No deep thoughts
It seems the levy is dry.
No sweet thoughts
Only the tears I’ve cried.
No free thoughts
Controlled by baser minds
No sleep thoughts
In insomnia I confide.
The song, it plays
The only sound I hear.
The song, it stays
So deep within my ear.
The song, it betrays
My most secret fears.
The song it plays
The song must end here.
The darkest night
Pinnacle of the sun’s way.
The darkest night
ALWAYS vanish away.
The darkest night
What more can I say.
The darkest night
Bring forth the brightest day.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Palaver
Blue skies call my name
I will answer just the same
White clouds underneath
Help me forget about my pain
Stars flash with brilliant flares
And I cannot but stand and stare
Earth is turning underneath
As I proceed without a care
HIS gentle voice is calling me
I behold HIS infinite majesty
Strong hands hold me underneath
No longer shadows now clearly I see
…YOU do love me
Rynal Grant “The Hopeless Romantic”
I will answer just the same
White clouds underneath
Help me forget about my pain
Stars flash with brilliant flares
And I cannot but stand and stare
Earth is turning underneath
As I proceed without a care
HIS gentle voice is calling me
I behold HIS infinite majesty
Strong hands hold me underneath
No longer shadows now clearly I see
…YOU do love me
Rynal Grant “The Hopeless Romantic”
Monday, November 15, 2010
Come On In, The Water’s Fine
The day at the Hotel was starting off reasonably good. As I walked into the office everyone was happy and all smiles. I shot the breakfast lady, Marcie my usual look of “nah, nah, ne-nah, nah” too which she responded with a scowl. This is our relationship. We kid back and forth like that. I proceeded to clock in pick up all maintence requests, my radio, clipboard, and off to the maintence shack. From there I began the general cleanup of the hotel grounds.
It was a cool Mississippi morning. I was grateful for this. This past summer was so very unkind to me. But the sun came out, it was still cool, and the day was for lack of a better word, gorgeous. I passed an elderly gentleman who spoke and said, “It turned out to be a nice day.” I replied, “So far, anyway.” He laughed rather hysterically at my response, but in my mind I felt I was a little negative. After all of those classes my Pastor taught on being “positive”, having a “PMA, positive mental attitude”, and “self-fulfilling prophecies”, I should have known better. But I went my way and completed all of my initial tasks.
The final task of the day is testing, cleaning, and opening the pool. This has to be done before 10am when the pool is to be officially opened. First I decided to brush the sides before vacuuming it. As I neared the deep end, Marcie stepped outside the kitchen and asked me a question. I answered it. Then Miss Judy showed up. She’s the head housekeeper. The harassment ensued. We went back and forth briefly. But I continued to brush the sides of the pool.
They began to say things like, don’t go falling in and such the like. I’m not clear on what I said. But I think I said, “I won’t fall in.” I’ve been cleaning the pool for almost 2yrs and never fell in before. Then I brushed the side of the pool one more time. Because I’m in the deep end, I’m trying to make sure I hit the walls all the way down to the bottom. In doing so, I leaned too far forward. Then I realize, like a cartoon character, that there was nothing holding me up except for gravity. All the flailing, arm waving, and yelling could not stop gravity from her nefarious deed. I went in head first into 60 degree water.
I came up for air. I’m panicking and trying to stabilize myself. As you all know, statics does not look favorably upon blacks and our swimming skills. Luck for me, I am in that 5% range that can swim. But there is a difference between diving into cool water and falling head first in to cold water! I got my bearings, found the edge and did a series of breast strokes to get out of the water. When I got to the edge I pushed myself down into the water and back out again to give myself some leverage to get out.
Once I am out I got a guest on my left arm tugging and one of the other breakfast ladies, Shelia, on my right arm tugging and helping me out of the water. Well, I was already out of the water and I said as much. Marcie who was watching me went and told Frank our General Manager who came running to see if I was okay. He glanced, saw that I was fine and went back inside. Marcie chided him for that, but had I been in Frank’s position, I would have done the same. Even the front desk girl, Kawanna came out briefly to see what was happening. Then promptly went back inside to “tweet” about it on facebook and twitter.
