Cherry Mash

I, known as the writer, have not always been so "well off". For years it seemed that I was destined to live in poverty. My mother would take me to work with her, for you see, she couldn't afford a babysitter. Yes, we were that poor. So, before I started playing soccer, I went with my mom to work. She delivered packages, all size and shapes. Some hazardous, some...not so hazardous. To show my interest in science at an early age I memorized a book full of hazardous chemicals and what to do if one were to spill (one was required to evacuate the area in a 5 mile radius!). I never thought much of it, I loved traveling. My mother and I would easily tack on 100 miles a day onto her truck (now of which I proudly own), just driving through the nearest city. Some days we would drive to another city, 30 miles away! The concept of that always excited me, that and knowing that there was a McDonald's there with a built in fountain that glowed different colors. Many days we would eat the same thing, a peanut butter sandwich and a big mug of water. For a child that seemed very mundane, especially when all of his friends were eating candy bars and pop (soda, for you in the east)! I would cry and pout and even throw fits when mom told me no. She said it was bad for me (now I understand that it was bad for me, but I also understand the reality that she couldn't afford the candy). Some days when we went to places like banks or the eye doctor to drop off packages I'd smile real big to the nice ladies and they'd give me a sucker. "SUCESS!", I'd cry out to myself in my head, enjoying my sweet treat earned because of my playful and cheerful antics.

Then came payday...

You could always tell when it was payday for my mother. It always came on a Friday. Her and I would usually eat at a fast food place called "Taco John's". There I'd always get these things called "Mexi-Rolls", they were wonderful! After dinner though, we would go to a gas station nearby and get:
A. Pop!
B. A little candy thing called a "Cherry Mash"

Now, the Cherry Mash was a unique creation. The national headquarters of the company was actually located in the town that my mother worked in, so the candies were very cheap! They were a strange cherry paste filling, surrounded by chocolate and crunched up peanuts. One of the oldest chocolate candies out there (1917, I think?). I thought these crazy things were absolutely amazing. My mother enjoyed them and so did I. Granted, I wasn't too much of a picky eater at the time.

Friday nights were amazing for a child of seven years of age.

Then I started soccer...

Then my mother got another job in a bigger city...

One that included wearing slacks to work instead of jeans and overalls...

The truck stayed home...

Mom got a car...

I grew up...

Time passed by...

The old company closed...

The Cherry Mash company left the city...

I, the writer, came home for a while. Things have changed since then. I guess I might hang around "richer people" then I did as a child. When I visit the city I only see the rich part of it. The Starbuck's, and restaurants where you sit down to order. I don't see the stockyards, or the trains that pass carrying coal to the power plant. All of that belongs in the "bad part of town", as my friends would put it.
After getting off work one evening, my friend and I went to Starbuck's for a drink (and for him, hopefully a phone number). After leaving the establishment, hyped up on caffeine and hope (my friend at least, he got the number), I asked my friend if we could go see my mother, (as fate had it, my mother had gotten a job in a larger city. However, she was laid off and was forced to find another job. In the same smaller city as before, a mile away from her old job that I had grown to love). The poor boy was still star struck on getting this phone number that he easily said, "yes". And so we went...back to a place I called home.

My best friend, great kid, wonderful, will be a great husband. Does NOT work well with others, but does work well. Mechanical engineer, yes, the kid is that smart. He grew up in a household that was "well to do" as my family would put it. Also known as, his family had a decent amount of money. They own more vehicles then people could drive in the house (and unlike our family, they all ran). However, he is my friend and I enjoy hanging out with him (and eating all of his food). He had been golfing all day, so he looked fancy. He was driving his little black sports car also. Now, this car and this driver had NEVER been down to this part of the city.

After surprising my mother at work, she gave me a secret I never expected.

"You remember those Cherry Mash's we used to get? If you go across the railroad tracks, the Shell station on your right had them there for fifty cents!"

I about died...

