The first adjective in the definition of ‘pipe dream’ is ‘unattainable’. My most prevalent pipe dream of late has been the dream of love. I’ve been in love for a time this past year and I sense it is only a pipe dream. Alas, alack. My heart aches. I pine, I moan softly into my beard, nothing pleases me much now. It is time to move along; nothing to see here. This frame of mind is not healthy for me so I need to get a grip on reality and focus on other things. Writing helps to dissipate this rough-edged energy that is blocking my thoughts and hijacking my productivity. She has red hair, tall, sort of tom-boyish, and a terrific human being.
I remember when I was probably nine years old and I was living on Adams Street in Dorchester. Our house was half way up a steep hill a few miles from the harbor. The street that came up that hill and crossed Adams Street was named Linden Street. It came from Freeport Street next to the harbor and gradually rose to end at Ronan Park and Juliet Street near the very top of the hill. Adams Street was the second last street for Linden Street to cross before peaking at Ronan Park. Linden Street is where I fell in deep love for the first time ever.
How does a nine year old kid find deep love I wonder. Her name was Patricia McKenzie. She was a foot taller and three or four years older than I. She had red hair; the red hair of the Scots Irish; the shade of red hair that is called Titian. Brownish red hair, the shade Titian used in many of his paintings of women. Patricia was my very first crush on an older woman. She made me gaga just to be near. She was a tom-boy and she was a big girl friend who would laugh at my jokes with all of her face and beautiful short red hair. I loved hanging around with her and she was the best friend ever.
There is a big difference between a nine year old boy with a crush and a seventy eight year old man with a crush. It feels the same inside the body but the social aspects are miles and miles apart. The boy is cute but the old man is pitiful. That is the hurt I think. There is an idiom that there’s no fool like an old fool. The supposed wisdom of age temporarily disappears in some instances and that is what I am experiencing. The expectation of age and of a culture demand that I find my own solution and not to act on my emotions. I need to take care of business right now. Aargh.
That’s all I’ve got to say on this subject.
June is coming and along with June comes Father’s Day. I want to share a sweet, fun tribute to me from my son Sam. This was written in 2013 for Father’s Day that year. I hope your day is going well. I am going to be all right so please don’t be overly concerned. Peace out. G. M. Goodwin 19 May 2017
Things my old man has done for me that exemplify his great fatherhood:
1. Changed my diapers.
2. Filled my childhood with four-legged friends.
3. Bought me a model B-17 to construct and subsequently destroy.
4. Sent me to a cushy private school, where I got good learnin’.
5. Put me in contact with my siblings three, though they be far distant.
6. Was always available to validate and calm my adolescent rage.
7. Brought me along on a road trip, or two, or ten.
8. Turned seventy the year I turned eighteen, for the lulz.
9. Laughed it off when I got kicked out of the service.
10. Pulled a Bilbo Baggins, just to prove he still could.
Happy Father’s Day George Goodwin. Rock on.
Playing Fair and Being Kind 