because I have the unique perspective of not having any children) when I say that if you’re child’s psyche hangs in the balance over getting a reward for his lack of effort or participation, relax.
The little dumbass will most likely end up as a United States senator.
Stay well.
