The Night I met an Influence, Re-ignited a fire, and Learned a Lesson

             Living in Savannah has afforded me many opportunities that I somehow was missed back in the Atlanta days. I actually get to teach in the same county where I reside, I met my soul mate who also had to move to Savannah too for this happen, and I have gotten to meet three of my top five authors. Last was number two, Neil Gaiman.

 

             I first mentioned Mr. Gaiman's impact waaaay back in a previous blog. A very old friend who would quite literally run away and join the circus first introduced me to him back in 1989 with a comic called The Sandman. The well paced story telling combined with smart writing quickly made this my favorite read every month. Soon, Mr. Gaiman would expand to writing books which I read voraciously. Neverwhere, American Gods, and Stardust are just a few of his works that I was willing to shell out 20 bucks or so which was a lot for just graduated college student. Needless to say, big fan here.

            Last night, Gaiman was here in Savannah performing on a story telling tour called Unchained with several other very interesting people. Kim and I bought our tickets last month for the chance to see Gaiman. He was amazing. I even go to meet him and shake his hand. We spoke for a few brief moments. It’s always nice to see someone whom I admire turn out to be a nice guy.

            We had tweeted back and forth a few times over the week. I am teaching Brit Lit with my esteemed colleague, Paul Sidney. (Check out Paul’s blog. It rocks) Gaiman wrote the screenplay to Beowulf and we had hoped to get him in to speak to the kids. Gaiman tried but his schedule just didn’t match up.

            At one point, Gaiman even tweeted back when I mentioned several kids in my class wanted to come but were underage. He replied that I was 18 and over advisory. I am proud to say three of my students were front row and to the right. Melissa, a huge Gaiman fan, even sat about five feet from the Brit author at one point but she never knew because she was mesmerized by all the other storytellers who performed.

That is how the night went for us. Several of us where there because Gaiman was speaking. About every fourth or fifth person in the rows was holding a Sandman comic or Neil Gaiman related item. Gaiman did well. He is a skillful storyteller or raconteur as they liked to be called. Yet, I found myself enjoying the other raconteurs just as much and in some ways, even a little more.

So much in fact, I was moved to start writing this blog at three in the AM when all of this came together. See way back before Kim and the kids, I started writing The Tide to work on storytelling skills. It’s my dream to be a published author and professional storyteller but life keeps happening and I put this dream to the side.

I sat mesmerized by hearing these performers spin their craft and was a little jealous too. They were good. Really good. Dawn Frasier told a story about her twin with Down syndrome and how he displayed the ultimate act of sportsmanship and kindness at the Special Olympics. It made me cry, dammit.

Edgar Oliver, a Savannah native but now Ney York transplant, had the most unique voice I have heard while he shared a hilarious account of his days as an officer at Benedictine Military School.

 It started out as a tale about getting down and dirty with his girlfriend, yet somehow Peter Aquero masterfully made it a beautiful account of what love is.

This was all put together by another Savannah native, George Dawes Green. He has authored several books and started up NPR’s The Moth which promotes the art of storytelling. He changed it up a bit and actually preached a sermon about the evils of the internet which I hate to admit was right on target. “Switch it off he said, and open a book especially one bought from a local book store.” I ‘m paraphrasing but you get the idea which is quite a valid one in a time where kindles and I-pads rule.

Then Neil took the stage. Peter Aquero Emceed the event and I loved his introduction. Mr. Aquero simply stated how Neil Gaiman is “just a guy.” Oh, and he wrote a book about some sand.” The audience erupted with laughter. But he was right. Mr. Gaiman came out quite unassuming then shared a beautiful story linking how circus elephants are taught to embrace their chains rather realizing they can fight them and how he carried his own chains which prevented him from being happy.

I came for Neil but somehow found so much more last night. It is my honest belief in which everyone has a story to share. Last night I watched five people not only do that but also openly express to the audience something very personal, at times humorous, and even a little dangerous. It was a pretty brave thing to do and I walked away hungry to figure out this art form.

 I am already scheduled to some storytelling at Oatland Island for their Harvest Fest on Nov 10^th. Please mark on your calendars and come out to this. It’s awesome but more about in a later post. I think I am ready to get back to working on my craft, if I may steal line from Robbie Rankin, my old theatre director. And I will.

