TATER

This goes out to a friend, you know who you are.

The sixth installment of the Letters Project will be posted no later than Monday evening.  My time has gotten away from me I fear, with no rest or down time since leaving for New York.  Relatives visiting from out of town, shoots running overtime, and domestic bliss have all combined to sabotage any effort I would have made at writing a follow up to Al, had I attempted to overcome my inertia and try.  This weekend promises some much needed down time to keep up with my buddy in Toronto, and post something interesting for all of you who are reading us (check's in the mail). 

Middle aged gay guy with small dog seeks asylum with kind, gay guy or couple in a city , state , or country far, far away.  We are both completely housetrained, one of us cooks exceptionally well, the other owns the market on begging.  We are both fairly cute, get along well with others, and are affectionate.  Neither of us drinks or does drugs, neither of us snores.  One of us may steal from your plate should you turn your back, but she has an obsessive compulsive disorder with bacon, and with forewarning, such thefts can be avoided.  Asylum providers should be in possession of a small suite of rooms, good looks, and a never ending supply of Old Mother Hubbard all natural baked dog biscuits.  Only one of us puts out, infrequently at best, and only if you have the eyes of Ed Harris.

I see her sitting across from me, her big blue eyes dancing with intelligence and her dry sense of humor, a smile playing across her features, and a goodness that has always been her nature.  It is good to have her here, this teenage girl, this child I have always had an affinity for.  When she was an infant, I remember burying my nose in her pink crown, and inhaling the perfume of her newness, swelling of my heart at the miracle of her.

 

I remember the Halloween when she was three, dressed as a ballerina, in a tutu and white tights, her large thick glasses making her pretty azure eyes swell to an impossible proportion to her cherubic face.  How devastated I was when I got there and saw those eyes full of  tears, her little body wracking in silent sobs as she explained to me that her impatient father had gotten angry with her, and left her behind from trick or treating with her older brother and sister.  I remember soothing her in my arms and taking her little pink hand in mine, and walking her around the neighborhood with my sister so she could gather her spoils.  It wasn't long after that, that my sister filed for divorce, a mother of four, deciding it was time she claimed a life of happiness for her and her children.

 

Her youngest child, Ben, is now almost as tall as his Uncle Tate.  He is entering that period of confusion in which he will emerge a deep voiced and cocky young man.  He is funny, brilliant, and in search of guidance;  a male figure to model himself on which he respects.  I don't know why, but he has seemed to have always chosen me.  Perhaps its because I bought him his first snow board and took him riding, perhaps it was all the times we played football, baseball, and soccer together.  Perhaps it was when I helped him and his mother build the chicken coop on the back corner of their large property.  It is all these things which have bonded us together.  Something as simple as love and attention meaning everything in a young life. 

 

Ben has become serious lately about exercise and weight lifting.  Already blessed with athletic ability and a soaring IQ, he wants to be a triple threat with a killer body.  He walks around now flexing his arms and looking for signs of improvement.  He thinks no one notices this constant ritual.  I remember doing exactly the same thing at his age, with a father too busy to notice.  I talk seriously with Ben about his workout routine, informing him that protein shakes and creatine aren't appropriate just yet.  I tell him that what is important is building his foundation with a solid and balanced regimen.  I explain to him that his hormones are starting to kick in, and in less than a year or two, all this hard work will blossom into well formed physique.

 

These two lovely kids are mine for the weekend.  Ben and I are off to the gym to create a workout routine for him, then its off to breakfast and a car ride downtown to the Lincoln Park Zoo.  From there we will take the trolley to Michigan Avenue, for a bit of shopping and lunch, and then off to Navy Pier.  We will be seeing Wicked later this evening, and tomorrow will be museums, the Shedd Aquarium, and the Planetarium.  A very full weekend.  I hope someday they will understand that weekends like this were more important for me than for them.  They make my heart full. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My co-writer on the Letters Fiction Project, is back from a mini sabbatical during which time he successfully defended his new novel for his MFA degree, found a new love, and suffered a brief explosive illness.  His mind was not resting though, and his most recent edition to our project is now ready for us to read.  Part 5, entitled Preparations is an excellent read, and another throw down for your's truly to come back with something good.  Welcome back Ally cat, as always, I am amazed by your fiction writing.  I will try my best to measure up.