People like to say, "I wish I knew then what I know now." I'm calling bullshit on that one. If I knew "then" what I know now, I would have been a miserable prick for my entire life, (instead of just a miserable prick now.) I remember back in grade school and middle school when there was no pressure to make money, put food on the table, keep a roof over my head, stress about work, stress about family, stress about anything. The only thing I had to worry about was what kind of fun me and the neighborhood kids were going to have after school and in the summers, keeping the tires on my bike from going flat, doing well in baseball, football and occasionally school, and trying not to beat the shit out of my little brother.
High school comes along, and a little stress gets added, but also a whole new bag of fun, (I'm looking in your direction drugs and alcohol.) Making life-long friends, chasing girls, learning to drive, skipping school, and STILL having tons of time to hang out with your buddies. You might get a job and worry a little bit about what college you might want to attend or what you want to do after high school, but you still don't have to pay rent. Your parents might teach you some responsibility about money, but for the most part, you're happy if you have $60 bucks in your pocket to put some gas in your car and cause trouble or go to Burger King. You bitch about having to go to school for 6 hours a day and when you're a senior you can't wait for high school to be over.
During your college years, there is much added pressure, but let's face it, your late teens and early 20's were pretty fucking fun, no? College parties, trips to Cancun, hanging out with your friends...still. Maybe you have a serious relationship with a girl who doesn't cheat on you and isn't a completely crazy bitch. ( I know this is a far-fetched scenario since 99% of the 3.5 billion women on Earth are completely psychotic, but that's an entry for a different day.) Maybe you have a boyfriend who doesn't cheat on you and gives a shit about your "feelings." (Again, not likely.) The point is, chances are you're having a relatively decent time and your parents, if you're lucky, are helping you out with money and decision making and so forth.
If you're REALLY lucky, by the time you're done with college, or even if didn't go and you get around to your mid-twenties, you have some semblance of a good job, or a good, realistic plan for your future. You move into an apartment or buy a condo, and the stress starts piling on. You have a little less time for your friends, you have bills to pay, you have loans to pay off, you have to start getting up early. For most people, these are all manageable and there's still time for fun. Maybe you take up golf or fishing or snowboarding. Perhaps you go on some cool vacations and are able to leave your worries behind.
Eventually, you find yourself in a serious relationship. Some people get married. Some are lucky enough to get a good deal on a new house. Hopefully you have a good job or a budding career. More stress, more bills, even less time with your friends.
Some people fall on hard times. They lose their job or their significant other. Grandparents start to pass away. Some friends might get married or move to another part of the country. Things really start to change, sometimes not for the better.
I can't speak to anything much further than the above paragraphs. Hopefully I'll be able to check back in another 30 years with some additional insight. I know today that I wouldn't have had any fun growing up as a kid and living it up in my 20's if I knew "then" the things I know now...so I guess that makes me one of the few who is glad that I didn't know. It's fun looking back to those times when there was no pressure, and every single day of my life made me who I am today, and I'm obviously awesome.
No matter what course you travel in life, and how things turn out for you, good or bad, there's one thing that I know without question, 100%, no doubt about it. If you are lucky enough to have a kid, you get to live those years all over again. Not literally, of course, but you get the privilege of watching them grow up and the joy of shaping their lives and giving advice and seeing the innocent, pressure free existence in them that you wish you could grab onto just one more time, maybe for one more day.
Vinny Jr. turned two years old today. People warn you about how time goes by so fast that you have to really enjoy each day with your kids and sit back and take it all in. I can tell you that truer words have never been spoken and I've never been given better advice.
