via Daily Prompt: Denial 

I can’t wear skinny jeans.  I’m not emotionally strong enough. Or, cruel enough to subject others to the sight of me in skinny jeans.  That’s just to much information walking down the street for everyone to deal with.

I am still carrying two-hundred pounds of “mostly muscle” pretty well.  I haven’t had hair in fifteen years.  But, I did cut down on my drinking.  If you ask, it’s because I finally grew up, probably nothing to do with hangovers.  Still a biker though.  I’ll rumble out five-hundred miles in a day and end the trip at the bar.

Yep.  I’m still sexy.  If the light is bad and she needs glasses, I’m damn sexy.

via Daily Prompt: Champion 

The NCAA Championship Tournament is over, The Tar-heals win again.  Who cares, March Madness pisses me off.  I don’t understand basketball and it interrupts my regular scheduled programing.  Still, I recognize the effort and drive to be the best.  To be Champions.  Victors.

I doubt there are very many left, champions that is.  In a world where every child has to be reassured that they are special and as good as everyone else, even when they lose, champions are dying away.  To spare a child the pain of defeat, we no longer keep score.  Instead of explaining that the other team worked harder, trained harder and deserved recognition, we give trophies for showing up.  We spare them the agony of defeat.

We also deprive them of the joy of striving and achieving.  No more the reward for effort and sacrifice.  Soon the Lombardi Trophy, Lord Stanley’s Cup and Claret Jug are going to be melted down or put in a museum.  We will no longer need the word champion either.  A pointless and barbaric reminder of the days when some men and women were better than others.  A time when effort and natural talent were applauded.

I worked and trained.  I competed and struggled against others.  I even won sometimes, most times.  But, I was never the Champion.  That is reserved for the best.  Sadly, it’s a dying breed.  Dying word.

via Daily Prompt: Pause 

I have been wrongly accused of not stopping to consider the risks, or repercussions of my actions.  This a ridicules and false accusation.  You simply don’t recognize reality when you see it.  “Here.  Hold my beer and watch this!”

via Daily Prompt: Passport 

Travel gives perspective.  I don’t mean the all inclusive trip to Cancun or Cruise to the Bahamas in a floating hotel kind of travel.  Those are fun and a nice, comfortable way to see the world. Maybe somewhere in between backpacking across Europe for your Senior Summer and moving to another country.  I call it adventure traveling.  You get on  plane with a language phrase book, a map and couple of spots that look interesting in mind.

This floating ball of mud is full of wonder.  There are sights that will fill your soul everywhere, if you bother to look.  The next life changing event probably doesn’t include fruity drinks with little umbrellas on a beach.  If you want to change your life, travel to Central America, with a suitcase full of sandals and coloring books.  Take a train to no where.  Stop early in the afternoon and go to the local store to buy some sweets.  Maybe a soccer ball.  When you walk through the village, start passing out your goodies.

For the rest of you life you will take that trip in your head again.  Touched by the poverty that couldn’t stop the smiles.  Laughing with children who don’t speak you language as you kick a ball down a dirt street.  You will remember the taste of the stew from the community kitchen better than the finest meal.  That little book in your back pocket isn’t really your passport.  It’s your birth certificate.

via Daily Prompt: Acceptance

It seems precious, beautiful, desirable. But, what is it good for?  Does it enhance our lives?  What intrinsic value does it posses?  It’s rare but relatively useless for serious work.  It’s an adornment, a sparkly bauble.

To a social animal, acceptance is a little more important in the long run.  A strong person doesn’t need acceptance of others, but if they want to continue, to pass on their DNA to the next generation, there needs to be a little acceptance.  It can be lonely living on the outside, striving only for yourself.  Many hands make light work, comfort, security.

Yeah, maybe acceptance is like gold, a useless, soft, pretty thing.  But, people still want it and value it for more than it’s utility.  It adds value to our lives.

With all the labels going around today, I thought I’d get ahead of the game and select my own.  The ones being thrown at me are not only wrong, but pretty stupid.  Socialists calling me a Nazi, hate groups calling me racist because I don’t support their cause and pretty much anyone that calls me narrow minded because I disagree with them.  They try to define me.  Seriously, how can an opinion be wrong?  Like most people, I don’t fit into your nice, neat, narrow categories.

I deny the collective, Orwellian Truth Speak.  I deny responsibility for anyone or everyone’s happiness.  I can’t even make myself happy most days, it’s insane to expect me to appease anyone else.  I don’t accept responsibility for other peoples children.  They’re not mine, I didn’t make them and don’t want them.  No, I am not worried about the parents responsibilities in caring for their progeny.  Hazing is not a criminal act, it is a right of passage, a memorable step in someones life.  No, hazing should not be taken to the point on injury or death and when it does, the culprits should be punished.

