Honea Express

Archive for the ‘In the News’ Category

We passed the flags flying halfway up. Waves of people walked alongside us. Some found themselves caught in sudden bursts of empathy, while others never even gave a glance. The flags carried on regardless.

Ten years since it happened. Ten more birthdays for my stepfather. Ten more anniversaries of the day that my grandparents wed — no longer a celebration of their moment, but now the deepest part of the deepest hole where my grandfather buries his loneliness.

September 11 is many things to many people. The day is marred with beginnings and ends and the stories of those still between.  It is like any other day, but only more so.

I can’t remember when I first wrote the string of words floating below, but I meant them and I called them a poem despite the broken form and blatant disregard for any thought of structure. Consider the chaos a reflection of it. Consider the typed words as a sterile version of those that once fell across a bourbon-soaked bar napkin, left to ripen in the forgotten pocket of some seldom-worn jacket. Consider them what you will, for yours is the freedom to do so.

On a September day
when school bells rang,
and leaves entertained thoughts
of leaving –
things went wrong in a world
that was much more right
than we ever thought it was.
On a September day
when the bells rang
for the dying.

I was born in Tucson, Arizona. I lived in the area for over 28 years. I ran barefoot through the green-spotted desert as it turned from the square quilts of cotton fields to the oval patches of over-watered golf courses. I rode my bike on gravel-lined dirt roads that grew overnight into car-filled highways. I shot a BB gun in my front yard and waved at passersby, calling to each by name.  I remember when that Dairy Queen was the only thing out there.

The majority of my youth was spent in Marana, a town just north of the city that my family helped to settle and govern. My father has served the town of Marana through seats on the council, and now as the mayor, for over 30 years. Unlike the indigenous vegetation in the area, the roots of my family have grown thick and deep into the clay-baked soil of the Sonoran Desert.

I attended the University of Arizona and graduated without honors. Somebody has to. I met my wife on two-for-one night in a bar just off campus. I was drunk on whiskey, and I’m still hearing about it.

Many of my family and friends remain, meaning my ties to Tucson are more than just margaritas and sunsets, although both are fantastic.

I grew up in a conservative home. The earliest jokes that I can remember had Jimmy Carter as a punchline. We went to church every Sunday, and on holidays my uncles would sit in the shade of my grandparents’ porch, sip iced tea and wrap themselves in layers of racism, homophobia and laughter. I didn’t know innocence from ignorance, and I laughed just as hard as they did, happy but to be there.

My parents taught me things that transcended politics. They taught me how to be happy with very little money, and how to treat people with respect, courtesy and humor.  They never suggested that I consider violence as an option, and when I outgrew religion they never tried to tether me to it.

Ours was built firmly on trust and understanding.

I left Tucson as an adult, and although I’ve returned for weddings and funerals, each visit made it more and more clear, you can’t go home again.

It used to be the heat that kept me away.

And then technology went forward as technology is prone to do, and suddenly I found myself looking into metaphorical windows, staring into a world that I had left behind — a world where many never noticed that other paths diverged, and so they continued along the only way that they had ever known, easy and slow and bending forever backward. The path most traveled is paved without thought, and it has made all the difference.

I found that I missed it less and less.

Days ago a young girl was shot and killed. A judge joined her. The tally rose to six innocents dead and many others wounded. The target had been a congresswoman, full of courage and reason.  The shooter had been a boy, full of madness and confusion.

I blame the line between fear and reason. It zigs where we are told that it should zag.

Of the victims, know that their story is not here. I am not qualified to write words on the victims or their loved ones. I cannot comprehend the depths of their loss, nor will I cheapen their memories by attempting to do so. Just know that I grieve like we all grieve. I anger like we all anger. I can only wish things weren’t as they are and think thoughts of better days for those they’ve left behind.

I once thought of Tucson as a beacon of light in a state of gray and darkness, but in the years since my absence I have watched it grow overcast and haunted. Or, I thought, perhaps I am only now seeing how it has always been.

That’s not to say that there are not stars there. They are many, and I reflect upon them fondly. But the night is bold, loud and howling. It twists words like the wind and wrings sweat from the brows of the misguided. It is spreading swiftly.

I feared that the Tucson I knew, or thought that I did, was on the verge of disappearing forever.

And yet, the stars shine brighter but for the darkness.

Last night I watched a memorial for the fallen. The president spoke. My father was in the stands. There were tears as far as the eye could see.

For the first time in a long time I saw a glimpse of what I once took for granted. What has always been there, only hidden too often by levels of bureaucracy and the sad fact that ignorance and hate sell more papers than rational quotes and the good deeds of everyday people.  Amid the pain and loss of a country I saw the courage and strength of a city, and from its collective diversity came a roar of passion that the media couldn’t comprehend. I saw Tucson’s heart and it was sad, but strongly beating.

For the first time in a long time I saw the place that I used to know.