ALL THE BULLSHIT in life, all the hard times, all the money problems, death, divorce, work. Nothing else in life matters. Only your child. Everything that is done in my life, is now done for my son. NOTHING ELSE IN LIFE MATTERS. Once I saw my son pop out of his mother, (really fucked up and amazing by the way, I suggest you check it out if you get the chance), heard him cry, held his hand, looked into his eyes. Everything went away....and it was only him. Happy 2nd birthday to my world, my reason for living, my son. The best part of me....is you.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Crackhead vs. Hot chick
So I'm out with this girl who I have no business being out with. I'm running my game like only Vinny Mic can-which is to say I'm drinking shots and feeding as much alcohol to my date as possible. We start off with a fancy dinner at Applebees. The conversation is flowing, the date is going great, and we're getting along nicely. After dinner, we hit this bar where a terrific band is playing, we continue to have some laughs and do some shots and there's no doubt in my mind that I'm getting laid that night. No doubt.
As the night progressed, and I became more inebriated, I realized...."Oh shit, I'm about to say or do something completely retarded", (it's ok, I have a retarded brother), so I start to panic. Believe me, I've ruined many a chance with women in the past mirroring this exact scenario.
In my tequila soaked brain, I made the only decision that would save the night, or so I thought. Hot chick, who was now becoming increasingly flirtatious, excused herself and went to the restroom at this very busy bar. I executed the only game plan that I thought would salvage my chances at a later date. I left. No goodbye, no nothing. I just snuck out and left her there. (Don't worry, she drove herself, so she wasn't completely abandoned.)
As I exited, I ran into a young black chap in the parking lot who was completely freaking out. (I'm not racist, mostly, but the fact that the kid was black is an integral part of the story...bare with me, ok?) Anyways, the dude is yelling and screaming something about a ride or being abandoned because his friends took off without him or some such shit. I was blasted so I forget exactly what the hell he was screaming about. First of all, I kind of laughed a bit at the irony that I, myself, just ditched MY hot lady friend no more than 30 seconds ago.
Normally, I would not have given a shit about this poor soul. I would have entered my Audi A8, (pause for laughter), driven off, and honestly not cared about whether or not this crackhead made it home or not. Shit, to be honest, I would not have really cared if the dude lived or died. In my drunken state, I elected to not ignore the situation, but to engage the situation dead on.
I walked up to my soon-to-be new friend and attempted to diffuse the situation. "Whoa, whoa! What seems to be the problem, citizen?" Crackhead looked at me, his pupils the size of half dollars, with a sense of disbelief that my white ass even approached him in the first place. "Man, my friends left without me...I gotta get home and I'm stuck here!" My first thoughts-taxi cab? cell phone? fucking jog? He obviously had crack super powers and the energy to get home by foot.
"You're in luck my friend, I happen to be heading in the same direction...hop in bud!"
After offering to suck my dick, (not true) Crackhead called across the parking lot to his 300 pound, white-trash girlfriend. "Yo boo, we got a ride!!" His excitement was palpable. Though I felt at the time happy to help my fellow man in need, a sharp panic crept into my soul when I saw this tank begin to walk towards my car. Crackhead hopped in the front seat and his girlfriend opened the rear passenger door. She placed a large piece of plastic on the back seat, and settled in for what was sure to be the most interesting ride home in history. I still don't know what the plastic was for. Did she shit her pants? Fall in mud? It's a mystery to this day.
As soon as I fired up the Audi, Creedance Clearwater Rivival began blaring from my c.d. player. Yes, I still listen to c.d.'s. I quickly reached for the stereo, embarrassed by my whiteness, and turned it to a rap channel, not wanting to freak out Crackhead any further. We began our journey to our destination, making small talk as we departed the parking lot.
Now the only way I knew to get to Crackhead's house, was through a rural, wooded area. Out of nowhere, over the snoring of the Tank in the backseat, who was now passed out, Crackhead turned to me, terror in his silver dollar eyes, and asked, dead serious...."Hey man, this is some backwoods shit, you gonna jack us?"
After processing this ridiculous question, I retorted, "Nah dude, are you gonna jack me?"
"Why, cause I'm black?"
"NO! You just seem like the kinda dude that might be carrying a weapon of some kind."