It was also a powerful night in another respect. I knew I’d be writing about this night before it even happened. My assumption was I’d be talking about the lovely chat Neil Gaiman and I had. (We did and it was AWESOME!) Something else happened and I have to share because it moved as much as the raconteur fire which was lit inside of me.

You know all about the tweets between Neil where I invited him to teach Beowulf. When my turn in line came this was the approach I took.

“Hey man, I am the teacher who has been tweeting you all week. Thanks for considering visiting us even though it didn’t work. We all got a kick out it., “I said with a shaky voice.

Mr. Gaiman smiled and said in a lovely British accent, “Ahhh yes, the teacher doing Beowulf. Sorry about that but wish you luck.” We shook hands. Coolness for me.

I had a moment and seized it. “Mr. Gaiman, I want to introduce you to my students. This is Melissa, Jordan, and Holiday. Also very big fans and thank you again for coming to Savannah. It’s been amazing to hear you and your fellow artists.

Neil Gaiman continued being a delightful individual and spent a few moments with my students. All three looked like those girls form the news footage of the teeny boppers watching the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show.

Our moment was over and Mr. Gaiman moved on to the throng of fans waiting for their moment too. I was on Cloud Nine and even spent a few moments with that Peter Aquero fellow asking ways to get into racontuering. He hugged me when I complimented on his velvet burgundy jacket. He was a big guy but I can respect when a large man like me is willing to show emotion so I happily hugged back. Neat guy. He talked like the northern version of my good friend and mentor, Tony Daniels. Just that alone, makes Mr. Aquero cool in my book.

Kim and I mingled. We said some hellos to our various friends from all our circles. Kim even got in line to have Mr. Gaiman sign my old copy of Stardust which I gave Roni back in the early dating days. I watched the proceedings from a far and wasn’t the least bit jealous when Neil Gaiman gave Kim a big smooch on the cheek. Ok, maybe a little bit.

Kim and I walked out into a one of those evenings in downtown Savannah where the humidity was fighting with the oncoming Fall chill. We were passing Mellow Mushroom as I got lost in my thoughts about those days of being a ghost tour guide when we came up on Holiday and Melissa. I asked if they needed a ride but they said they were fine.

Matter of fact, Holiday had to come over and show me the Neil Gaiman book she bought from the Blue bus (Please click onthis link. Gaiman talks about their bus and it's very cool) which transports the Unchained players and a Salvador Dali book she bought for one of my school’s art teachers. They started talking to Kim and I got distracted by a group of SCAD kids.

It was a pack of about five-six students and they definitely had that “I’m here for Gaiman Punkish Goth look. One of the guys who sported a variety of face piercings came up to and asked very politely,” Excuse me, sir, are you a professor?”

I almost burst out laughing. Robby the professor? I visualized myself in front of an Oxford style classroom wearing that fancy corduroy jacket with the little patches on the elbows. More stifles of laugher. Then the notion of getting some round gold glasses where I’d look like Professor Indiana Jones. I began to realize I could get used to that notion. Whip crack!

"Dr. Richardson?"

 

We shook hands as I replied, “Sorry to disappoint, guys. Just a high school sped teacher.”

A young lady with alternating shaved designs and dyed teal places on her head spoke up. “It doesn’t matter. Either way what you did was an inspiration.”

“What?” It was the only word in my head. Rather than vocalize, my face said it for me.

The first guy goes on. “We watched you take the time to make sure your kids got to meet Neil Gaiman. It’s not many teachers who’d bring their students to something like this and make sure they met their hero. Man, we need more teachers like you out there.”

I am always amazed at our abilities at how we humans can be so destructive to each other yet so uplifting at the same time. This pack of crazy looking Punk rock Goth kids said the very words I needed to hear to remind what it is that I do and why I put up with the fucking bullshit to to do it.

See, I have fallen out of love with teaching. It has become mired down in the stupidity our elected officials have instituted to get re-elected (This is not a conservative v. liberal issue. They are all guilty) piled with some many jobs that I rarely get to actually have the opportunity to connect with a student in an academic manner. I could give examples but it would just take away from the point these wild looking SCAD students reminded me.

Guilty.

