Today's true story:
Christmas morning, my buddy Sheynis and I decided to go for a run around Lake Merced. When we got back to the parking lot, we witnessed one of the funniest and most pathetic things I've seen in a while.
Sheynis and I returned to the parking lot, the one right by where Sunset Boulevard ends. Having finished our run, we were just chilling and doing some pull-ups and cool-down stretches. Across the parking lot, I saw a kid (probably around eight years old) riding his bike in there. His father and his brother, also on bikes of their own, biked on the sidewalk path. The father saw one of his sons riding in the parking lot and started to yell at his kid.
"Get out of the parking lot!" he shouted. "I don't want you biking in there!"
The kid, obediently enough, maneuvered back to the sidewalk. Strangely, the father did not seem to notice this and decided to enter the parking lot. If you've ever been to that Lake Merced parking lot, you've noticed that there is a little "dry moat" separating the parking lot from the sidewalk. Every few meters, the moat breaks into a pathway to the lot so that it's easier to walk between the two sections. Well, as the father turned his bike into the entrance, he must have rolled into the curb because he came crashing down!
It was a blatant crash, too. My buddy Sheynis and I were probably a good 15 or 20 meters away and we could hear him hitting the pavement. The man's kids heard as well. One of them stopped and looked at him while the other one slowed down in surprise. It looked like it hurt, and the guy got up slowly. He probably got himself bruised pretty bad. When he got up, I could see him rubbing his knees and just checking himself for any injuries. Most of all, it was rather obvious that his pride was badly damaged.
Now, I usually try not to laugh at or enjoy other people's pain, but I have to admit that watching a guy fall off his bike was kinda funny. I thought about going over to ask if he was all right, but he seemed fine. If anything, he seemed upset because as soon as he was back on his feet he just started yelling at his kid again! He walked his bike back to his car as his kids got ready to go home, and as they walked by, he wasn't just scolding his son. He was yelling at him for going to the parking lot in the first place.
The thing that made his yelling seem completely silly was that it was obvious the father was just trying to restore his wounded pride. This could have been a fine opportunity to display some parenting skills. He calmly could have explained to his kids, "See, this is why you shouldn't bike in a parking lot. It's dangerous. You make other people have to follow you and accidents can happen." Or something to that effect. Instead, he was just in a rage, yelling, "I TOLD you not to go in there! Why did you go out there?!" over and over. Clearly, this man was putting down his own children in a misguided attempt to restore his manhood and superiority. I couldn't hear if his kids said anything in response. They might not have had the loudest voices, or perhaps they were just scared. It's quite disheartening for a son to see his own father humiliated in public. There really doesn't seem to be much a son can say right after that happens.
Well, eventually the man and his kids walked past Sheynis and me and got to their car. Sheynis and I continued stretching out while commenting on the absurd situation we'd just witnessed. Even though they were at their car, we could still hear the father yelling angrily as he packed their bikes into his hatchback. I don't know. Maybe the kids did tell their dad that they were sorry, but all Sheynis and I kept hearing was, "I TOLD you not to go out there!"
I'm glad I was with Sheynis because he's one of the few individuals I know who could see and appreciate the ridiculousness and the dark humor of the situation. We couldn't stop smirking as we walked back to my car.
Surprisingly, the man's car was directly next to mine. He still looked pissed. As we walked right by him, I offered my cheeriest possible smile and waved. "Merry Christmas!" I said. The man's mouth was a thin, angry line. His kids, halfway in the car, looked confused. He said nothing, but glared at us as he purposefully got into his car and finally drove off. Sheynis and I kept our poker faces until he was gone, and then we just busted out laughing and exchanged high fives.
It feels great to spread some holiday cheer.
Friday, December 25, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Seventeen
Today's true story:
Holidays have never been a big deal in my life. Not saying I ain't down with them, or anything, 'cause I like them just fine. Ever since I was a kid, my family never celebrated holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas like most others. Most of our relatives don't live close to us so it's always just my folks and me. We don't do much; probably go out to eat at a restaurant, and that's usually it. Other than that, we usually just spend the day at home and enjoy each other's company. My pop and I usually watch football (on Thanksgiving) or basketball (Christmas).
I don't even buy gifts for my parents for Christmas (or their birthdays, for that matter). I guess my household was never big on that tradition. Sure, my parents bought me stuff when I was a little kid, but once I got to a certain age, I recognized that I didn't really need them to buy me crap just because it was Christmas (or my birthday). So that never caught on with me.
However, I've always wondered it would be like to have a large family and extended family with whom to spend the holidays. I wonder if that would help me get into the so-called "holiday spirit" because I usually don't feel anything different at this time of year. Still, big get-togethers sounds like a big hassle to me. Besides, I am a fan of avoiding sentimentality. It's like that Radiohead song. Don't get sentimental; it always ends up drivel. Just look at some of the other crap I've posted on this blog, or ask me to show you my notebook full of poems I've written about unrequited loves.