I saw Tucson, and it felt like home.

By the time I reached the Tin Man my heart had already been found, touched and smashed to bits.  It was all lacks of brain and courage.

The morning sky was framed with clouds, the morning ground was wet from rain, and the morning paper was full of ads and sadness. I could save 10% off new releases or I could look an inch to the left and read about a 2-year-old child beaten to death by his father. The man wore his gloves laced tight and placed punch after punch to the head of his son.  He claimed he was trying to teach the boy the art of the sweet science.  It landed like a sour ton of bricks, a haymaker from hell.

The news is page after page of death after death and a baseball team that is gasping for breath.  Also, it’s time for back to school savings.

We are all heroes and victims and fodder for the pressing.  We are all clowns.  We are all crying on the inside.  We are all interested in wines on sale.

My Sunday morning head is full of a Saturday night bottle. My coffee cup seats two comfortably.  There is a bird at the window and he tilts his gaze, knowingly.  Quoth Wonka: We are the music-makers and the dreamers of the dream. We show no signs of slowing.

There was a small article about Jack Haley, the actor who portrayed the Tin Man so many years ago.  He is long since gone.  As I read the piece I felt something stir and a need to stop and listen.  Somewhere Over the Rainbow was playing and the timing was both odd and perfect. I sat there with the paper in my lap, memories of coffee heavy on my breath and a view that included hills and mountains and a bird in the window.  The morning sky was full of countless drops of sunshine falling lazily across stretching fields and flowers slowly waking. The morning sky was full of Blue Angels, rainbows and the birds to fly over them.

I stood there and watched it for as long as I could.

Everybody falls from grace sometime. Athletes, politicians and actors tend to fall the farthest due to their pedestals being placed so high. And yet, fame bounces. The minute they hit bottom they start clawing their way back up.

Grace rains all around us. We know nothing but the space between dreams and the trampoline and the slight change of view that each direction brings.

Some find solace in having the grace to fall from. Some find hope in the promise of a net.

Some climb steps just to jump from the highest one. They dive deeper than where they started. We score them on their splash.

Some trip and slide over misplaced trust and misguided confidence. They are pulled down by others and some grasp for the ankles above them.

Most of us take two steps forward for every step back. More or less. We face each day and await our spin, not seeing the chutes for the ladders.

It isn’t the fall from grace that need define you but how you stick the landing. Remember to bend your knees.

As most of you know I am the Lead Editor of Vacations over at UpTake. It’s okay to be impressed. Today UpTake has launched its official press release which is more or less a tribute to me and some fine print. At least that’s the way my mom will read it.

Here is the press release.

Here is the official About Us page for the team of bloggers currently writing for UpTake Vacations. Many of your favorites are there and probably a few you don’t care for. I’m the handsome one.

Please check it out, and if you haven’t done so add us to your RSS. Yes, it’s a travel blog, but I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with the tales we weave- especially in the next few weeks. There will be action, sex and adventure! Imagine if Indiana Jones had a blog instead of a hat. Yes, it’s that good.

Are you a man? Do you do stupid stuff on Valentine’s Day just like in the movies, but instead of being an offensive stereotype it’s actaully true? Did you laugh at that commercial during the Super Bowl where the flowers in the box made fun of the lady in the office and now you’re wondering why the internettes can’t take a freaking joke? Then do I have the link for you!

Visit DadCentric and win some nice flowers that don’t have mouths and may actually increase your odds of getting lucky.

Here’s why I can’t wear business socks- or any socks for that matter. I just thought business socks was funny since I was talking business and I love “Flight of the Conchords.”

I just broke my toe. And by “just” I mean less than an hour ago and yet I am able to blog like a freaking champ. Take that (insert more popular blogger’s name) .

Thing 2 was trying to get a jar of jam out of the refrigerator and dropped it. As I was standing behind him and the jar was going to hit him in the head I thought it my paternal duty to prevent said collision. I reached for the jar, tripped on the kid and in no time at all that big Costco jar full of jam was landing just right on my toe- the freakishly long second toe, which I understand means I’m a great lover.

I spent the next few minutes looking up “wuss” in the dictionary and wincing in pain. The toe is split open with part of it hanging loose, but not like Matthew McConaughey. More like I now have two toes where once was one. This is really going to confuse the little pigs.

I actually don’t know if it’s really broken, but I do know that it hurts like someone dropped a heavy object from a great height on a small bone and shredded it into pulled pork. It hurts like that (which is more than this).

In closing I would like to thank everyone for their responses on my last two posts. Normally I would address people in the comments, but what with the toe and the press and the stuff.

I’m especially grateful to those that commented on the post about my grandmother and those that emailed me with personal messages. I know posts like that may be uncomfortable to read, but I needed to write it. In four years of blogging I can count on one hand the number of posts that were as hard to share as that one. My sincere thanks.

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