I love teaching and I love my students. It’s OK to hate the outside forces that reign down on me to make my job all the harder. This is where I am supposed to be right now. I helped three very awesome and unique kids have an experience that might be the catalyst which gives the world the next great author, artist, or something great. I did what a teacher is supposed to do.  I showed those kids the world was little bit bigger last night the same way Mrs. Clark and Mr. Oliver did for me back at Union County High School in 1986.

I dream daily of being in front of an audience where I regale all with  my anecdotes of being that hopelessly dorky kid growing up in the mountains of North Georgia the marshes of Savannah with his unique family. I’ve had some amazing shit happen to me in my lifetime and the best part is I am finally finding my voice where it all ties together to make a good story. I dream of putting all this on paper and this is also slowly forming.

"You've got big dreams......"

At the same time, I recognize I may have hit a point where I can respect and appreciate the moment I am living in. It may not consist on hearing the applause I dream of but, thanks to a motley group of SCAD kids, I have been reminded that I did take a stand made a mark. I believe this is the best thing we can achieve as human beings.

I’ll get there. I am hungry for it but at the same time I have a responsibility to some kids over at Jenkins High School.

           And that alone will make a pretty good story

A White Porpoise, A Red Tailed Hawk, and Terrible Loss for my Good Friends...

            It’s been a busy few weeks since we last leaned on the fence and chatted about what’s on my mind. I’ve gone begrudgingly back to work after the end of the Summer of Kim. The kids and my amazing wife threw me a fantastic birthday. I’ve learned a bit about the enormous difference between going back to school as an employee and as a parent.

            Something else has happened which has had a larger impact on me that I want to admit. I have spoken of my friend/mentor/adopted big brother, Capt. Tony Daniels before. The Capt, as we like to refer to him and his family has had an enormous impact on my life. I went to Young Harris College with Tony. After he graduated, I met his sister, Dawn and the friendship blossomed. His parents were often around in those days and other periods of my life so I felt like I really know the Daniels pretty well. Matter-fact, when I think of my window at YHC, I realize the Daniels were a major part of it for me.

            It hit me pretty hard when I found out on the Facebook how their mom, Mrs. Daniels, lost her battle to cancer.

            I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out what to say or how to say something to maybe help with what they are going through. I got nothing. Except that I love them and I am here. Then my birthday came and something happened that rocked my world so hard, it has taken me bit to process it so I could write about it.

http://www.times-herald.com/Local/20120824gloria-daniel-MOS

            I realized it was time to finally share the Hawk story.

            A few hours had passed since Mom, Mary, I and our entourage had returned from Hillcrest Cemetery to lay the Big Guy at rest. I had set up shop on the deck staring at the marsh and heavily trying to self-medicate on Camel lights and anything in a bottle.

            Our neighbor, Ron Bebee, (as mentioned in the last blog) dropped by to pay respects and say hello. As is custom with Ron, he walked up nursing his obligatory bottle of Bud Lite in one hand with a spare in his pocket even though we always offer to share our coolers with him.

            Rags, Gid, and a few others sat in silence on the deck as we all tried to find words to get something started but no one really spoke much. Some grief is just too thick.

            Ron finally broke the silence. “Shit, Rob. I don’t know what to say but I am so sorry. Bob was a helluva guy.”

            I nodded, faked a smile, and lit another Camel. I put the pack on old wire spool we always used as a table.

            Ron went on. “Sherry and are sorry were missed the service. We showed up late due to traffic and didn’t want to interrupt. We just stood off to the side and waited. “

            “Thanks, Ron. Means a lot that you guys would even come out. I know ya’ll got work.” I forced myself to keep it together.

            “The funny thing, Rob, is that something wild kinda happened so I am glad I had to sit off to the side.” Ron popped the second Bud Lite. “We were watching the service when I noticed this large bird fly up and land on the power lines over by where your daddy’s plot was.

            I didn’t think much of it at first but after a few minutes I began to pay more attention to that bird and I realized it was a red tail hawk. That bird sat there on that power line and I swear to God, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Bob’s service he watchin’. When the service was over and ya’ll were leaving, the hawk flew away.

            It stuck with me the whole way over here and I remembered how much your dad used to love to watch all the hawks we have out here. He used to talk about those birds all the time when we’d catch up out the yard.”