*Smiles and says, friends*
This is an accurate account of what occurred that day. My cell phone was in my pocket and my radio on my hip. Both got wet. As of this post, my cell phone is in good working order. If you wish to hear the M. Night Shyamalan version (the version with a twist at the end) you can contact Marcie the breakfast lady for that version. In her version, Sheila clears the pool fence without using the gate and pulls me out of the pool. Never mind that I’m 5’ 11”, 300lbs and Sheila is 5’6” 160lbs. Sheila must be Wonder Woman in disguise, or something. The moral of the story is … when an elderly gentleman says to you, “It turned out to be a nice day.” Reply to him, “Yes Sir, it sure has.”
-Rynal Grant “The Hopeless Romantic”
It was a cool Mississippi morning. I was grateful for this. This past summer was so very unkind to me. But the sun came out, it was still cool, and the day was for lack of a better word, gorgeous. I passed an elderly gentleman who spoke and said, “It turned out to be a nice day.” I replied, “So far, anyway.” He laughed rather hysterically at my response, but in my mind I felt I was a little negative. After all of those classes my Pastor taught on being “positive”, having a “PMA, positive mental attitude”, and “self-fulfilling prophecies”, I should have known better. But I went my way and completed all of my initial tasks.
The final task of the day is testing, cleaning, and opening the pool. This has to be done before 10am when the pool is to be officially opened. First I decided to brush the sides before vacuuming it. As I neared the deep end, Marcie stepped outside the kitchen and asked me a question. I answered it. Then Miss Judy showed up. She’s the head housekeeper. The harassment ensued. We went back and forth briefly. But I continued to brush the sides of the pool.
They began to say things like, don’t go falling in and such the like. I’m not clear on what I said. But I think I said, “I won’t fall in.” I’ve been cleaning the pool for almost 2yrs and never fell in before. Then I brushed the side of the pool one more time. Because I’m in the deep end, I’m trying to make sure I hit the walls all the way down to the bottom. In doing so, I leaned too far forward. Then I realize, like a cartoon character, that there was nothing holding me up except for gravity. All the flailing, arm waving, and yelling could not stop gravity from her nefarious deed. I went in head first into 60 degree water.
I came up for air. I’m panicking and trying to stabilize myself. As you all know, statics does not look favorably upon blacks and our swimming skills. Luck for me, I am in that 5% range that can swim. But there is a difference between diving into cool water and falling head first in to cold water! I got my bearings, found the edge and did a series of breast strokes to get out of the water. When I got to the edge I pushed myself down into the water and back out again to give myself some leverage to get out.
Once I am out I got a guest on my left arm tugging and one of the other breakfast ladies, Shelia, on my right arm tugging and helping me out of the water. Well, I was already out of the water and I said as much. Marcie who was watching me went and told Frank our General Manager who came running to see if I was okay. He glanced, saw that I was fine and went back inside. Marcie chided him for that, but had I been in Frank’s position, I would have done the same. Even the front desk girl, Kawanna came out briefly to see what was happening. Then promptly went back inside to “tweet” about it on facebook and twitter.
*Smiles and says, friends*
This is an accurate account of what occurred that day. My cell phone was in my pocket and my radio on my hip. Both got wet. As of this post, my cell phone is in good working order. If you wish to hear the M. Night Shyamalan version (the version with a twist at the end) you can contact Marcie the breakfast lady for that version. In her version, Sheila clears the pool fence without using the gate and pulls me out of the pool. Never mind that I’m 5’ 11”, 300lbs and Sheila is 5’6” 160lbs. Sheila must be Wonder Woman in disguise, or something. The moral of the story is … when an elderly gentleman says to you, “It turned out to be a nice day.” Reply to him, “Yes Sir, it sure has.”
