Tag: middle class

running out of time

August 27th, 2018

monarchs © 2012 Brooke Stevens

My kids love without conditions. They care about people and animals. Water, dirt and sand, rocks and trees. They care about many things. They have not yet been spoiled by their surroundings. They want to help others. Pick up trash. Recycle. Give.

Not only to those less fortunate but to everyone.

Sometimes, I wonder if they’re mine. They are better than me. Purer. More observant. More in tune with the place they came from than I am or will ever be. I think it’s because they’re closer to it. Younger. Not that far removed from the magic. Like an egg to a caterpillar to a chrysalis to a Monarch. A winged insect flying a drunken pattern to Mexico. Only to love, live a short while, and die.

It’s hard raising kids when you know time is not on your side. That anything can happen. That our efforts at raising them increase the chance they’ll be messed up. They’ll learn our quirks. Adopt our mannerisms. Make the same mistakes we have. Again and again.

Giving up on gods. Disbelieving ghosts. Drinking or eating or doing whatever it takes to numb the pain. Another adult doing what it takes to make ends meet instead of doing what it is they are meant to do. Instead of that which they love.

I sent pictures of my kids—all smiles and ready for the first day of school—to my parents today. I said that it was strange how they were growing so fast. And then I thought of how stupid it was to say that. I was stating the obvious. Something they have known for years.

Life is incredible and sad and happy and inspirational. It is the hardest thing a spirit will ever encounter, especially when you choose to be a good parent and continue the cycle.

I’ve said a lot of things to them over the years that didn’t make sense. That were self-centered and steeped in ignorance. But it hasn’t seemed to change how they feel about me.

My parents…they love without conditions. They give. They listen, they watch and believe. They have not given up.

Not on people, animals, dirt, sand, rocks and trees. They have never given up on me.

And so, I am here. Four minutes after ten o’clock in the evening. Hearing crickets out the window. Seeing stars vibrate in the sky. Quieted by the realization that I too am running out of time.

~ K.J.
early train

May 18th, 2017

The train. It’s 5:59 in the morning, but the train doesn’t care. It’s as if the conductor has a gripe with this town. Our warm and friendly port on the shore of Lake Huron. He’s blasting that horn continuously. Chugging through town with one mission—to make sure everyone’s up as early as he is. Maybe he was born here. Grew up happy, but got frustrated and felt stifled by the conservatism and lack of opportunities. Maybe it was the general acceptance of mediocrity as a way of life. Restaurants pumping out dishes from Gordon Foods. Cashiers, cable guys, salesmen, hairdressers, waiters and waitresses filled with apathy. It could have been any number of things. Maybe a girl. A boy. Perhaps he was visiting this place as a kid, walking with his family across the Second Avenue Bridge and his dog got scared by a jacked up truck with loud exhaust and a huge confederate flag flapping in the breeze. Yep, ol’ Skippy—a half blind and nerved up Dachshund—jumped right over the edge. The leash went taught in the future train conductor’s hand. It happened so quickly that he lost his grip and sploosh went Skippy. Straight down, like a concrete block, into the black water of the Thunder Bay River never to return. Except in memories, during times when he’s alone, and especially when he’s gliding along steel tracks that guide him through all sorts of out-of-the-way places, like Alpena—our small town that always feels like it might be living or it might be dying. It just depends on the day. A person’s state of mind. Honesty. And as simple as someone being shaken from peace and warmth and dreams an hour too early. Happy trails, Mister Conductor. Happy trails.

Tag: middle class

running out of time

early train