            It was true, Out on the property, we have a quite the menagerie of different animals that pop up from time to time including to alligators, deer, and a few families of red tail hawks that live somewhere across the creek on Isle of Hope. On many occasions, the Big Guy would come and find us to drag us from whatever Mary, Mom, and I were doing to point out what the Hawks were doing. It was almost a passion of his.

            One time, Dad tore us away from Mary and I’s late brunch to share Momma Hawk teaching her baby how to hunt. All of this was in our front yard. Momma Hawk stood big enough to carry off a hobbit. The damn thing could have easily come up to my waist; it was a powerful image and the moment where I fell in love with them too.     

            By this point, we were all sitting on the edge of our seat. Ron had our full attention. I only looked away so I could better grasp the plastic cup I was drinking bourbon and cokes out of. Ron wrapped up his story,” Guys, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that bird was your daddy’s spirit watching over all that to say goodbye but you can take this anyway you want.”

            And I have. Mary, Mom and I have noticed that at many junctures in our lives, a hawk shows up at moments when we need it. I have come to take it as the Big Guy saying, “Hey, I may be gone but that doesn’t mean I am not going to stop watching over you guys.”

            It is not an unusual occurrence where one of us will be catching up and the other mentions how they were going to work or doing something then look up to see a hawk watching them. We have gotten to where we refer to as, Hey, I saw Dad today.”

            Week before last I coolest thing to happen to me where I called Mary and shared. It was my birthday and half way through preplanning ant school. I was working on some US History test prep with my buddy, Billy Walker when Dave Westbrook came running in.

            Dave was elated to share, “You guys are not going to believe this. There is a hawk out next to the shrubbery. He just standing there is doesn’t seem to be afraid of people. We had six people standing around it and it had no fear.”

            Billy and I go out to see this and sure enough, out on the walkway was a red tail hawk. He was about a little over two feet tall and just standing there. At first, I thought he was hurt because we got pretty close and nothing occurred, Until I stepped forward by myself.

            I could hear Billy off in the background saying to be careful but something inside of me told me I would be fine so long as I approached carefully.  I was about three feet away when the hawk turned his head and peered at me. Our eyes locked. As weird as this sounds to say, I swear I felt as if that hawk was looking inside of me instead of “at” me.

            I am sure it was only a few seconds but after what felt like an eternity to me, the hawk leapt up and flew to a low hanging branch on the live oak I often admire as I walk to class. We spent the next hour or so watching him bounce around the front of the front of the school. All said, it was a pretty impressive afternoon.  

My good friend, Paul Sidney took this with the school camera




 

These were with my cell phone



            In spite of all this, I consider myself an individual with above average intelligence and very analytical mind when it comes to processing information. I am well aware there are very logical explanations to everyone of these occurrences. I have read up enough on these hawks and have a pretty good base of information on how animals act to make plausible explanations to why these hawks show up

              It doesn’t change the fact of how much comfort I get when one of these beautiful creatures pop into my life and reminds me that I am not alone. As I drive deeper in middle age, I find myself taking life pretty responsibly. If I want to allow myself my one moment of acting like Shirley MacClaine for the sake of comforting a devastating loss then I will. I don’t think anyone can fault for that if they do, fuck ‘em.

            Tony, Dawn, and Mr. Daniels, I am so sorry for your loss and wish I could be there as the hard part begins. Moving on. I wrote this over the past few weeks in hopes of that maybe it would be of some comfort but also to remind you that Gloria is not gone so long as you find ways to remember her. As I type this, I can’t stop thinking of the creativity you guys have and I realize that Gloria is going to be immortalized in many ways. I look forward in hearing about you guys finding your voice on this.

            For some reason, it always go back to Pat Conroy and a crowded parking lot at way too many Buffett shows when I think of you guys. This quote just feels appropriate so please indulge me.

            “The white porpoise comes to me at night, singing in the river of time, with a thousand dolphins in radiant attendance, bringing charismatic greetings from the Prince of Tides.”

 

As I crank up the blender to toast the memory of your Mom, I hope, that in some way, you guys discover your own white porpoise. We found ours and it has made life a little less empty.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lady to go and toast.