-Rynal Grant “The Hopeless Romantic”
Monday, August 30, 2010
Unsympathetic
Times are changing in this crazy world, minds are straying on this hazy pearl, wasting precious knowledge on the insatiably lazy, chasing that elusive dream, a bottled genie.
Men are born amazed at their years of slumber. Babies die betrayed at the hands of their mothers, sacrificed to the gods who count and number themselves deserving of the adoration of others.
The voice of the oppressed go unheard on a daily basis, the deafening sound canceled on the mind's oasis, a pleasantry offered within the ignorant and walled cities of unbelief.
The gramophone has exhausted it's vinyl polymer, the gullible will soon meet their end. The music was made, they danced and they played and finally in the end they did win! His inheritance is gone with the wind.
And those who opposed the righteous' cause, which argued against them day and night, stood face to face with their own executioner's blade, reflecting the truth of their plight, uttered these word's to Death's unsympathetic face ...
"We were wrong, and they were right".
Men are born amazed at their years of slumber. Babies die betrayed at the hands of their mothers, sacrificed to the gods who count and number themselves deserving of the adoration of others.
The voice of the oppressed go unheard on a daily basis, the deafening sound canceled on the mind's oasis, a pleasantry offered within the ignorant and walled cities of unbelief.
The gramophone has exhausted it's vinyl polymer, the gullible will soon meet their end. The music was made, they danced and they played and finally in the end they did win! His inheritance is gone with the wind.
And those who opposed the righteous' cause, which argued against them day and night, stood face to face with their own executioner's blade, reflecting the truth of their plight, uttered these word's to Death's unsympathetic face ...
"We were wrong, and they were right".
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
A Fool's Rule
Am I to roam the dark of night without hearing from you?
Even as I walk and ponder, my heart, it yearns for you.
So I take a penny to splash a wish, a word concerning you,
Because I can't remember the nights I’ve spent without you.
The thought of you is soothing like a silk memory in the mind.
Your gentle blush is a wispy cloud accenting a blue laden sky.
Who is that one who’d dare attempt to occupy your time?
Tis I! Constantly thinking, praying, working to make you mine!
If desiring gold is a foolish thing, then a treasure hunter's a fool,
A pick, an axe, a rope, and compass are a fool's tools.
I find within that a sobering truth, a letter of the very rule,
My pen and paper, words and thoughts, make me a fool for you.
Even as I walk and ponder, my heart, it yearns for you.
So I take a penny to splash a wish, a word concerning you,
Because I can't remember the nights I’ve spent without you.
The thought of you is soothing like a silk memory in the mind.
Your gentle blush is a wispy cloud accenting a blue laden sky.
Who is that one who’d dare attempt to occupy your time?
Tis I! Constantly thinking, praying, working to make you mine!
If desiring gold is a foolish thing, then a treasure hunter's a fool,
A pick, an axe, a rope, and compass are a fool's tools.
I find within that a sobering truth, a letter of the very rule,
My pen and paper, words and thoughts, make me a fool for you.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Springtime At Grandma’s
I remember springtime at grandma’s. I’d get up in the morning and stretch for what seemed like an eternity. I’d wash up and head for the kitchen to find grandma who was already up and cooking breakfast. The smells of grits, scrambled eggs, bacon or fried bologna (edges black and greasy), sausage link, and something she called scratch biscuits filled the kitchen.
“I ain’t done, son”. She referred to me as her son even though I was her grandson. So I’d go into the den and see if there were any cartoons on. I’d wrap myself in her bathrobe or a blanket and sit there and watch cartoons whose names I can not even recall now. Meatballs and Spaghetti was one. And there was another involving a talking dune buggy. The driver was a character that reminded me of shaggy from Scooby Doo. I can’t recall them all.
