Third Chance (Recently)

Being the bleeding-heart liberal that I am, I hope this kid recovers from his disastrous exit from Oregon and makes a differing name for himself in the NFL.

He's an Oregonian who grew up under, sniff, difficult "circumstances."

I've always rooted for underdogs, even the ones who have rubbed me the wrong way, or the ones with gifts they've squandered.

The trick to my own avoidance of trouble as an impoverished youngster was that I didn't know I was poor.  Hell, I thought everybody ate government cheese by the pound, free of charge, and that not having dental work done when you needed it in childhood was the norm.

This was before ubiquitous expressions of privilege and middle-class expectations of comfort dominated the polity.  We've gone full-circle, and now I do expect a level of comfort in my world, like everybody else.

Like Lyerla, I was fatherless.  I envy listening to others' lives with Dad, good or bad.  Didn't happen for me, so any kind of basic role model, mentor, whatever, was out of the question. Perhaps I leaned too much on my childhood friends' fathers, but often times they were missing as well. Perhaps I've leaned too heavily on friends themselves subsequently.

A good female friend of mine once labeled me a "malcontent."  As I look back at things, I can't think of a better description.  I certainly don't feel any love for the "way things are."

Fortunately, I haven't had much trouble with the law in that regard. I think I've been lucky.

Some of us are simply born rebels, with nothing recognizable to fall back on. I write of this in my unread partial memoir, A Marvelous Paranoia.

Others have called me cynical, whereas I prefer the more nominative handle--confused.

To be cynical projects something related to egoism.  I'd have to have blind faith that I know something to begin with to achieve the sort of cynicism I see around me.  The most cynical are the assholes with perfect vision, or worse, those with money, particularly those who haven't earned it, but have rather had it handed to them.

Step down, Mitt Romney, you dumb fucker.

I love being a malcontent.  I'm not being cynical about this, either.

I understand Lyerla.  I don't like cocaine, but he does (or did).  The rest of it I can relate to. I understand his anger most of all.

The world doesn't need another ditch digger or insurance salesman or homeless beggar, even another would-be writer.  If it needs another football star, I'm rooting for him.


TS