Antics with Robby Two: Electric Boogaloo

            Here is the second entry in my Antics with Robby series. You’ve missed the Coming Attractions and Snacks Canyon but arrived just in time. Let’s begin shall we?

Open scene:  December 2007 has just arrived on the Coastal Empire. Out intrepid blogger is having a hard time due to the recent divorce, loss of beloved dog, newly arrived kidney disease, and starting over at a new school which is eating him alive. Plus, our intrepid blogger needs a great photo for his impending Xmas Card. So what he should he do? Have an adventure!

I think my favorite form of humor is those fish out of water situations. It’s those Three Stooges shorts where the stooges try to fit into a high society ball and the antics begin. Humor involving ordinary situations with something out of place kills me every time. So this is the origin of the Polar Bear Story.

Some of my new found friends in a shortly lived social circle of tour guides and downtown folk had a running joke about ways to screw with the line that forms in front of Paula Deen’s, Lady and Sons restaurant.

See, people come from all over the world and try to get in. During peak tourist season, there is always a line along Congress Street. It gets so long and serious, water stations and cooling fans are positioned so no one passes out from heat exhaustion. It’s not the heat but the humidity down here, we like to say.

I always thought it be funny to casually walk up in line like everything is normal and just stand there but dressed up like a Polar Bear. Ohmigod, why is a polar bear here in Savannah, GA? Shouldn’t he be in a cooler habitat? Maybe it was the whiskey but we laughed all summer about that.

One of my friends at the time was a photographer and her birthday was coming up. She loved to photograph out of the ordinary situations so I thought I’d give her one. I took the day off from work and we walked around Downtown Savannah with me as a Polar Bear. The results very sometimes humorous and sometimes off putting but it was worth every minute due to some of the reactions.

 I can't find all of my favorite shots but here a few I was able to scrounge off the laptop. As soon as I can get the other transferred, I''l update.

The original

The sequel

 

This was the first shot and it was taken out in Bonaventure Cemetery. I was going for the famed “Bird Girl” pose from the cover of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. No one hassled us or even noticed us for the longest time. Right before leaving a tourist walked up and started to ask me for directions but then paused in mid sentence, looked me up and down and then said, “Never mind, I think I’ll be better off winging it.”

The caption of the Christmas Card read,” Robby Richardson stars in Midnight in the Garden Two: Electric Boogaloo. It was the last card I have ever done but suspect something may happen this year due to two new elves and lovely Mrs. Claus in my life.

"Life is like a box of igloos. You'll never know whom you'll find inside. To eat."

 

"Salmon-tini, my dear?"

            My favorite bar used to be the Scottish Bar just down the street from Paula Deen's. It's a great place called Molly Mcpherson's. It is still pretty awesome and worth checking out if you ever come down. We showed up for Happy Hour and I became an honorary bartender.

"So then I told the bartender that I must slip out of this wet coat and into a dry martini."

This is my second favorite photo. We took it in City Market. I love this one because the picture captures that just right moment I used to see in Jeff Ragsdale back in our ATO frat party days. Every time I see this, I hear Rags famous pick-up line, “What’s your major?” Oddly enough, we drew a crowd while shooting this one. This tourist started flirting with me and asked me for my number. She never called but it was a much needed ego boost at the time.

"Umm, Robby?"

            Ron Bebee is my mom’s neighbor and a great friend. If you ever see any old oyster roast pics, Ron pops up in them quite a bit. While he is a fun guy, he tends to be on the reserved side. During our “photo shoot”, we bumped into him outside the Savannah Theater. He was getting tickets to the big Holiday Musical Review.

            Our eyes locked and I had this moment of embarrassment as he walked over. I was feeling a bit sheepish. Ron just started laughing. His wife, Sherry followed right behind him.

Sherry said, “Ronny saw some guy in a polar bear suit and started joking how it looked like something Robby Richardson would do.”

            We laughed.

            Ron goes on with”As soon as I say it was you; I began looking around for Rags, Nick, and Gideon.”

            We laughed harder.

"Urrggh, Bear like sweet..."