When breakfast was ready, I go to the kitchen table and for lack of a better word, throw down. Sometimes the grits was so hot I’d swallow it without cooling it down and it would burn my throat and esophagus and even the bottom of my stomach. Naturally I’d chase it with water. The cool relief would travel the same path, ahhhhhh. Did, I learn my lesson about eating hot grits too fast? No. “Boy slow down”!
Grandma always had coffee, water, and orange or apple juice with her breakfast. Then she’d send me to get her pills. She always had a box full of pills. I had no idea what they were for. But there was a lot of them. But she was a strong and determined woman. She refused to allow old age interrupt her routine.
That afternoon, I’d go outside and run around with my cousins. Occasionally a tractor would drive by and the exhaust would fill the air. Strange as it sounds, I love the smell of those old tractors from the ‘80s. They were evidence of summer’s arrival. The tractors were going to disc someone’s field. They were going to plant one of three things: corn, cucumbers, or tobacco.
Sometimes my grandma would flag the driver and ask him to disc her field which comprised of half her back yard. Years later my aunt would put a trailer here. But for now, it grew our food. I had no idea how blessed we were. From that field we had butter beans, corn, snap peas, black eyed peas, field peas (yes there is a difference), watermelon, iced potato, and sweet potato. That’s not to exclude turnips, collard greens, mustard greens, cabbage, and string beans.
This field was my grandma’s first love. One day she got too old to do it. The mind was willing, but the body was simply too old. Grandma needed a walker to get around. She refused to use it. She’d rather use my arm and the walls of the hall way. She fought death tooth and nail. Death was going to win, but she was going to make him work for it.
During the glory days of the garden, she’d allow me and my cousin Chris to assist her. We’d take old T-shirts and fill them with a fine powdered insecticide. We would go through the beans dusting them. The powder went through the T-shirts at a controlled rate. It would protect the plant from bugs killing it, and we could eat. This was work, but to an 8 yr old boy it was fun. Sometimes we got more dust on ourselves than on the plant. Inhaling the fine dust would leave a sweet taste in your mouth even though you did your best to keep it closed.
Not once did I see a snake. But I knew they were out there. I never once saw grandma run, so I assumed she couldn’t. How could she protect herself from snakes. My grandma kept a sharp hoe with her. She had two of them. This is how she protected herself from the snakes. She’s chop their heads off and keep going. No me. I’d be watching from the top steeps of the back porch. Then I’d come see the headless snake.
My mother has ophidiophobia. She has an extreme fear of snakes. I believe that this is part of the reason she didn’t help out in the garden much. It is a very real condition. But it was labeled as lazy. I too have a as yet undiagnosed condition. I get very bad headaches when I bend over. I’ve been told that this is a symptom of high blood pressure. For this reason I avoided work. I became a hard worker by default but I had to learn to combat this headache effect by controlling my bend, angle, and flexing the proper muscles in my head. I told my mom and she believed me. But never took me to the doctor to ascertain what may be wrong. Therefore the “you’re just lazy” label stuck.
*I'm going to have to end it here. There is more to come at a later date*
“I ain’t done, son”. She referred to me as her son even though I was her grandson. So I’d go into the den and see if there were any cartoons on. I’d wrap myself in her bathrobe or a blanket and sit there and watch cartoons whose names I can not even recall now. Meatballs and Spaghetti was one. And there was another involving a talking dune buggy. The driver was a character that reminded me of shaggy from Scooby Doo. I can’t recall them all.
When breakfast was ready, I go to the kitchen table and for lack of a better word, throw down. Sometimes the grits was so hot I’d swallow it without cooling it down and it would burn my throat and esophagus and even the bottom of my stomach. Naturally I’d chase it with water. The cool relief would travel the same path, ahhhhhh. Did, I learn my lesson about eating hot grits too fast? No. “Boy slow down”!