Crackhead paused for a minute, stared at me, and proclaimed, "Man...you're a fucking racist." I couldn't help but laugh and told him. "Buddy, if I was racist, you sure as shit would not be in my car right now and you'd still be bugging out in the bar parking lot." Understanding that my logic held up, Crackhead nodded and said, "Ya know what....I'm just kidding you cracker motherfucker, hahahahaha!"
This is the point where I started to realize that I just left an incredibly attractive girl at a bar, without saying anything, in order to go completely out of my way to drive this maniac home. The good news, I made it alive and without getting shanked, there was no shit stain on my back seat, and I even made $4 that backseat Tank crumpled up and threw into the front seat before they both exited at Crackhead's shack, never to be heard from again.
After gathering my composure, I checked my phone and realized I had three angry texts. "Where the fuck did u go?" "Did u get sick?" "Call me 2morrow and let me know you made it home, k?...I can't believe you took off w/o saying anything!!"
What I took from the texts? "Nice! She wants me to call her tomorrow!"
As it turns out, it didn't work out between us.
As the night progressed, and I became more inebriated, I realized...."Oh shit, I'm about to say or do something completely retarded", (it's ok, I have a retarded brother), so I start to panic. Believe me, I've ruined many a chance with women in the past mirroring this exact scenario.
In my tequila soaked brain, I made the only decision that would save the night, or so I thought. Hot chick, who was now becoming increasingly flirtatious, excused herself and went to the restroom at this very busy bar. I executed the only game plan that I thought would salvage my chances at a later date. I left. No goodbye, no nothing. I just snuck out and left her there. (Don't worry, she drove herself, so she wasn't completely abandoned.)
As I exited, I ran into a young black chap in the parking lot who was completely freaking out. (I'm not racist, mostly, but the fact that the kid was black is an integral part of the story...bare with me, ok?) Anyways, the dude is yelling and screaming something about a ride or being abandoned because his friends took off without him or some such shit. I was blasted so I forget exactly what the hell he was screaming about. First of all, I kind of laughed a bit at the irony that I, myself, just ditched MY hot lady friend no more than 30 seconds ago.
Normally, I would not have given a shit about this poor soul. I would have entered my Audi A8, (pause for laughter), driven off, and honestly not cared about whether or not this crackhead made it home or not. Shit, to be honest, I would not have really cared if the dude lived or died. In my drunken state, I elected to not ignore the situation, but to engage the situation dead on.
I walked up to my soon-to-be new friend and attempted to diffuse the situation. "Whoa, whoa! What seems to be the problem, citizen?" Crackhead looked at me, his pupils the size of half dollars, with a sense of disbelief that my white ass even approached him in the first place. "Man, my friends left without me...I gotta get home and I'm stuck here!" My first thoughts-taxi cab? cell phone? fucking jog? He obviously had crack super powers and the energy to get home by foot.
"You're in luck my friend, I happen to be heading in the same direction...hop in bud!"
After offering to suck my dick, (not true) Crackhead called across the parking lot to his 300 pound, white-trash girlfriend. "Yo boo, we got a ride!!" His excitement was palpable. Though I felt at the time happy to help my fellow man in need, a sharp panic crept into my soul when I saw this tank begin to walk towards my car. Crackhead hopped in the front seat and his girlfriend opened the rear passenger door. She placed a large piece of plastic on the back seat, and settled in for what was sure to be the most interesting ride home in history. I still don't know what the plastic was for. Did she shit her pants? Fall in mud? It's a mystery to this day.
As soon as I fired up the Audi, Creedance Clearwater Rivival began blaring from my c.d. player. Yes, I still listen to c.d.'s. I quickly reached for the stereo, embarrassed by my whiteness, and turned it to a rap channel, not wanting to freak out Crackhead any further. We began our journey to our destination, making small talk as we departed the parking lot.
Now the only way I knew to get to Crackhead's house, was through a rural, wooded area. Out of nowhere, over the snoring of the Tank in the backseat, who was now passed out, Crackhead turned to me, terror in his silver dollar eyes, and asked, dead serious...."Hey man, this is some backwoods shit, you gonna jack us?"