             My favorite picture occurred on River Street at Savannah Sweets. Wherever we went, we got odd looks and double takes. We hit River Street and no one cares that a 6’ 4” Polar Bear is roaming the land. Until……

            We walk into Savannah Sweets. The two young girls behind the counter see me and scream that loud, shrieking Fay Wray type screams. I couldn’t stop laughing. When I did, the two girls thought I was adorable and kept coming up with ideas for me to pose with candy. Tourists started stopping in and a crowd developed. They went wild when I started eating the little fish gummies. What can I say? I love playing to an audience.

I can’t find the Paula Deen pics but looking hard. It was actually the worst shots of the day. We were both tired and it was getting cold. Savannah in December can be quite chilly. I stood in line while holding a large stuffed fish. The folks in line were a little amused but I didn’t factor in the desire to buy $15 fried chicken over “Is this guy going to screw up our reservations. A small child started screaming in fear of me. Honest, bloodcurdling fear. We left before authorities were called and went back to the bar for some blood warming libations.

            All in all, the day was a huge success. We got most of the shots were wanted and I had my Christmas card for 2007.  I got out of work so I could be a goof ball. I quote from the book of Ice Cube in saying, “It was a very good day.”

Antics, Fifty Bucks, and how Jeff Ragsdale Gave Me a Story to Share

            I grew up in the 80s which meant all of life’s big problems could be solved either in 30-60 minute increments or by some elaborate big scheme. The first time I watched Animal House, it wasn’t the parties, the boobies (though very nice), or even the toga party that stuck with me. It was the death mobile tearing through the streets and wreaking havoc on the squares from Faber College. As I wrote in the now famous proposal blog, “I love it when a plan comes together.”

Ramming Speeeeedddd!!!!!!

            As I grew older, I found myself surrounded but not only very good and intelligent people but also quite a few characters that grew up with similar sensibilities. Back when the Big Guy was with us, we’d all gather in Savannah and the best part would come in the evenings. We’d settle on the deck facing the marsh. Many beers met their demise on that humid spot as we’d entertain ourselves by telling stories and smoke cigars.

            The Big Guy would chortle and laugh in convulsions as we’d share some of our infamous antics like the time Rags convinced the fraternity to hire strippers for rush (Sensitivity training, anyone?) Or the time Nick drank 13 shots called an oatmeal cookie which resulted in him throwing up so badly that Nick’s left eye looked like Sigourney Weaver in Alien 3. Or the time everyone showed up to the annual Quantrek camping trip at Edisto to find Gid and I about passed out with pink stained lips. We added a pint of 152 to a Strawberry Shortcake Pre-Mixed cocktail. It may sound like a bad beer commercial but good friends equals to some pretty fun times. Looking at Facebook today reminded of one of the greatest moments we ever pulled off. The Infamous Bad Tux Formal Night of the Parrothead Cruise of 2000.

No one can hear you wretch in space from too many Oatmeal Cookie shots

            It’s a pretty funny story. We had all moved up to the Atlanta area after college and gotten involved in the Atlanta Parrothead Club. Our buddy, Brent, had started an annual Parrothead cruise through the Caribbean. Of course it would be rude not to go and we did.

            This particular cruise line hosted a series of formal nights during the course for the week. Over 200 parrotheads would be intermingled with the variety of characters that ordinarily spend a week cruising the high seas. After a viewing of Dumb and Dumber, I suggested to Gid and Rags how we should show up in horrible tuxes for this event. The idea snowballed as you can see.  

            I always knew this would be good for a few laughs. What I underestimated was just how much of a surprise this would be to the rest of the Costa Victoria Cruising Community. See, some people take the night of the Captain’s Dinner as a that just right time to break out the furs and jewels usually reserved for the safe. I looked at as an excuse to wear my black Chuck Taylor high tops with my spats. Nowadays when I describe this evening, I usually use the comparison of it being one of those Three Stooges shorts when they go to a High Society Ball.

            The Captain’s Dinner starts off with a champagne/martini reception in one of the classier ballrooms. Enter Eight Parrotheads not afraid to shop on Ebay for formal wear. Three fourths of the guest couldn’t stop laughing and even kept having us pose with them for pictures. Some folks even thought we were paid entertainers to keep the party going. One-fourth was not as amused. Enter Ragsdale.

Jeff Ragsdale: Family Man, Statesman, Threat to fish everywhere

            This one lady had a serious stick up her ass about our entrance. Rags overhead her complaining about our lack of decorum and disrespect for the sanctity of Captain’s Night to her poor, overtaxed husband. He seemed like a decent Joe whose only crime was making the mistake of saying “I do” to Greta the Wonder Bitch.