Grandma always had coffee, water, and orange or apple juice with her breakfast. Then she’d send me to get her pills. She always had a box full of pills. I had no idea what they were for. But there was a lot of them. But she was a strong and determined woman. She refused to allow old age interrupt her routine.
That afternoon, I’d go outside and run around with my cousins. Occasionally a tractor would drive by and the exhaust would fill the air. Strange as it sounds, I love the smell of those old tractors from the ‘80s. They were evidence of summer’s arrival. The tractors were going to disc someone’s field. They were going to plant one of three things: corn, cucumbers, or tobacco.
Sometimes my grandma would flag the driver and ask him to disc her field which comprised of half her back yard. Years later my aunt would put a trailer here. But for now, it grew our food. I had no idea how blessed we were. From that field we had butter beans, corn, snap peas, black eyed peas, field peas (yes there is a difference), watermelon, iced potato, and sweet potato. That’s not to exclude turnips, collard greens, mustard greens, cabbage, and string beans.
This field was my grandma’s first love. One day she got too old to do it. The mind was willing, but the body was simply too old. Grandma needed a walker to get around. She refused to use it. She’d rather use my arm and the walls of the hall way. She fought death tooth and nail. Death was going to win, but she was going to make him work for it.
During the glory days of the garden, she’d allow me and my cousin Chris to assist her. We’d take old T-shirts and fill them with a fine powdered insecticide. We would go through the beans dusting them. The powder went through the T-shirts at a controlled rate. It would protect the plant from bugs killing it, and we could eat. This was work, but to an 8 yr old boy it was fun. Sometimes we got more dust on ourselves than on the plant. Inhaling the fine dust would leave a sweet taste in your mouth even though you did your best to keep it closed.
Not once did I see a snake. But I knew they were out there. I never once saw grandma run, so I assumed she couldn’t. How could she protect herself from snakes. My grandma kept a sharp hoe with her. She had two of them. This is how she protected herself from the snakes. She’s chop their heads off and keep going. No me. I’d be watching from the top steeps of the back porch. Then I’d come see the headless snake.
My mother has ophidiophobia. She has an extreme fear of snakes. I believe that this is part of the reason she didn’t help out in the garden much. It is a very real condition. But it was labeled as lazy. I too have a as yet undiagnosed condition. I get very bad headaches when I bend over. I’ve been told that this is a symptom of high blood pressure. For this reason I avoided work. I became a hard worker by default but I had to learn to combat this headache effect by controlling my bend, angle, and flexing the proper muscles in my head. I told my mom and she believed me. But never took me to the doctor to ascertain what may be wrong. Therefore the “you’re just lazy” label stuck.
*I'm going to have to end it here. There is more to come at a later date*
Thursday, February 11, 2010
No Apologies
I don’t understand why these trolls block progress.
Only allowing those to pass who their riddles can decipher.
Souls no more worthy of glory or less deserving than I.
Willing participants in “Un” televised yet quite professional sports.
Playing dark games in which honorable gladiators are eliminated.
And justice stands on the sidelines, decrying their foul play…unfair!
How long can a kingdom survive standing on laws that protect no one?
All the while we’re told to live life in pursuit of liberty, justice, and truth.
When the truth is what they say it is…a kind but heartless enemy.
She walks the streets clad with armor, shield, and sword.
Her patrons look to her for their protection which she assures.
Yet the night is not so dark that justice cannot see her true lies.
I make my way across this contentious and wasted land.
I carry with me memories of good times of which a few can recall.
I will stop at nothing to discover and perpetuate the real truth.
Because the Father of all has given me His book of Eli to deliver.
The book in which even the Trolls of Progress must answer to.
And to all those frienemies who oppose me I offer…no apologies.
-Rynal Grant
Only allowing those to pass who their riddles can decipher.
Souls no more worthy of glory or less deserving than I.
Willing participants in “Un” televised yet quite professional sports.
Playing dark games in which honorable gladiators are eliminated.
