Wednesday, April 30, 2008

the wheels on the skates go round and round

"He'll have such a girlish complex when he grows up," the camp counselor said matter-of-factly. At 5'8", with a short-cropped, bull-dyke hair cut, her pronouncement seemed rather ominous. The other counselor nodded and grunted agreement. He couldn't' have been older than 21 and was tall, with a lanky build. She, was clearly in charge. The lesbians always are. After all, this was summer camp.

Girlish complex, I thought. Because I'm crying, or because I can't roller skate? [Now I ask myself, was it both? Complex thought wasn't available then.] The thoughts were only fleeting. I was more preoccupied with the baseball-sized bruise that had formed on my left thigh, and the throbbing pain in my ankle. I had fallen at the skating rink, and I couldn't get up. "Buck up guy," Lanky said. "Yeah, don't you want to get back out there with your friends?" Bull Dyke urged. Friends? I was about 12 years old, at day camp, and I had circled the rink alone for the 45th time. Didn't she have a clue? Obviously not about a lot of things.

The bruises healed. All of them. Once in a while I still hear Bull Dyke's voice in my head and think, "hmmm, takes one to know one." I wonder how she's doing.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

on love

You've been alone with your thoughts so long that you've lost all sense of proportion.

Spanish Candles at the Guard
Mercutio © 2004

Saturday, April 12, 2008

send in the clown

My sister took me to the circus when I was 10 years old. At age 40, I still remember it vividly. A clown came up to where we were sitting, pulled me out of the row, took me down to the three rings and, suddenly, I was in the middle of all the action. No. I am not remembering a childhood fantasy. It actually happened. Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus was marrying off Michu, the world's smallest man, to his sweetheart Juliana. It was a grand spectacle. The parade went on and on. About 40 kids were selected from the grandstand. We paraded around the stage, waved, smiled and cooed. At the appropriate moment, we hit the button pose. The wedding was over. And, we were ushered back to our seats.

I thought I had been selected randomly. As it turns out, my sister had rigged the selection with a clown she had met earlier. A lovely clown. I wish I could remember his name. I think my fascination with clowns started then.

I got home, told my mom about my latest adventure. She smiled and worried about my foray into show business -- apparently, I lingered a little too long on the description of the circus performer who was herding us around (he was tall, gorgeous, chiseled jaw and I was a ten year old boy who hadn't quite figured things out yet). She didn't say a word, but even at age 10 I could read her face. She was concerned about something. I just didn't know what it was. At least not then.

Concerned or not, she walked me over to one of the curio cabinets (there were several all around the house) and showed me her prized clown collection. I had seen them before, without giving them a second look. There they sat, tall, glass-blown, intricate, colorful, delicate, and somehow, a bit scary. She told me how she had bought them in Venezuela before I was born, some 15 years before I was born. Because they belonged to her I instantly loved them. She promised they would be mine one day. I knew what that meant. I told her I was in no hurry to collect on the promise.

Mom died in 1999. The clowns sit in my curio cabinet now, next to my own dainty ceramic clowns. They watch-over my dainty ceramic clowns.