XXThe Hiss Quarterly || Volume IV, Issue 3

ISSN 1556-245X

3 Platitudes & Things Dead People Say

I’m rather fond of telling people, “Wherever you are, there you are.” Most of the time this statement is met with a nod and the conversation continues. Once in awhile I get a blank stare or a heavy sigh, and I’m asked to ‘splain myself. It’s like this - - pay attention - - chances are pretty good that if you're reading this no one held a *gun to your head and told you to do whatever it is that you’re doing; to live wherever it is that you’re living or to be associated with those who share your life.

My mentor and dear friend Kathy Lynn Douglass, a very wise and wonderful woman; once told me that she wanted to take me by my shoulders and shake me because at some point in my adult life I must begin accepting responsibility for my actions. She did this when I was about 26 years old, and it took another ten years before it truly sunk in. Here I sit at the tender age of 42, trying to coax two of my adult children to take life by the horns and do something. How many times have any of us said, “If only I knew then what I know now?” Indeed. If only. But would it really change anything?

On a personal level you must understand that my earliest years were a concatenation of events that were beyond my control. Divorce, abuse of the worst kind, a monstrous lack of stability and lousy role models accompanied my every waking moment. Yet I can still recall where I was, and how old I was when I made the decision to stop screwing around in school and get decent grades. This was due in part to my mother telling me that I was stupid and wouldn’t amount to a “hill o’ beans”.

Chester Stanley Kliza & Son

I was in Glendale, California on a little street just North of Chevy Chase Drive the eve of Christmas Eve. My mother and I were taking a walk together after dinner. I was 13 years old and visiting her for the holiday during break. I was living with my cousins in Utah while I attended school - - essentially mother dearest was much too busy to get around to the fine art of raising children full time. After all, she abandoned not only me, but my two brothers as well. Visiting over the holidays was De Rigueur (and a royal pain in my ass). I’d been having nothing but trouble associating (or should I say, ‘assimilating’) into the small society of Hicksville and I wasn’t happy.

Oh, there’s another saying for you, “Most People Are About As Happy As They Make Up Their Minds To Be.” Thank you President Lincoln, for making that one popular!

I digressed. What happened is nearly cartoonish for it’s clarity in my mind. A light went off in my head and I had the “Ah hah” moment that I wish my children would experience. I made the conscious decision to stop screwing around and to get serious. Fortunately this lasted throughout my high school career and I was able to attend college on a full ride scholarship. Unfortunately I managed to get my head up my ass all over again while I was in college and made some terrible choices. I didn’t obtain any degree except for that certificate from The School of Hard Knocks and that ridiculous piece of paper that says I have an Associate of Arts. Yippee!

Uncle Chuck

Which brings me to my next observation, “it’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” Uh huh. Right. Sure. Can I get the check please? It’s time for me to go, I have a reservation else where. Someday I’m going to die and time’s a wastin’! Tell that to my Uncle Chuck who recently passed. I attended his memorial service. It was in honor of a remarkable man, who invented some remarkable things any photo lab would be hard pressed to be without, and yet there were less than 20 people in attendance at the event. For some of us, we’d be chagrined such a small group would be present in a celebration of our lives. Yet I know Uncle Chuck would have been tickled to death if he weren’t already there. He lived a simple life, and nearly every person in attendance respected and loved him deeply. He was one of my heroes for a myriad of reasons, but most of all because he always made time for anyone who needed him.

If I were to call him up at this very moment and say, “Uncle Chuck, I have two words for you, ‘collateral’ and ‘indigeny’, discuss.” He’d probably laugh in that wonderfully deep gravelly voice and say, “I haven’t seen you in years, and you’re asking me about native securities? Are ya planning to invest in a casino?”

It’s all about perception, isn’t it? Journeys and destinations aside and perhaps in spite of being wherever we are, let us remember the words of Mark Twain, “Let us live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.”

*SIDE NOTE: For those of you who have had that particular experience (a gun to your head) my deepest condolences. I have also been a ~~victim~~ survivor of that order and it’s not a laughing matter. It’s a different column for a different issue, so bear with me – go look at the pretty pictures in the poetry section. They really are wonderful!