And justice stands on the sidelines, decrying their foul play…unfair!
How long can a kingdom survive standing on laws that protect no one?
All the while we’re told to live life in pursuit of liberty, justice, and truth.
When the truth is what they say it is…a kind but heartless enemy.
She walks the streets clad with armor, shield, and sword.
Her patrons look to her for their protection which she assures.
Yet the night is not so dark that justice cannot see her true lies.
I make my way across this contentious and wasted land.
I carry with me memories of good times of which a few can recall.
I will stop at nothing to discover and perpetuate the real truth.
Because the Father of all has given me His book of Eli to deliver.
The book in which even the Trolls of Progress must answer to.
And to all those frienemies who oppose me I offer…no apologies.
-Rynal Grant
Monday, January 25, 2010
Realization
Just when you think it got bored and depressing, interesting. Its like having a job as a court jester, jesturing. You hit a wall head first, your head goes splatter, scattering. And you realize that every voice in the world's important, mattering.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Wonderful Adventure Called Highschool (Freshman Year)
This is my first post of 2010. I decided to post my experiences about highschool, in hopes that you will comment and share some of your experiences and if you were in school with me, relate what you recognize and or went through yourself. I've entitled this first of four posts The Ninth Grade (Freshman Year). Enjoy.
Highschool. What a wonderful adventure. The final four. I hated high school. But then again, I loved it. Over the years, I've thought about it often. I thought about all the things I did wrong. I would imagine myself doing things differently, only to come back to reality and realized as Morpheus said in The Matrix: Revolutions "It happened the way it happened and could have happened no other way"! (Or something like that.)
I do not want captalize on all of the bad things that happened. But I want to capture some of my thoughts and feelings on different things that occured, from my perspective. That includes the bad things. So, please, accept my apology now. Thank you.
Ninth Grade
Finally. I'm in highschool. I'm rolling with the big boys. But I feel pressure from every side. I'm not one of the "cool kids". I do not have the latest and the greatest as far as clothes is concerned. Bummer. I have no job and very few friends. But I comprehend my school work. What surprises me today is how "certain family aquaintences" were surprised that I was not "dumb". I guess they expected me to be some kind of an idiot because I come from a single parent environment? I don't know. Just an observation.
During this time the Gulf War kicked off. I watched as Operation Desert Shield became Operation Desert Storm. I wondered what was going through the minds of the class of '90 who joined the military and found themselves defending our interests overseas. It scared me and I was just a 14yr old kid.
It was here in the 9th that I learned intimidation. I was very intimidated. I was too afraid to join a gang for protection. But I was too afraid to respond to people "bothering me". Therefore I allowed a lot to pass. But an interesting thing happens when an animal is cornered. He ceases to be the prey and becomes a force to be reckened with. Such was the case playing volley ball in gym class. When, for no reason, (So and So) picked up the ball and threw it in my face. It was not enough that everyone was making fun of me. This kid had to take it one step further. Something inside of me came alive.
My passive side went and took a seat on the bench beside my inner child who drew in his legs, wrapped his arms around his knees and sobbed quietly. My decision making side without thinking or looking at who he was talking to said, "get in there and handle this". The reasonable me said, "who me coach?" But it was too late. The "G" inside of me had already doned his gear and raced out there. He was a monster. I could not stop him. I watched as he walked towards this kid, ball up my fist and went upside his head. CRACK! Everyone on the bench breathed out a collective, "Ooooo!" The "G" side of me stood there quietly waiting for (So and So) to say and do something else. He just looked at me. Self preservation muttered something like "Boo yah!" under his breath. Reason went and escorted "G" off the field. Then I turned and walked off the volleyball court. It is funny how, even after having been punked, (So and So) still had something to say. But I didn't care because I was through listening.