After processing this ridiculous question, I retorted, "Nah dude, are you gonna jack me?"
"Why, cause I'm black?"
"NO! You just seem like the kinda dude that might be carrying a weapon of some kind."
Crackhead paused for a minute, stared at me, and proclaimed, "Man...you're a fucking racist." I couldn't help but laugh and told him. "Buddy, if I was racist, you sure as shit would not be in my car right now and you'd still be bugging out in the bar parking lot." Understanding that my logic held up, Crackhead nodded and said, "Ya know what....I'm just kidding you cracker motherfucker, hahahahaha!"
This is the point where I started to realize that I just left an incredibly attractive girl at a bar, without saying anything, in order to go completely out of my way to drive this maniac home. The good news, I made it alive and without getting shanked, there was no shit stain on my back seat, and I even made $4 that backseat Tank crumpled up and threw into the front seat before they both exited at Crackhead's shack, never to be heard from again.
After gathering my composure, I checked my phone and realized I had three angry texts. "Where the fuck did u go?" "Did u get sick?" "Call me 2morrow and let me know you made it home, k?...I can't believe you took off w/o saying anything!!"
What I took from the texts? "Nice! She wants me to call her tomorrow!"
As it turns out, it didn't work out between us.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Nipple Ring Incident in Cancun
Wait...getting your nipple pierced in a Mexican flea market is NOT a good idea? It is when you're a 20 year old on spring break, drunk off your ass, and some other kid who you met 2 days ago has both of his pierced. "That looks awesome, I gotta get me one of those!" I slurred. I only had like 75 thousand pesos on me, so I could only afford to get one of them done.
I waltzed right into that dirty little shop where two unsavory characters just itching to take my money and give me hepatitis stood behind a small glass counter. "I want my nipple pierced amigo!" One of them spoke English pretty well and he helped me decide on a loop style piercing with a dark gray ball, (like I really gave a shit, I was hammered!)
He insisted that I had more pesos and could afford to get both nipples done, but I assured him that I could only afford one, and we even had to haggle over that price. He tried to get me to sell my watch. At that point I started having reservations about this clown and what was about to be done...but my mind was made up...I was getting a dirty needle stabbed through a relatively sensitive part of my body and that was that.
Now, I knew the actual nipple ring was clean, because I saw him take it out of the package, but I could never confirm if the actual needle was new or used. No matter, I was getting my nipple pierced and it would be awesome.
(Before I go any further, I know how gay it was for me to get a nipple ring..don't judge me.)
After experiencing what can easily be described as the most painful 10 seconds of my life, despite the fact that most of me was numb from drinking Tequila for 4 strait days, the nipple ring actually looked pretty cool. I spent most of the rest of the trip showing my sick piercing off and even got the attention of a particularly smoking hot chick at Fat Tuesdays. If you've ever been to Cancun during spring break, you know how bat shit crazy it is down there. Plus everyone is looking to get laid. You probably also know about the bracelet rule, which means (at most places) you can't get into your hotel unless you show the front desk your bracelet, which also means, for some shitty reason, you can't just skip into your hotel room with a girl who doesn't have the same bracelet as you.
Fuck that, I thought. I'm in Cancun, this skank is digging my nipple ring and she's ready to go...she's getting into my room one way or the other. We tried the obvious at first-just walking in. "Nonononono, prohibita la entrada!" To which I replied, in a tequila drenched Boston accent, "What the fuck are you talking about chico?" While resisting the urge to throw my slice of Papa John's pizza at his face, (yeah, they have that down there), I just kind of looked at him, looked at the girl, and put my hands up as if to say, "Are you fucking SERIOUS guy?"
Being the sharp sombitch that I am, I quickly came up with plan B. I would jump the 8 foot tall concrete wall that surrounded the hotel and had shards of glass sticking out of the top of it for security reasons. Why this girl just didn't go find a more competent fuck mate at this point, I'll never know. But she followed me around back and I gave her 10 fingers up over the wall. Miraculously, she made it over unharmed.
