You'll have to excuse me for my eccentric views on the world, people, sports, food. Life. Etcetera (Is it just me or is it just funny that when we drive our cars we are controlled by traffic signals and signs on the road? I'm the type of guy who doesn't like to be under anybody's control, much less under the command of an inanimate object. And then we play games and try to manipulate them by going a different speed than normal or taking an alternate route to avoid them altogether. See? We're under their control. And it's funny).

United State of America - When It's Convenient

Where is the unity this country had for three weeks after September 11, 2001? Do you remember? We all flew our little American flags and sang patriotic songs together. I saw signs that said "WE SHALL NOT FORGET - 9/11/01." Everyone in our town was our neighbor and no one dared mention anything concerning race relations during that time. We were Americans. We had been violated and there was no way we were going to come against each other once we saw there was a greater enemy at hand. Again, maybe it's just me - but has anything really changed? Seems like we've forgotten.

Maybe it's just me.

I like to come together with any given set of people on certain occasions and forget about who I am for a little while. Is there any greater fun than talking with someone who accepts you for you? No pressure to project any great image which, if I admit it, is only great to myself anyway. Walls come down and we talk and laugh together and tell stories and stupid jokes for hours before we realize we need to recompose and settle back into ourselves. But then I can hardly wait to do it again. The questions is, why wait? Can't we all let our walls down everyday and quit acting like we have something to protect? It's a wonderful world we've been given and we all have something extraordinary inside us to give back.

So, we're all Americans. We live here, work here, play here, eat here. But not necessarily together. We have our different social levels and some aren't allowed into our circle for various reasons. One has a defective leg or half an arm. Another one is just too happy all the time. That one just doesn't look right. We can't hang with that. Not by choice. We only find out in the wake of extreme events if who we think we are is real. Whether you're rich, poor, beautiful, honest, dishonest -- doesn't matter. Katrina played no favorites. She came through with no respect whatsoever to social class or communal goodness. If you were anywhere near her, you and your stuff was submerged and/or destroyed beyond repair. Things change. Sometimes too quickly. Sometimes our walls are torn down for us.

The Missing Ingredient

I'm not ashamed to say it - usually, I'm the last one to see how imperfect I am. I like to think that I have no faults and that everyone should love me just because I'm me. You know, I'm the only one who is me. I'm special, right? Of course I am.

I had something happen to me some time ago and it brings tears to my eyes when I think of it. He caught me as I was waiting for a friend outside a sandwich shop. I didn't think much about it since other people were also passing by, but as he came closer, I realized I was his target. I figured he was hungry and was about to ask me for a taste of my fresh cuisine. I was wearing jeans with a maize and blue college football jersey, emblazoned with the number 18. He was a young guy, crippled and deformed with a bag strapped to his back. With a certain air of determination, he walked up to me the best he could, smiling, with no regard to whether or not I wanted to talk to him. I don't know exactly what made him think he could just step to me like that. But without a hint of disrespect, he said, "You're too tall and skinny to be a running back so you must be a wide receiver." I just looked at him for a second or two before I got caught up, then began laughing hysterically. "Oh, the jersey!!! Kid, I don't play football. This is just a jersey I wear because I like the colors!"

Unfazed, he continued on with the conversation as though he'd been through similar situations before. "Will you throw this football with me?" he asked.

I looked at him again and I noticed that he had no hands. I examined further and saw he only had half a foot. I paused for a moment and moved on as if I hadn't seen his physical defects - and I was fooling myself if I thought he hadn't seen that I saw them. Even so, I said sheepishly, "I guess you have a football in your bag?"

"Yes, " he answered. "I love football but I can't find anyone who will play with me."

Just about this time, my friend was arriving at the scene. "Listen, young fella," I replied. "I don't have much time right now. I need to eat and he's gotta go to work." Afraid that the boy was hip to the fact that I wanted nothing to do with him, I attempted to show support through what I considered to be encouragement. "Hey, you'll find somebody to toss that ball around with."

To make a long story short, I never saw the kid again. But instead of him looking for me, I'm looking for him this time. I'm looking for him because he has what I'm missing. I'm the broken one. I'm the one who has the imperfections. He had no hands but he knew his arms would work for him. He couldn't run but that didn't stop him from trying to walk. He had pain in his heart but a smile on his face. He was continually rejected but remained determined to do what he loved.

He was just a boy but he taught me a lesson I will always remember. Before I met him I loved my clothes, my car, my music, my space, my time...all the gifts I gave myself. But he taught me to love myself - truly love myself in spite of all my weaknesses, disabilities and defects. I found, too, that the only difference between us is that our infirmities are in opposite places - his on the outside, mine on the inside. All that means is that I can hide for a little longer but eventually it all comes to light.