The right to choose anything private is just that, PRIVATE!  Abortion is only a sin if it goes against your religion and then only for you.  No one else has a right to demand control over so private a choice.  Who you have sex with, marry, want to change into is up to you.  If a gay couple decides to marry and adopt a child from a young woman who knows she can’t provide for the baby, is it really my concern?  Does anyone really think that a couple who struggled so hard to determine who they are is going to force a life choice on a child?

I apologize for the rant. Stupid pisses me off.

Before I joined the Army, the only positive role model I had was my great grandfather.  He lived his beliefs.  He was also a product of his times.  Turn of the century America was still racially biased, women were supposed to be subservient to the men in their lives. (Of course, try to tell Ol’ Mam’mie that and she’d whip your butt.)  He worked for everything he ever had.  Refused to take or ask for hand-outs.  Grandpa would go hungry to make sure everyone else ate.  He also didn’t approve of everyone, their opinions, new trends, or politicians. The last was probably hardest for him. He also treated every person he met with respect, regardless of their wealth, station, race or political opinion.

So, I’m going with retro.  An updated version of Grandpa.  I wasn’t raised to treat people different because of race, religion, education, or social standing.  Everyone starts with respect.  It’s up to you to lose it.  I will continue to judge people by what they do.  I will meet my obligations as I see them, not those assigned to me by others.  I don’t care about your religion, sexual preference, marital status, or race.  The Constitution and laws of the nation don’t promise equality, just equal opportunity.

I’m going to skip the Members Only jacket.  Leathers and motorcycles are more my style.

I never admitted to myself that I have a “Bucket List”.  I just thought of it as a bunch of stuff I’d like to do if I ever had the chance.  You know cool stuff, scuba diving in Hawaii; snorkeling in the Bahamas; sky diving just about anywhere.  I’ve been in denial of my impending demise for 50 years.  You can’t have a bucket list if you don’t expect to kick the bucket.  Right?  OK, over my denial now.  I have a bucket list and it grows every year, things I want to do or experience.

There is this need inside, to be filled with wonder at the world.  Holding a new born child and letting your heart open to all the joy and pain that will come from loving them.  Seeing the sun rise over oceans and mountains, to see it burst from a molten sky in the desert.  Watch that same sun set, winking away the last moments of the day and surrendering to the night.  I have been so far out in the desert that the earth seemed closer to the stars, and the millions of stars that we never see became clear.  Go rafting and see the clear green water of an underground river joining the brown-gray of the river you’re on.  The water is so cold that they won’t blend together for a while.

I checked another one off my list this year.  A trip to Japan to walk up Mount Fuji.  You can’t see the mountain for the hills.  Fuji-San is so massive, you can’t see it when you’re standing on it.  If you look up, you may see a few hundred meters then it either fades from sight or gets hidden by fog.  As you climb you will pass through cloud layers that block everything else from view.  When you come around a spur, the clouds are gone and the valley opens up below you, so far away that your brain doesn’t understand size and distance.  You can only make this climb in the summer unless you have special gear and training. In the middle of August, it was cold close to the top.

I only made it close to the summit.  Our group had to turn around One hundred-Twenty meter from the top.  A Tsunami was passing by out at sea and the winds were dangerous, added to the rain and trail it was a little to much.  Squeaking along in plastic rain pants, the cold, thin air and slashing rain in the early morning before the sun rise was exhausting.  Our group lost half it’s number to fatigue or altitude sickness just over half way.  Bullet climbers, trying to race up Fuji would be laying on the side of the trail, gasping with cans of oxygen laying empty beside them.  I repeated the hated mantras of my training: “Slow and steady”, “One step, one breath”, “You don’t have to get there first, just get there”.  I was the oldest in the group, except for one of the trail guides, who insisted on smoking at every stop (bastard).

As I looked at the kids, twenty years younger or more, I realized I had something they didn’t.  Endurance.  Not the physical strength of my youth that would have driven me faster.  Not the stamina that would have allowed me to make the trek with little or no rest.  The endurance of a lifetime of trying and succeeding and failing and trying again.  Pushing myself to the limit only to find the limit was in my head and I could do more.

I think that’s what a Bucket List is, a list of life time challenges that we throw ourselves at to see if we can still succeed.  Sitting here, I have decided that I need to go back to Japan and try the climb again.  I can’t beat Fuji-San, but I can see what he sees from the top.