            Rags love to poke the bear especially when he has had a few. Being a cruise taken in the honor of Jimmy Buffett, all of our blood alcohol levels would have been classified as jet fuel. Rags saw his moment and took it.

            In his best Mr. Mooney voice, Rags struts up to the lady in question, “Pardon me, ma’am. Mind if I join you?” I could almost hear Rags saying, ”Yesssss” to Lucille Ball.

            Greta the Wonder Bitch responds in a manner that is only egging on Rags.

“It’s a free country.”  Greta snapped. I almost groaned fro Greta. She was setting herself up for the inevitable torment that Rags was about bring along with some noise and some funk.

            Now, keep in mind how this is a cocktail party and reception. In addition to all those cute waitresses wandering around with trays of champagne and martinis, the cruise line also provided the traditional finger food and snacks expected at any cocktail party. About every two or three table would sit small bowls of Spanish peanuts. Rags saw that Greta was stationed perfectly.

            Rag’s moment to strike and he played it like an old vaudevillian comic with perfect timing. “Pardon me, ma’am, could I trouble you for a nut?” Again with the Mr. Mooney voice.

At that moment, Rags selected a Spanish peanut while attempting to peel the red skin off it then proceeded to eat it like corn on the cob,

            It was quite the sights and even Greta’s husband began to snicker. Greta was not amused. She grabbed her husband by the arm. And growled, “Well, I never.. Come on Charles.”

            Exit Greta from our lives forever except through the passing of this tale. May her bitchiness live on..

            The rest of the evening was a blur of laughs, double takes, and shots bought by amused fellow cruisers. At one point, our picture was taken with the Captain. To this day, I can’t tell if his confusion was due to the language/cultural barrier, our outfits, or a combination of both. All I clearly can remember is waking up the next morning with a serious case of the brown bag flu.

            I love my friends and all of our wacky adventures. Even though I could hear the Big Guy saying it was a rip off to buy photos from the cruise line, I sprang the five or ten bucks for it. It still hangs in my room to this day. Once while teaching Sociology, I even used it to explain how social mores work.

Kings of the World 2000

            A few years ago, we lost the gent in the Captain’s Hat. Monty was not only a character but a classy guy. He is missed. The world seems s a little smaller without his huge and exciting personality.  Monty brought style and class to everything he did. Once he made a Bloody Mary for me and it took him thirty minutes because he used over thirty ingredients.

            Fortunately, I have been lucky to keep in touch with the  rest of those guys. A few of us even made a pact to wear those tuxes at our rehearsal dinners. A waiter at the Atlanta Country Club bought Gid and I drinks for an entire because we had the balls to do so. .

            We have all settled down now but the tuxes are not mothballed yet. Every now and then, opportunity strikes. Gid wore his a few times to the Jimmy Buffett concerts. Rags dusts his off and uses his for his Sunday School Classes. Last spring, I took Kim to the High School Prom where I teach. The theme was Mardi gras so I felt festive enough to share the magic of the tacky tux. We had a blast. It’s nice to know that over ten years later this might be the best fifty bucks I have ever spent.

Like Step-Papa, Like Step-Daughter

Having Roni and Jude in my life has been one of the greatest gifts I’ve been granted. Jude and I hit it off immediately. We filled a need we both craved in our lives. He needed a guy and I wanted someone to pass down all the Richardson ways of life to. We made our way through a river of pirates, explosions, and a certain Sci Fi movie we both adore to seal what we share.

Roni was trickier and not as easily impressed. We had a rocky relationship which eventually led a huge fight in my dining room. All cards were laid out on a table and I knew that I would have to leave if we couldn’t find some sort of common ground. We did.

Since that rough night last summer, a relationship has been forged where I now have a step daughter and she has what we refer to around the house as “Step-papa.” (It works better if you could hear it said like Christopher Plummer in his Sound of Music outfit) We bump heads frequently which I am guessing is just a hint of what the impending teenage years have in store. Quite honestly, the kid drives me crazy yet as I say this there is a big spot in my heart where Roni has taken over. (Roni doesn’t simply walk into Mordor)

Oddly enough, I recognize it’s our similarities which cause the clashing rather than our differences. Roni has my sense of smart assness and loves to get those zingers in. She can be fearless in waiting for that right moment to pounce then burn the shit out of your ego. It’s a quality that I respect and look forward to her using on boyfriends rather than me.