Here's where it gets REALLY retarded. Instead of just waking back to the front, clad in my bracelet and without my guest, and met her at my room, I decided to be cool and jump the wall myself. I jumped up, reached with my hands, impaled my right hand on a shard of glass, and scraped my newly minted nipple ring against the concrete wall, tearing it from it's formerly secure place in my nipple.
After somehow scrambling over the wall, I felt beaten but triumphant. For some reason, the girl didn't seem impressed. It's probably because I looked like I just committed a triple homicide. Anyways, she bounced and I was left to get stitched up at a Mexican hospital. I made it most of the way back to the hotel on a bus, got off at the wrong spot, and went to sleep in the comfort of a warm Mexican gutter. By some miracle, my friends found me laying there and came and woke me up. They thought I had been murdered. What would you think if you found your friend lying in the gutter, drenched in blood. They quickly woke me up, terror in their eyes. "What the fuck man, are you ok? It looks like you got stabbed or something!" "You should see the other guy." I said. ( I know, ZING! right?")
"Seriously man, it looks like you lost a lot of blood." I looked at my bandaged up hand and blood soaked shirt...."It's a long story...let's go hit Senor Frogs."
As it turned out, I didn't get Hepatitis, but I definitely needed a tetanus shot.
I waltzed right into that dirty little shop where two unsavory characters just itching to take my money and give me hepatitis stood behind a small glass counter. "I want my nipple pierced amigo!" One of them spoke English pretty well and he helped me decide on a loop style piercing with a dark gray ball, (like I really gave a shit, I was hammered!)
He insisted that I had more pesos and could afford to get both nipples done, but I assured him that I could only afford one, and we even had to haggle over that price. He tried to get me to sell my watch. At that point I started having reservations about this clown and what was about to be done...but my mind was made up...I was getting a dirty needle stabbed through a relatively sensitive part of my body and that was that.
Now, I knew the actual nipple ring was clean, because I saw him take it out of the package, but I could never confirm if the actual needle was new or used. No matter, I was getting my nipple pierced and it would be awesome.
(Before I go any further, I know how gay it was for me to get a nipple ring..don't judge me.)
After experiencing what can easily be described as the most painful 10 seconds of my life, despite the fact that most of me was numb from drinking Tequila for 4 strait days, the nipple ring actually looked pretty cool. I spent most of the rest of the trip showing my sick piercing off and even got the attention of a particularly smoking hot chick at Fat Tuesdays. If you've ever been to Cancun during spring break, you know how bat shit crazy it is down there. Plus everyone is looking to get laid. You probably also know about the bracelet rule, which means (at most places) you can't get into your hotel unless you show the front desk your bracelet, which also means, for some shitty reason, you can't just skip into your hotel room with a girl who doesn't have the same bracelet as you.
Fuck that, I thought. I'm in Cancun, this skank is digging my nipple ring and she's ready to go...she's getting into my room one way or the other. We tried the obvious at first-just walking in. "Nonononono, prohibita la entrada!" To which I replied, in a tequila drenched Boston accent, "What the fuck are you talking about chico?" While resisting the urge to throw my slice of Papa John's pizza at his face, (yeah, they have that down there), I just kind of looked at him, looked at the girl, and put my hands up as if to say, "Are you fucking SERIOUS guy?"
Being the sharp sombitch that I am, I quickly came up with plan B. I would jump the 8 foot tall concrete wall that surrounded the hotel and had shards of glass sticking out of the top of it for security reasons. Why this girl just didn't go find a more competent fuck mate at this point, I'll never know. But she followed me around back and I gave her 10 fingers up over the wall. Miraculously, she made it over unharmed.
Here's where it gets REALLY retarded. Instead of just waking back to the front, clad in my bracelet and without my guest, and met her at my room, I decided to be cool and jump the wall myself. I jumped up, reached with my hands, impaled my right hand on a shard of glass, and scraped my newly minted nipple ring against the concrete wall, tearing it from it's formerly secure place in my nipple.
