English Class
A long time ago, an ocean of time would be closer to the truth; I would sit in Mrs. McGee’s English Class and look out the window, and wonder what was out there? English sucked and I didn’t want any part of it when I was sixteen years old. I felt that there were more important things in life than a good working knowledge of the language, a command of the written word.
When you are sixteen, expressing the wisdom you posses thru words, is kind of impossible, because when you are sixteen, you are woefully short on wisdom. I had no real knowledge to acquire through words, I had no patience or desire. After all, “I was a teenager, and I knew it all.”
Been there. Done that. Got the diploma. Time to move on.
Youth and that unchaste salute, time for deep inner reflection and strong will. I did not feel the need to collect and arrange words in the form of proverbs, epigrams, pithy sayings. I did not feel any compulsion to communicate truth thru words.
I knew no truth. I had no passion.
Here we are Mrs. McGee, all these years later, and I find myself sitting in front of a screen, almost daily, doggedly and exhaustively pursing all the worldly ways I know, in the pursuit to make sense of life. As an educator, you would be so proud.
One by one, almost as if mile markers on the railroad right away, I knock them down. Hedonism. Materialism. Philosophy. Intellectualism. Religion. Most of the time, only to come up on empty. Every now and then I get lucky, one item resonates with the spirit and I get a “good job” …” I like that” … or something along those lines.
Been there. Done that. Now what?
Suit up for the game, get in there and get a hit, it doesn’t matter if it is a Home Run or not. Just that you are ready to play the game.
This is gonna be a good day, I can just feel it in my bones.
***