Also:
Stan Van Jeremy probably feels sorry for me because I have nothing else to do on Christmas Day, other than watch an NBA game.
Somehow, I am okay with this.
Holidays have never been a big deal in my life. Not saying I ain't down with them, or anything, 'cause I like them just fine. Ever since I was a kid, my family never celebrated holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas like most others. Most of our relatives don't live close to us so it's always just my folks and me. We don't do much; probably go out to eat at a restaurant, and that's usually it. Other than that, we usually just spend the day at home and enjoy each other's company. My pop and I usually watch football (on Thanksgiving) or basketball (Christmas).
I don't even buy gifts for my parents for Christmas (or their birthdays, for that matter). I guess my household was never big on that tradition. Sure, my parents bought me stuff when I was a little kid, but once I got to a certain age, I recognized that I didn't really need them to buy me crap just because it was Christmas (or my birthday). So that never caught on with me.
However, I've always wondered it would be like to have a large family and extended family with whom to spend the holidays. I wonder if that would help me get into the so-called "holiday spirit" because I usually don't feel anything different at this time of year. Still, big get-togethers sounds like a big hassle to me. Besides, I am a fan of avoiding sentimentality. It's like that Radiohead song. Don't get sentimental; it always ends up drivel. Just look at some of the other crap I've posted on this blog, or ask me to show you my notebook full of poems I've written about unrequited loves.
Also:
Stan Van Jeremy probably feels sorry for me because I have nothing else to do on Christmas Day, other than watch an NBA game.
Somehow, I am okay with this.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Sixteen
Today's true story:
Almost every day, I read out loud to a group of kids. There are, occasionally, times when it feels almost pointless. More often, however, I see firsthand how the words I read can excite, inspire, and otherwise engage young lives. It is a great feeling to be a witness.
I saw a child, sitting alone, sadly, apart from her classmates. I stopped reading the book and, under the somewhat false pretense of "You all are being too noisy today and need to calm down," told the rest of the class to put their heads down. Then I sat by the girl and talked to her quietly. She lost a parent recently. There was a numbness in those innocent eyes that made me want to cry. What can you say to help someone in that situation? What is there to say? I had no words. I wanted to hug her but I was afraid - afraid of emphasizing her pain and her loss, and afraid I'd lose my composure if I followed my impulse. Weakly, I settled for gently patting her arm and murmuring, "I'm sorry."
We sat, facing each other across a table, for a few moments before another kid came up to me and told me someone else made a rude gesture. Why did I feel so relieved to get up and deal with a simpler problem?
Soon, I picked up the book and continued reading. I was disappointed in myself for a reason I can't, even now, fully explain. My voice nearly cracked as I was reading. I had to steal a few deep breaths, between sentences, to gather myself. Even then, a selfish thought floated into my mind: how embarrassing it would be if the children saw you cry!
I wish, sometimes, that I could be heroic. I wish that I could charm, comfort, and dazzle with my wit. Oh, how I wish my words could save a life. But they can't. They're just words. And most of the time, I don't have enough of the right ones anyway.
Almost every day, I read out loud to a group of kids. There are, occasionally, times when it feels almost pointless. More often, however, I see firsthand how the words I read can excite, inspire, and otherwise engage young lives. It is a great feeling to be a witness.
I saw a child, sitting alone, sadly, apart from her classmates. I stopped reading the book and, under the somewhat false pretense of "You all are being too noisy today and need to calm down," told the rest of the class to put their heads down. Then I sat by the girl and talked to her quietly. She lost a parent recently. There was a numbness in those innocent eyes that made me want to cry. What can you say to help someone in that situation? What is there to say? I had no words. I wanted to hug her but I was afraid - afraid of emphasizing her pain and her loss, and afraid I'd lose my composure if I followed my impulse. Weakly, I settled for gently patting her arm and murmuring, "I'm sorry."
We sat, facing each other across a table, for a few moments before another kid came up to me and told me someone else made a rude gesture. Why did I feel so relieved to get up and deal with a simpler problem?
Soon, I picked up the book and continued reading. I was disappointed in myself for a reason I can't, even now, fully explain. My voice nearly cracked as I was reading. I had to steal a few deep breaths, between sentences, to gather myself. Even then, a selfish thought floated into my mind: how embarrassing it would be if the children saw you cry!
I wish, sometimes, that I could be heroic. I wish that I could charm, comfort, and dazzle with my wit. Oh, how I wish my words could save a life. But they can't. They're just words. And most of the time, I don't have enough of the right ones anyway.
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