After somehow scrambling over the wall, I felt beaten but triumphant. For some reason, the girl didn't seem impressed. It's probably because I looked like I just committed a triple homicide. Anyways, she bounced and I was left to get stitched up at a Mexican hospital. I made it most of the way back to the hotel on a bus, got off at the wrong spot, and went to sleep in the comfort of a warm Mexican gutter. By some miracle, my friends found me laying there and came and woke me up. They thought I had been murdered. What would you think if you found your friend lying in the gutter, drenched in blood. They quickly woke me up, terror in their eyes. "What the fuck man, are you ok? It looks like you got stabbed or something!" "You should see the other guy." I said. ( I know, ZING! right?")
"Seriously man, it looks like you lost a lot of blood." I looked at my bandaged up hand and blood soaked shirt...."It's a long story...let's go hit Senor Frogs."
As it turned out, I didn't get Hepatitis, but I definitely needed a tetanus shot.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wake Me Up When September Ends
I've been very lucky in my life. The good times have far outweighed the bad times. Weddings, birthdays, holidays, babies and wonderful relationships with hundreds of people have been wildly more abundant then losing family or friends. I've been especially lucky in the fact that nobody intimately close to me has died suddenly or tragically.
I have, unfortunately, been intimately close to those who have lost someone tragically. It's a terrible feeling in it's own right. I can't imagine it's anywhere close to what is experienced when someone in your inner circle is taken too early. I know that I want to take the pain that they have and make it my own...but there's no way to do that. Everyone eventually loses someone where it's life-altering. A parent, a best friend, a child. When you lose someone like that, especially suddenly, you don't wake up the next day to the same life. This hasn't happened to me yet. I've had friends, even family members pass away. I've been sad. I've cried. But the reality is that I woke up the next morning and probably did the same thing that I would have done anyways, for the most part.
I've been lucky. I've dodged bullets up to this point in my life. It's been a good run so far. I don't know why that is the way it is. There are better people than me that have had much worse things happen to them. So why? Good luck trying to figure that one out. It doesn't matter if you go to church every day of your life, if you've given millions to charity, or if you've been a perfect spouse or parent or brother or sister. When it's your time, it's your time. On the other end of the spectrum, you could be a total asshole, a thief, a murderer, a deadbeat dad, a wife beating belligerent drunk or a lifelong heroin addict. You could live a full, luxurious, long life and have nothing but the best of luck.
I get sad when I think of people not knowing when it is the last time they'll ever see their loved ones. I'm sad for the woman who is sleeping while her husband and father of her child leaves for work while they sleep, and he's killed in a car accident on his way home to see them. I'm sad for that same man, who kisses his wife and child while they sleep, goes to work just like every other day, and his last thought while he's pinned inside his car is, "I wish I could see my wife and child one last time."
What about all the people in Haiti or Japan who woke up and planned on it just being another day, and an earthquake devastates their entire existence? What about the tsunami in Indonesia? Just a beautiful day at the beach, and 20 minutes later, sheer terror and tragedy.
Can you believe it's been almost 10 YEARS since September 11, 2001? My heart still breaks for the thousands of people affected by that day. I can't wrap my brain around the people who woke up on that Tuesday morning and just went to work, and before lunch time, were trapped in a building wishing they could see their families just ONE more time...maybe wishing they had just a PICTURE of their family close by. Maybe they wondered, "Why is this happening to ME? I've lived such a good life and been such a good person..."
You want to know what I did on Wednesday, September 12, 2001? I woke up at the same time, had the same thing for breakfast, and went to work, just like the day before. The world was different, and even though my thoughts and feelings about a lot of things had changed....my life was virtually the same as the previous day.
The day will come when someone so close to me will pass away that it will alter my life. I'll wake up the next day and life will be different. This happens to everybody eventually. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves how precious and short and sometimes tenuous life is. Sometimes a tragic event happens that reminds us anyways.
Why all the doom and gloom? I wish that all nine of you reading this will never have to experience any of the above. Chances are someday we will, maybe not to the extent of the above, but it will alter our lives.
