The Armory

I couldn’t decide what to write about tonight, there are so many thoughts rolling around in my head. So many things that seem not quite right, or unfair, or out right wrong. I finally realized that I am simply looking for axes to grind and there is no shortage of them right now, here, in my own little armory.

Whet that stone and get to work! Nothing like a good reason to sharpen my words and tear into some atrocity! I am angry! Self righteous, fuming, ready to right the world’s wrongs!

Except that this is just a cover story, a way of hiding that fact that what I’m really angriest about is not feeling good. It’s the old, I stubbed my toe, let’s kick the dog syndrome. Nothing is really resolved and the toe goes right on hurting.

So, since I can’t do anything more about my body, perhaps it would be wiser to dip a little deeper into my psyche and pull out something a bit more soothing for my soul.

Instead of ranting and raving, I’ll tell you about the park today where three little boys and a not so little girl of about eight stood looking at Lennon and his Daddy with sad eyes and yearning faces. Desperate for the attention Lennon was getting, they clustered around watching until Lennon’s Daddy gathered them all up and made trains that chugged down the slides and climbed up the jungle gyms.

For an hour or so, all these children had a father figure who called them by name and made sure they got their place in the fun while their weary looking care takers sat around the edges watching them laughing and running with earnest joy to be the engine, or caboose, or even the ones in the middle. It really only mattered that they were included, the rest took care of itself.

Five children and a man who made no distinctions about whose child they were. A moment in time when we all had a taste of the way it should be. These are the things I want to write about. These make me feel a little better than armories filled with sharpened axes and scathing words.