So and So was just one of many intimadating figures I had to deal with. By the time we were seniors, we were not enimies. We were not exactly friends but, we could speak peacably to each other. I even had a small crush on his cute sister who was way older than me and too far out of my league. I mean way out of my league. But that was a small glimpse into my freshman year. Oh yeah, the early '90's was also the end of "safe" rap music. Chubb Rock was banging at the time. So was Public Enemy and Craig Mack. But since then, I do not remember listening to any rap music that didn't involve sex, guns, lust, and or references to pimping ho's.
Next blog: Tenth Grade. I'll be discussing the "glamor girls" vs the "plain Janes" vs the "intellectual girls". Hey, I may even discuss my crush on A. F. and why, today, I can not understand why I liked her in the first place.
Rynal (like that car with the four circles).
Highschool. What a wonderful adventure. The final four. I hated high school. But then again, I loved it. Over the years, I've thought about it often. I thought about all the things I did wrong. I would imagine myself doing things differently, only to come back to reality and realized as Morpheus said in The Matrix: Revolutions "It happened the way it happened and could have happened no other way"! (Or something like that.)
I do not want captalize on all of the bad things that happened. But I want to capture some of my thoughts and feelings on different things that occured, from my perspective. That includes the bad things. So, please, accept my apology now. Thank you.
Ninth Grade
Finally. I'm in highschool. I'm rolling with the big boys. But I feel pressure from every side. I'm not one of the "cool kids". I do not have the latest and the greatest as far as clothes is concerned. Bummer. I have no job and very few friends. But I comprehend my school work. What surprises me today is how "certain family aquaintences" were surprised that I was not "dumb". I guess they expected me to be some kind of an idiot because I come from a single parent environment? I don't know. Just an observation.
During this time the Gulf War kicked off. I watched as Operation Desert Shield became Operation Desert Storm. I wondered what was going through the minds of the class of '90 who joined the military and found themselves defending our interests overseas. It scared me and I was just a 14yr old kid.
It was here in the 9th that I learned intimidation. I was very intimidated. I was too afraid to join a gang for protection. But I was too afraid to respond to people "bothering me". Therefore I allowed a lot to pass. But an interesting thing happens when an animal is cornered. He ceases to be the prey and becomes a force to be reckened with. Such was the case playing volley ball in gym class. When, for no reason, (So and So) picked up the ball and threw it in my face. It was not enough that everyone was making fun of me. This kid had to take it one step further. Something inside of me came alive.
My passive side went and took a seat on the bench beside my inner child who drew in his legs, wrapped his arms around his knees and sobbed quietly. My decision making side without thinking or looking at who he was talking to said, "get in there and handle this". The reasonable me said, "who me coach?" But it was too late. The "G" inside of me had already doned his gear and raced out there. He was a monster. I could not stop him. I watched as he walked towards this kid, ball up my fist and went upside his head. CRACK! Everyone on the bench breathed out a collective, "Ooooo!" The "G" side of me stood there quietly waiting for (So and So) to say and do something else. He just looked at me. Self preservation muttered something like "Boo yah!" under his breath. Reason went and escorted "G" off the field. Then I turned and walked off the volleyball court. It is funny how, even after having been punked, (So and So) still had something to say. But I didn't care because I was through listening.
So and So was just one of many intimadating figures I had to deal with. By the time we were seniors, we were not enimies. We were not exactly friends but, we could speak peacably to each other. I even had a small crush on his cute sister who was way older than me and too far out of my league. I mean way out of my league. But that was a small glimpse into my freshman year. Oh yeah, the early '90's was also the end of "safe" rap music. Chubb Rock was banging at the time. So was Public Enemy and Craig Mack. But since then, I do not remember listening to any rap music that didn't involve sex, guns, lust, and or references to pimping ho's.
Next blog: Tenth Grade. I'll be discussing the "glamor girls" vs the "plain Janes" vs the "intellectual girls". Hey, I may even discuss my crush on A. F. and why, today, I can not understand why I liked her in the first place.
Rynal (like that car with the four circles).
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