So my friend and I scrambled to his car like Bo and Duke (pathetic, yes) and went across to the Shell station. Now, when I was down there I felt right at home, my friend however seemed to have felt a bit nervous. Granted this was 11:35 P.M. in the bad part of town. I asked him if he wanted to go into the store with me, he said no. As I left his car he lowered his seat, rolled up his windows, and shut his moon roof, as if he were afraid of something. I walked into the store and grabbed my Cherry Mash. I walked to the counter, paid with my debit card (I told you I lived down there), and left after talking to a pregnant woman with a giant beer can and a older man with three cartons of cigarettes, nice people. I got back into my friends car and a very, very nervous driver, whose eyeballs seemed to have come out of his head from watching every single movement around him, drove off...bound for our final destination.

I know for years I complained about where I came from, being poor, losing my first home because it was next to a RIVER! However, going back to that place, where I spent the majority of my childhood, didn't strike fear in me at all. I never even felt "sorry" for the people down there. I felt honored, I felt welcomed, I felt...

...at home.

P.S: For those of you who are wondering, sometimes after a long day of work...I find a Cherry Mash (there are wrappers in my trash) and just relax. :-)

Night To Ones Self

Well, I finally got it...I finally got the night to myself. Sadly it's due to the fact that work sent me home since I'm sick...give it up for the common cold! So because of that I've been sitting around my chair all evening just thinking, laughing at cartoons, and well...thinking...

 

The Thinker

Alone he sat, half past eleven as the summer breeze blew past him. He was alone, the parking lot empty, the machines that causes noise and product during the day...silent. Alone he sat, on a pile of wood. There was the older man, a worker through most of his life. A terrifying individual if you did not know him. He had a salt and pepper beard, it used to be all black. His hair had thinned out, a scab was at the top of his head, he cut it installing a air conditioner for his family the week before. Beside him sat a lunch box, the same lunch box he had, had for years. Before this blue and white box came along, he used an old black tool box to fit his meals into. The air was humid and warm, still nearly seventy degrees outside as he waited for his ride. His wife would be there shortly, for she worked in another factory just across the city. His shirt covered with sweat, his jeans slightly ripped, and his brow covered with dirt all he could think of was, "Is this all? Is this all my life is to be?" His eyes darkened with the fears of just the recent past. His wife had nearly died on him, multiple times, he had already lost one house because of disasters, his wife was laid off, and he, just the week before was looking at losing his own. You see, the plant he works at used to be open 24 hours a day, non-stop, and one by one the shifts of people were laid off, told to go home and never to return. Eventually it was down to that man, all hope had seemed lost and by the next day as he went to work expecting that pink slip...it never came. Another push of the breeze brought the man back to reality. A drop of sweat ran down his weathered face. His hands were cracked from constantly being dried out, his skin always a dark tan from being outside working on his house when he wasn't at the plant. His shoes had holes, his hat was faded and torn. His eyes, tired and bloodshot, not just from the work of the day, but from his life in general.

The constant work, the waking up early to fix his step-son breakfast. At one point the man would go to bed at 3:00am and would wake up at 7:00am just so his step-son would have a warm breakfast before going to school. Sadly though, the "thank you's" or "you're the best", never came. He had worked his entire life, and for what? Redemption of his past? Satisfaction of the present? Hope for a future? No one truly knows except for the man sitting on the wood, alone, waiting for his ride. Many would come to say that grown men never cry, however, the writer will state that when this man is alone. This man of 6'4" stature, salt and pepper beard, dark tan, weathered face, of roughly 290 pounds is alone on those nights, waiting for his ride, he weeps bitterly hoping that one day his ship will come in, that deep down he would be recognized for his accomplishments.

One day the writer will go up to the man, the thinker and place his hand on his shoulder and will say, "Thank you" and, "You're the best". After the writer goes through the process in which he is no longer a writer, but a thinker...

Apologies

I must admit that I'm not big into saying, "I'm sorry" for the things that I believe that I haven't done. However, due to information in the past few days, it's been brought to my attention that I owe some "apologies" to some people.

Allow me to also warn that there will be some slight "anger" in some of these words tonight. I have not had the best of weeks and I've been reminded lately why I am, who I am.

Here...we...go!

For those of you who don't know, recently I was involved in a relationship, yes...with a female. A few nights ago she called me early in the evening, which frightened me and caused me to realize "This isn't going to be good". As it turns out, someone, whose name I don't know, nor care to know, came up to her and warned her, stating that I was "manipulative".

