Twenty-Three

My very young apprentice

Twenty-three years ago, Mom bought me a Bible at a church function aimed at keeping kids off the streets on Halloween. I don't remember much about the function, only that Mom bought me a beautiful, leather-bound Bible that was written in language easy to understand by children. The Bible even had some pictures in it. Being the bookworm that I was am, I dove into the stories of the Bible, reading them chapter by chapter. Some very interesting things happened back in those days.
A couple of weeks later, I was reading the story of Moses when my little brother came to the world. For those of you who are not familiar with the story of Moses, let me recap it for you real quick. Moses was born from Jewish parents in Egypt at the time when the Jews were slaves of the Egyptians. Fearing for his life, Moses' mother took him to the Nile river and placed afloat on a basket. Moses' sister followed baby Moses as he made his way down the river. Luckily, an Egyptian Princess picked up baby Moses and raised him as her own. He became one of the princes of Egypt. (There's even a Disney movie about it.) When my Mom asked me for a name for my new little brother, I named him "Moises", Spanish for Moses. His middle name "David", came also from the Bible. David was one of the great kings of Israel.
Moises turns twenty-three this week, and it was has been a very, very interesting twenty-three years for me, let alone for him. Through those years as his older brother, I learned about responsibility, about being a role-model, and about being held to a higher standard because he would eventually look at me for guidance. Sure, there were the "rough" times when sibling rivalry got a little out of hand, but it was never anything that drove us away permanently. He knows I'm here for him for any reason, and I know he's there for me. Thankfully, life has not gotten complicated enough to warrant either of us coming to the rescue of the other under emergency circumstances.
So, congratulations, little brother, you've made it to 23. You've already beat our most of the people in Swaziland, where you'd be a town elder. With the schooling you've received, you've already beat our almost 90% of Hispanics in the U.S. With all the things you've done, and will do, all the things you've seen, and will see, and all the good you'll do... With all of that, you'll truly be one in almost 7 billion.

Too much respect?

Call me a right-wing whacko, but I think the recent television commercials by a certain clothing company celebrating all winter celebrations from Christmas to "Solstice" is just a little bit too much. The Girl says that "you don't want to offend them", the people who celebrate solstice. Who celebrates solstice, anyway?
Oh, they do.
Seriously, though, how many solstice-celebrating people do you see at the malls, buying gifts for their solstice-loving brethren? And did the geniuses at GAP figure out that there are TWO solstices every year, Summer and Winter? No, of course not. They're pushing their brand on Druids (or similar-believing folk) so that they will too buy stuff this Christmas season. I guess Christians are just not buying enough.
I mean, come on, if you're easily offended by someone wishing you a "Merry Christmas" when you don't believe in Jesus Christ, then your beliefs are very flimsy to begin with. I mean, if THAT is what is going to melt you into a puddle of goo or curse your soul into eternal damnation in whatever hell you believe (or don't believe) in, then you really should just stay home and wait for the end. Because, whether you like it or not, most people celebrate and/or observe Christmas in one way or another. It's like going to Saudi Arabia and being offended by Muslims.
Yes, yes, yes, this country is supposed to be all about religious tolerance, separation of church and state, and all that stuff. But, guess what, what people believe in or not has nothing to do with those wonderful conservative principles of leaving the government out of personal lives. It has to do with what each and every one of us in the social contract agreed to. We agreed that December 25 is a Holiday, that we will give each other gifts, and that we will say "Merry Christmas" to one another. Nothing personal. No offense intended.

Get Up!

"Come on! Get up!" the voice in his head screamed. "What's wrong with you? You're just going to lay there?" Jim's eyes were closed. The burning in his abdomen was intolerable. "Get up! Get up! Up! Up! Up!" But Jim wouldn't hear any of it. He just wanted to stay there, on the cold, hard floor. A floor that was wetter and warmer than usual. Jim didn't want to listen to the voices in his head anymore.
"Get up, you son of a bitch! You're not just going to lay there like a little bitch." Jim wasn't listening. The voices had once taken control and brought his world crumbling down. It was because of the voices that he was away from his friends, his family, his... Annie was out there, somewhere. Jim hoped she was okay. Maybe she'll be happy with some other man.
"I hope so," Jim whispered.
"Get up!" the voices thundered in his head. Jim wasn't listening. Not anymore. Not ever. He reached for his abdomen and felt the knife deeply embedded a couple of inches above his belly button. "Get up!"
Jim smiled a bit as he saw the prison guards rushing into his cell. "I'm dying on my terms, not yours."
"Get up!"

Road Rage

He was driving very fast down the busy avenue toward the hospital. Ten minutes ago, Sam had received a phone call from the hospital. His wife had been shot multiple times in a robbery attempt at the store down the street from their home. She was about to go to surgery, and the emergency room doctor suggested Sam get there soon. Sam's office was ten minutes away down the same avenue as the hospital. He would have gotten there two minutes before, but there was another driver on the road with him, driving just as fast, just as crazy.
The man in the white Mercedes was making Sam very angry. Didn't he know Sam's wife was dying?! Without thinking, Sam cut-off the Mercedes just two blocks from the hospital. The white Mercedes went flying into a utility pole. Sam looked through the rear-view mirror as the airbag in the Mercedes deployed. While Sam felt bad for doing that, he felt he had no other choice. He pressed on the gas pedal to be with his wife.
As he held her hand while she was being wheeled into the surgical sweet, Sam felt tears running down his eyes. The nurse told them she would go to surgery as soon as the surgeon got there. Minutes passed. "What's taking so long?" Sam asked with desperation.
The nurse picked up the phone, dialed a number, and asked, "Has Dr. Rollins gotten here yet? It's, uh, it's a white Mercedes, I think..."

Larger than life

One of the hardest things you'll ever have to do as a human being is admit that there is something wrong with you. This is perfectly normal. After all, we're conditioned to hide our weaknesses and imperfections in order not to miss out on things that feel good (whether they're good or not).

In our formative years, revealing that we had a learning disability made you a social outcast, so you cheated. Admitting that you were lying would take away the thing you won through the lie. Taking ownership of your addiction is the first step to getting rid of it... Getting rid of something that pleases you.

Then again, what is pleasure but a bunch of chemicals rushing through your system, programming the brain to feel bliss and nothing more? Soon enough, you stop feeling. A time later, you stop being involved in your own life. You become worthless, though it feels so good.

And so, here I am, on a treadmill in some gym, looking around at the group of people that are here to improve their bodies. What other things do they have yet to deal with? Even the best sculpted body is just that, human. We are an imperfect bunch.

I admit to myself and to all of you, dear readers, that there is something wrong with me. Food of all types has become my addiction, my toy, and my comfort. Eating is my master. And I carry the burden of this imperfection with me every day. The thing is that I now admit this, and it's going to be a battle - nay, a war - to rid myself of this one thing that is, quite literally, weighing me down.

See, I want to be around forever, if possible. But I'm not going to be around if I keep eating more than I burn off. I know this. Furthermore, I want to be larger than life not in the literal sense. That's going to take stamina, concentration, balance, determination, and being prepared for the long haul. So I have to take on this challenge of at least losing 10% of my body weight by New Year's, then another 10% by Spring, and the last 10% to be at my best weight (and fitness) by the day of the wedding. It's going to be tough, but not tougher than taking this first step to fixing something which is seriously wrong with me.