So my point? Instead of wasting time by worrying about things, call your mother. Go visit your grandparents. Tell your wife she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Have your baby sister and her family over for dinner. Let your husband know how much you love him. Go fishing or shopping with your best friend. Send your girlfriend flowers. Go to a baseball game with your father or grandfather or son or even all of you together. Say "I love you" to your parents, even if your family isn't all 'lovie' like that. Make your older brother or sister see how much you appreciate them. Hug your kids and tell them you love them EVERY DAY. Some day, hopefully no time soon, it will be the last time you'll be able to.
I have, unfortunately, been intimately close to those who have lost someone tragically. It's a terrible feeling in it's own right. I can't imagine it's anywhere close to what is experienced when someone in your inner circle is taken too early. I know that I want to take the pain that they have and make it my own...but there's no way to do that. Everyone eventually loses someone where it's life-altering. A parent, a best friend, a child. When you lose someone like that, especially suddenly, you don't wake up the next day to the same life. This hasn't happened to me yet. I've had friends, even family members pass away. I've been sad. I've cried. But the reality is that I woke up the next morning and probably did the same thing that I would have done anyways, for the most part.
I've been lucky. I've dodged bullets up to this point in my life. It's been a good run so far. I don't know why that is the way it is. There are better people than me that have had much worse things happen to them. So why? Good luck trying to figure that one out. It doesn't matter if you go to church every day of your life, if you've given millions to charity, or if you've been a perfect spouse or parent or brother or sister. When it's your time, it's your time. On the other end of the spectrum, you could be a total asshole, a thief, a murderer, a deadbeat dad, a wife beating belligerent drunk or a lifelong heroin addict. You could live a full, luxurious, long life and have nothing but the best of luck.
I get sad when I think of people not knowing when it is the last time they'll ever see their loved ones. I'm sad for the woman who is sleeping while her husband and father of her child leaves for work while they sleep, and he's killed in a car accident on his way home to see them. I'm sad for that same man, who kisses his wife and child while they sleep, goes to work just like every other day, and his last thought while he's pinned inside his car is, "I wish I could see my wife and child one last time."
What about all the people in Haiti or Japan who woke up and planned on it just being another day, and an earthquake devastates their entire existence? What about the tsunami in Indonesia? Just a beautiful day at the beach, and 20 minutes later, sheer terror and tragedy.
Can you believe it's been almost 10 YEARS since September 11, 2001? My heart still breaks for the thousands of people affected by that day. I can't wrap my brain around the people who woke up on that Tuesday morning and just went to work, and before lunch time, were trapped in a building wishing they could see their families just ONE more time...maybe wishing they had just a PICTURE of their family close by. Maybe they wondered, "Why is this happening to ME? I've lived such a good life and been such a good person..."
You want to know what I did on Wednesday, September 12, 2001? I woke up at the same time, had the same thing for breakfast, and went to work, just like the day before. The world was different, and even though my thoughts and feelings about a lot of things had changed....my life was virtually the same as the previous day.
The day will come when someone so close to me will pass away that it will alter my life. I'll wake up the next day and life will be different. This happens to everybody eventually. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves how precious and short and sometimes tenuous life is. Sometimes a tragic event happens that reminds us anyways.
Why all the doom and gloom? I wish that all nine of you reading this will never have to experience any of the above. Chances are someday we will, maybe not to the extent of the above, but it will alter our lives.
So my point? Instead of wasting time by worrying about things, call your mother. Go visit your grandparents. Tell your wife she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Have your baby sister and her family over for dinner. Let your husband know how much you love him. Go fishing or shopping with your best friend. Send your girlfriend flowers. Go to a baseball game with your father or grandfather or son or even all of you together. Say "I love you" to your parents, even if your family isn't all 'lovie' like that. Make your older brother or sister see how much you appreciate them. Hug your kids and tell them you love them EVERY DAY. Some day, hopefully no time soon, it will be the last time you'll be able to.
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