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playing jacks with laura
To Laura J Young

there was a girl
about two years older than my sevenandahalf,
and her name was laura
and she taught me how to play jacks.

she used a golf ball, which was good, because
it had more bounce and truer bounce
than that red ball with a seam.

laura was always better than me,
always getting up to her tens
while i was still on my fives or so,
and then she’d get through piginapen
or doublebounce
while i was only up to my nines or so.

we also played chutes&ladders
or candyland
out of the charity of her kind soul,
for she had long outgrown those games.

she had a spool with four nails pounded partway
into one end, the nailheads forming a square,
and she could make an endless snake
of yarn or twine
come out of the other end
just by a kind of weaving.
i thought it was neat.
she taught me how to do it too.

our dads got mad at each other over something.
it might have been the mulberries our tree shed
in their yard,
which were sweetly yummy but awfully stainy,
or it might have been the way our dog liked to pee
on their pyracantha,
or maybe that we were supposed to be the first ones
to swim in the swimming pool we helped dig
and we ended up never swimming there at all.

it only matters because after that
laura and i never played any more.

more than fifty-one years later
i saw her name as a friend of a facebook friend,
another neighbor,
and now we’re friends again
though many miles apart.

she is a shepherd and a yarnwright
and a champion of the environment.
i find that delightful.

i will probably never see her again
since she lives in one of the carolinas,
but i do hope there is something to
the lifeflashingbeforeyoureyes notion,
because i would so love, however briefly,
to go back to
playing jacks with laura.

Denise’s family is visiting. Her granddaughter was drawing, and I offered her $2 to draw Dixon, the family dog. She accepted the challenge but declined payment. “How about this?” I counteroffered. “You draw Dixon, and I’ll draw whatever you want, and we’ll trade.” She asked for a cute pig. I asked for the pig’s name and she said Phillip. I drew this:

pig1

She drew this, and I’d say I got the better end of the bargain:

dixon1

Exchanging kid stuff proves to me that you’re NOT only a kid once. You can be a kid any time you draw pictures with another kid.

The Critique of Humanity, Phase Two: Now Look What You Made Me Do

All human beings so far begin their lives as babies. That may seem so obvious as to be absurd, but some day it may no longer be true, as will later be discussed.

Early things babies learn are: Bright lights can be nasty–it feels good to eat when hungry–it feels good to warm up when cold, but if it starts getting hot it doesn’t feel good any more–noises can be nasty–it feels good to relieve inside pressure, but doing so sometimes leads to loud noises or bright lights or both–it is fun to fall until there is a hard landing, and then it is scary to fall.

Babies graduate from babyhood when they start making sense of noises, including their own. There is a reason that there are simple, easy-to-say versions of the words for Mother and Father in every language. Interactions begin with Who’s Who and continue with Here’s What I Want, though of course Here’s What I Want is there at some level from the first cry of hunger on.

The first perception of Us and Them grows in complexity quickly. First They are the big ones that make things like food and warm happen. Then They may also be same-sizers or near-sizers who distract the bigger Thems from the provision of food and warm. By toddling time They include playmates, wrinkled dote-creatures, walking furballs, and Not-Us-At-Alls.

Reward and Punishment become more confusing. Rules are imposed. Violation of Rules is not cut and dried. Extenuating circumstances may be argued, and often are, if only as a delaying tactic.

In the fourth grade in the Southwestern United States it is not unheard of for a teacher to observe a child striking another child and, when the teacher begins to take appropriate action, two contradictory assertions made: “No, I didn’t. He hit me first.” Some form of those seven words, false-to-fact basis and all, is present in spirit throughout the history of human confrontational interaction.

The United States of America used to be honest enough to include a Department of War in its government, just as the insurance industry used to be honest enough to offer Death Insurance.

Now we congratulate ourselves on the containment of collateral damage, which is another way of saying we only killed a hundred thousand human beings with whom we had no quarrel instead of the who-knows-how-many-more it could have been. We apologize to the dead by shaking our finger in the face of those we DO have a quarrel with, and say in effect, “You shouldn’t have made us do this.”

Here is a quotation I just learned this week, and have come to embrace: “We must not be frightened nor cajoled into accepting evil as deliverance from evil. We must go on struggling to be human, though monsters of abstractions police and threaten us.” Poet Robert Hayden wrote that decades ago.

Now let us imagine a human being of the future. She has been born and raised to early adulthood with her mind in a virtual world and her body on automatic pilot via basic-functions software. The virtual world teaches her language and history and coping skills without the baggage of conflict. It is all nurture. She is never alone, any more than a person is alone who is making blog posts and receiving comments in real time. All her needs are met because the need for acquisition, for conquest, for superiority, never existed for her. She will never be able to say, “Now look what you made me do,” because she will not be made to do anything. She will make the choices that suit her and the world the best.

Now let us ask: could this happen? Should this happen? If it should not happen, how else may we remain human and build an improving world?

they slid on the slick
of cold-pressed board
and made verdant fieldevoking whorls
and then palmheels pressed
and they looked like feet
and a clean fingertip made toes

on a clean piece of paper
one by one the fingers admitted:
“this is him” “this is also him” “here’s more him” “you got him now”
and the prisoner escorted to his cell
wiping with paper towel only some of the residue
sighed for the days of fingerpaints

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The subject that is the specialest subject of all is my daughter. She is engaged to be married to a fine young man with intelligence and wit to match her own. I wish them the best kind of success, which is not Money nor Fame but Enduring Happiness.

Kate is no stranger to my journal pages. Here is one from a few years ago:

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And here is the one I did on the occasion of her 20th birthday:

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I have thousands of cherished memories of her, from the day she was born to last Friday when I visited her in Phoenix and took her and Denise to Mongolian BBQ. She was a delightful baby, an amazing toddler (she applied for and received a library card less than four months after her third birthday, having signed her name twice in order to do so), a lively little girl–ah, I could name dozens of her incarnations, but the important thing is, she has become more herself every day, and need not dwell in the past the way her mawkish father does. Kate, you are You, and the best Daughter imaginable. I love you and I salute you. I celebrate my One Hundredth Blog Post with the specialest subject of all. Thanks for indulging me by kindly permitting me to do so!