I probably should of just brushed it off and gone on with life, and I tried, but later that night it really started to eat at me. And I came up with some thoughts about this. Remember, this came from a person from the university I attend. Emphasis on university and not high school.

1. I obviously have wronged someone in my three years at this university. I have said something wrong, did something wrong, or more then likely hurt one of their friends, or even themselves.

2. I obviously have failed a mission as a Christian that was directed at my campus and my fellow classmates.

3. I obviously have not made it clear how much I despise being involved with drama.

With that said, I'm going to take each one of these thoughts and dive into detail so that those taking notes, know exactly where I'm coming from.

A. My idea of going to college was to be able to start over, plant my true identity as an individual. Find my place in the world, make new friends, and avoid creating enemies. I have made errors, I have created enemies, and I have broken hearts. Understand that none of those things were meant to take place. If I could go back in time I would of gone to another university (Oklahoma University for you note detailed ones), I would of been a recluse, confiding myself to my schoolwork, and my job and not getting involved with the university at all, and finally...I would of avoided all relationships for the same fear I had in high school, being a disappointment and in the end breaking the heart of someone I love. Sadly, the fact is that the past is just that, the past. I've committed all those sins, I've done all that damage, on my own.

To those who became my enemies, to the school I never attended, and to the heart(s) of those that I've broken and haven't mended...I ask for forgiveness.

B. I think of the three things I noted, this one hurts the most. If you haven't caught on yet, I'm a Christian. Plain and simple. I'm up front, I'm sometimes brutally honest, but I refuse to wear masks. I won't do it. I did it in high school, happy and cheerful in the hallways and miserable at home. Just because I'm a Political Science Major doesn't mean I have to act as a politician would in public. To know that someone sees me as "manipulative" shows me something. It shows me that Christ never was shown through my thoughts and my actions. If I had placed Him first, problems such as that would cease to exist.

To Him who has given me a second life. To the One who expects me to shine as a "little Christ"...I ask for forgiveness.

C. Drama. I cannot stand drama, I hated it in high school and I hate it even more in college. It shouldn't exist. It people minded their own business and took care of their own lives, drama wouldn't be an issue.

If I told you, the reader, that I was not manipulative, I would indeed be lying. Please understand that in order to win in high school, to win the trophies and awards for what I did. I didn't have to be the super jock, and I didn't have to be the brains. I had to be persuasive and manipulative. That sounds very harsh, and it is, but I wanted to win. With that said though, allow me to make it very clear...my life is my life, if you are not part of my life, stay out of my business...I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to realize that some people around you just don't want you to be happy. They're "afraid" for other people, when in reality they're just bitter towards myself.

As many of you know, I spend my Sunday's in Springfield, away from Bolivar, away from SBU, and if you have ever wondered why...allow this to show you why. I cannot stand the drama. I put up with drama when I'm teaching/coaching in a high school, I put up with drama at youth camps, mission trips, and youth groups on Sundays and Wednesdays respectively. Drama surrounds me, but it does not have to be part of my life.

To those who seek to steal, kill, and destroy what is left of my life know that even though I may be bitter at the moment, for you...I shall pray for and in the end it shall be...I who asks for forgiveness.

I'm not in the best of moods, I feel like I have been betrayed, and most of all I am troubled by the fact that people cannot come up to my face and discuss their problems with me directly. I've been gossiped about behind my back, some of which took place in my own church, I have been dumped on a voice mail, through text messages, and most recently through a Facebook message. I really don't think I'm that "intimidating" that one would hesitate to say things to my face.

In conclusion, to those who take pride in knowing the things they say are painful to me, congratulations! You win, because as of now, I'm going to withdrawal myself. Withdraw from people on my campus, people in my community, and even people on the Internet. I have tried time and time again to befriend all those who I come in contact with. Each time it falls apart because of something I did, I said, or I thought. If I tend to make so many mistakes I obviously have become a problem in our society. May God judge me for my actions and thoughts, and who knows, maybe someday in a different land, when I have up and left this barren state of mind, things will be different, life will be different. Until then though, I plead with you...

...please do not cause anymore pain to my life.