Those that have known me for a while, (and lately there are a lot of you on here from the high school years) know I used to talk a lot. Those that know me now, know I still talk a lot. Maybe not as much as I once was, but I am still quite loquacious (good word, look it up and add it your vocabulary if you're not already using it). Some of my would-be talk has now become writing. Stuff I put here or over at Truth and Spectacle - movie reviews for the masses or Apathy as Activism - Political news and commentary. I'm writing a lot these days. But I've had more than one friend ask me, "How can you put yourself out there?" It got me thinking. Why do I want to be a writer? What is it that makes me get attention with my words?I think the main cause for my longing to be loved is the abuse I suffered as a child. My parents would regularly tell me to be quiet, even though I had something important to say during the middle of that funeral or church service. My Aunt (the best one ever) tells a story about how early I learned to talk. There is some disagreement between her and my mother about the exact date, but there is no doubt that I was speaking with clarity and authority at an extremely young age. This quick development probably is because of my gargantuan head. I have a big head (literally, although I've been accused of the figurative big head also) now, but as a baby it was astronomically disproportionate to my body size. I'm talkin' border line freak. I was however an adorable baby (which is good, 'cause with a head that big, I depended on people to carry me until I was almost one). So I couldn't sit upright, but I could carry on a conversation. I could also tell a joke. When most children are struggling to comprehend the idea of humor, and making up jokes, not really understanding the principles of the thing, I was memorizing every joke anyone told me. My first joke: How do you make a handkerchief dance? Put a little boogie in it. I discovered quickly that while the oohs, and ahhs of adults at the cuteness of a child would dissipate quickly, they could stay constantly entertained by a genuinely funny kid. So that's what I was. The humor came in handy at school as well. I wasn't athletic (I got fat about third grade), I wasn't rich, but I was hilarious and everybody likes to laugh. I learned early on that while boys liked pretty girls, girls were much more interested in the whole man. So if I was sweet and funny, I got just about as much interest from the opposite sex as the jocks did. Now I'm just about the sweetest funniest fella I know, and the ladies love me (although these days if any ladies other than the one love me, they get black eyes from Ms. Drunken Rogue). So far, we've got 1. Attention and acceptance of my elders.
2. Attention and affection from the ladies
as reasons for my talkative (and entertaining) nature. There's one more big one. And this is the point where the whole thing turns into an Oprah Show episode. I really want to make my dad proud. There it is. My deep dark secret. It's not like he's not proud of me, I have a great supportive Dad. He's been behind me with positive thoughts, and general praise no matter what I've pursued. But generally his interests and mine are not that similar. He's a hunter, I'm not. I'm really into movies, and he's not so much. I've done theatre, and while he appreciates it, it's not something he ever saw going somewhere. What does he think I could have a future in? Writing. He's told me, as long as I've been old enough to listen, that the only way a man can be truly immortal is to write. Words change the world. Dad and I both ascribe to that theory. And last night, I got a big ole' pat on the back from Pops. Dad is (too say the least) technologically out of date. I think he might have touched a mouse (of the computer variety) once. Mom or I occasionally turn the monitor his way for him to read something, but even that is rare. If something is online that he REALLY wants to take a look at, he just gets Mom to print it out. And that's what he got her to do yesterday. He had read just a couple of my posts (mostly the political stuff) when he decided to call me to tell me how proud he was, and how much he wanted to encourage me to continue. Consider it done Dad. So let's run the checklist.
1. I have plenty of friends.
2. I have a beautiful wife.
3. My Pops is proud of me. Yep, I'm on the right path. ***Editor's Note*** In the future I'll try to bring more funny, and less feely. Thanks for sticking with me. ***End Editor's Note***