Please welcome my friend indytony back to the kingdom. I’ve found his words have a way of captivating me, pulling me into the story, and making me long for more. Give the following a read and see if he has the same effect on you:
My name is Tony (or “indytony” as it appears when I make comments here in the kingdom). I have “A Way With Words.” I have posted here once before – a narrative poem called “Built to Last (inspired by John Prine’s “One Red Rose).” I’m submitting another post for the Jester’s approval for three reasons –
1) The Jester’s reflections on being a new father have flooded my mind with memories of my own children (now 21, 19, 12 and 8). I live in another state now and miss them very much. Rather than cry in my virtual beer, I thought it best to celebrate some moments we’ve enjoyed together.
2) I’m putting off working on “Life” – from my upcoming short story trilogy (which includes “Liberty” and “The Pursuit of Happiness”). I’ve been struggling with the narrative voice, finding an 18-year old woman from 1963 wrestling with such things as identity and sex to be quite a stretch for me.
3) I’m plotting a not-so-silent revolution to take over kingdom readership for my own blog, to ride the Jester’s coat-tails to success so I can have minions writing my posts for me while I sit back and reap the profits.
Now that you know my motives, let me tell you a story (in 500 words or less) –
About a decade ago, I was serving as a pastor of a church in the Finger Lakes region of New York. My wife was our family “keeper at home” who home-schooled our two daughters (then 11 and 9) as well as cared for our son (2). I tried to help as best I could. I kept the shelves filled with library books. I came home for family meals. I even changed a few diapers.
But the reality is… I didn’t do much. I fell somewhere between Don Draper and Heathcliff Huxtable.
One way I was committed to help, though, was by caring for the children every Sunday evening so my wife could go to a Women’s Bible Study. Sundays were stressful days for me (what with being a pastor and all), but I actually looked forward to Sunday evenings when I would play with my son, read to my daughters and experience the joys of being a faithful father.
One Sunday night, I was giving my son a bath when something quite unexpected happened. He was cooing and giggling and then he got a very concerned look on his face. I didn’t think much about it at first, but within seconds it was clear something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
There, behind my smiling boy was more than just a toddler terd-let, but something resembling an overgrown Cuban cigar.
What happened next is debated. You see, after the incident, I chose to turn tragedy into a teaching moment and had each of my daughters compose a narrative gospel, which they faithfully did – making themselves the heroine in their stories. I wrote my own perspective, as well as one from my son’s point of view and one from the family dog’s.
All I can tell you is that it involved a kitty litter scoop, some liquid bleach, and massive quantities of toilet paper. Oh, and no children were harmed in the waste removal process.
………
Funny, funny, funny… Tony teaching the Jester a thing or two about comedy: create the setting and give just enough information to let our imaginations run wild with the possibilities. Plus, this serves as a warning of sorts for experiences I’m sure to have in the future. My current battles are a little less epic though… involving mass quantities of baby wipes and quick reflexes to dodge … um… the fire hose… Good times all around.
Want more Tony and his way with words? The Jester recommends these:
http://writingforfoodinindy.wordpress.com/2013/04/09/april-is-the-cruelest-month-walking-through-the-waste-land/
http://writingforfoodinindy.wordpress.com/2013/04/07/re-examining-why-i-write/
http://writingforfoodinindy.wordpress.com/2013/04/06/who-do-i-have-to-sleep-with-to-get-freshly-pressed-5-press-worthy-posts/