She has to be right. Being right is a Richardson family characteristic imported over from the Neders and the Mother country. To steal an idea from Game of Thrones, combining a quality like that into both of those houses will create a dragon of their own. I find myself arguing with my step-daughter over bullet points like what she said over dinner last night to what was the Professor’s name on Gilligan’s Island. (It was Roy Hinckely, Jr. by the way). I am 43 and have found the ability to walk away from pointless arguments so please explain to me why I find myself arguing with an eleven year old girl.

Today, the most impacting similarity came to light. I realized we both have disappointing relationships with one of our parents. This is the one that hit me about an hour ago and prompted me to sit down on the couch and write.  Roni’s father and Kim’s ex-husband have been brought up before but never in a positive light.  Quite frankly, he made it easy for me to come in be a Dad to Roni and Jude because he ain’t doing it.  I watch Roni around her father and she is never herself. When Roni is around her father, she makes a point not to make waves. They guy makes big promises with no intentions of fulfilling them and it breaks my little girl’s heart. Yet she says nothing but hugs on her father when he eventually shows up. She’d call me out on that shit in a NY minute.

   Granted the Roni I know and love is sweet, beautiful and intelligent yet I am well aware she has no problem with arguing with me or showing me her darker side when it involves getting her way. She is being herself which is good. I appreciate this because it shows me how Roni is not afraid that I will leave her. It stinks when we are arguing about which Netflix show to watch but I know we are in it for the long haul like I was raised.

Which brings me to me. I am not being honest in my relationship with my mother. The past year has exposed all the cracks and breaks in a relationship that not been healthy for some time. The majority of my decisions over the past four months have somehow revolved in a way either reaching out or trying to make my mother happy. Her actions show she does not want to reach back.

We had a huge sit down before the wedding to try to resolve all the issues brought to a head after the big incident with her boyfriend. I do not like the boyfriend yet invited him to our wedding to show an olive branch. She came to the wedding but bailed out on the reception to be with him. She felt that she had “done her duty” She and the b/f have been invited to Jude’s birthday party, over to dinner several times, and Jude’s first play at the Savannah Children’s Theater. No show.

It kills me because the kids really love her and want to love her as their grandmother. It makes me angry because I can hear Mom sayin to me how people turned their back her after her Dad died. Yet she is now doing the same to us. And we want her in our lives.

Jude was very hurt because she had promised to go to his play. When Kim spoke to her, she was going to be out of town. Jude was crushed. He wanted more people to go see his play.

For the past year, I have been like Roni. For fear of running my mom away, I have sat and taken this constant rejection. I’ve tried to be careful so as not to run Jan away. Kim has pointed out that I have internalized this to be an issue of my creation yet she’s not seeing it. Kim is right. Whatever sin I have done to create this, I have tried to reach out and make up for it several times over. It comes down to the simple fact that my mother no longer wants to be my mom. I am tired of reaching out. I am tired of hurting myself. I am more tired of hurting the ones around me because I carry this huge weight on my shoulders.

I feel for Roni because as I sit and type, I realize just how much I miss my mom and wish that she was a part of our lives like when she used to be Mama Rich. Mama Rich is gone. If I had tried any of this crap and choose not to be around the family like she has done now,  Mama Rich would be on my ass in a second.   

One day I suspect Roni will be at the same crossroads that I appear to be standing at now. I wonder if she will feel the same amount of guilt I feel as I try to decide what I need to do. It scares me as I look in one direction where I try to do what is best for me and family while the other direction focuses on keeping the status quo but with more sleepless nights.

I hope she will know what I know. It feels horribly alone bit I am not. She has a brother that is pretty comparable to the awesomeness that I have in a little sister. Maybe she will have someone in her life like I have Kim. I hope so.

I know this. I will be there because whether I am blood or not, I am her Dad. Someone taught me a long time that Parenting is a lifelong occupation. Besides, we are a lot alike and I know just how this feels.