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| Whatta guy. |
You might remember those big, bright, provocative blue eyes from two previous posts here on Floodmark: "A Rambling On Writing" and "Sir Gary Miller Rides Again". You might also remember both the knife and the shaving cream too --- though likely as the least interesting part of his posts. If you haven't read it yet you should detour and click over there so that Gary Miller's words can make sweet, sweet, hilarious love to your eyes. You're welcome.
Anyway, today you're in for a treat: brand spankin' new work from Gary, along with three prompts. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll want to marry him and then divorce him and then marry him again. All in a days work, Mister Miller. Let's get started.
Prompts
1. Place yourself in the shoes of a family member at least one generation ahead of you. Freewrite on their life- what were they doing? What was their view of the world? What was happening at that time in history? Do some research (aka, call your mother) if you need to.
2. Illustrate the fullest extent of your family's history in a poem. Bonus points if you use a form! (Extra million bonus points if that form is something circular like a villanelle.)
3. Write a letter to a family member, imagining that they are the same age you are now. What should they do differently? What should they know that they don't?
Gary Walking His Walk
Gary was so kind as to provide an excellent example of Prompt #3. Are ya'll ready for this?
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| The real question is: how did you not see Space Jam coming from a mile away? (Source) |
Hello April,
I heard your favorite song on the radio and I thought of you. It’s this song called Iris by a band you haven’t heard of from a movie yet to be made. It’s kinda like Sleepless in Seattle with Nicolas Cage as an angel. For the rest of my life I’ll hear it and it will give me comfort knowing that it brings you that feeling as well. Music has that way of taking people away for a while. I heard it and thought of you at my age. Young, married, raising a child, struggling to make ends meet but doing so. Living the life. I imagined you like me with a full head of steam billowing through life. Feistier, not yet tamed by the doldrums of raising insanity manifested in flesh, bone, and water. We're mostly water, isn’t that comforting that I paid attention in school. I paid pennies at a time, but still I made it.
Where should I start?
There’s really no protocol for talking to your mom from the past. Besides Back To The Future. I’ll continue to speak in terms of movie references. I have you to blame for that. I have you to blame for seeing my first R rated movie too. Joe Pesci was the bomb in Casino.
Congratulations are at hand, you kept me away from sharp objects, child molesters, hand grenades, dolphins, Dauphins, and pornography.
Mostly.
Speaking of child molesters, it’s October in my time! You’re going to dress me as a cow for Halloween!
Is that a fat baby joke?
You go by Mom, but at this point in your life you are 22 and I feel like you deserve an April still. I’ll refer to dad as John as well. I’ve always enjoyed your name. April Dee Martinez-Burkhart. You relished having the same initials as your grandmother Alice. Alice’s middle name Denverine, I don’t know if I could get away with calling my kid that if I ever decide to pull the trigger on that lifetime investment. I could name my son John Denver Miller. A daughter Joan Rivers Miller. I’m hoping for daughters. They have cooler names. I admire you April, you have conquered two of my rational fears: parenting and marriage. For that I salute you.
You’re going to get real good at this mom thing. It’s impossible to imagine now, but it’s really not that hard. You’ll get to a point around the time I’m 9 where you’ll have me making my own lunches, in a year I’ll be babysitting myself. I have fond memories of pulling out a loaf of bread out of a lunch bag and a jar of peanut butter and making my lunch in front of other kids at school. In a few years at this time of year you will have another Miller boy. He’s awful. Spent 10 years in juvenile hall and he sells heroin to orphans. I don’t know how to explain this but he also has three nipples. You can’t win them all April. If we could meet at this point I’m sure we’d have a lot to talk about.
As for me, well, congratulations!
You raised a Doctor! More or less a doctor, but a doctor.
Besides bounty hunting, being an astronaut, and running a wood sign glitter emporium, the medical profession is bringing in most of the bills. There is this show that will come out called E.R., I’ll basically be Clooney. He’s been on the Facts of Life, you’ll remember him. Goose from Top Gun will be in it too, John will make sure to mention that every single episode.
Do you like Skol Vodka?
Nobody does?
Ok. I’ll keep that to myself then.
This is as trying for me to understand as, well, the only handbook I had to guide me was Back to the Future.
I never knew you as a “cool” mom. I would say you were my first adversary in this world. A khaki wearing, home decorating, Soccer mom. I spent most of days with you until I was old enough to watch myself and my brothers. I knew you quite well back in those days. You stood in the way of a lot of fun as the first antagonist in my story. The lone roadblock to sucking down as much high fructose corn syrup infused goodness as I could find, the stickler who would never let me throw rocks at cars. As my world grew bigger and my perception changed, so did your appearance to me as well. You became one of my closest friends and the first person in my life to openly talk to me about the Indian Spice Trade. That’s what they call the birds and the bees in the future.
I guess I’ll take your advice and be honest.
I’m not a doctor, an astronaut, or a wood sign glitter emporium owner. The bounty hunting thing is always on the table though. I am a millionaire though. That’s true.
I’m sure you’re curious about future events.
Everyone is dead.
Besides that, life is awesome.
I implore you not to smack me with a wooden spoon right now, I’m only kidding.
My heart breaks watching you go through hell on a daily basis. I grew to no longer see you as my parental adversary, but a human being. A human being rife with wants, dreams, pains, failures, regrets, joys. I grew to see myself in you, dad, my brothers, and people I’ve come across. I can handle my own pain, I like the idea that it’s something I truly own in this world that nobody else gets. I don’t mean that in a melodramatic sense. No one person in this world holds that monopoly on pain, to a certain extent I choose not to believe in a hierarchy of pain. I’m not ignorant enough to believe I can understand what someone dying of hunger feels but I can feel angry about it and I can do something about it. We are gifted with scars. Pain is crushing when we watch it happen to a loved one, we feel helpless, not able to take it away from them. It’s like trying to grab onto water, watching it run through the cracks of your fingers. You’ve seen your share of pain, in many shapes and sizes. From the time you were born as a premature baby. The size of a peanut. I’ve seen the pictures of you and I can’t believe anything could be so small. You’ve fought harder than anyone I’ve known just to be alive.
I wish I could take away your migraines, your seizures. They unfortunately will not go away. I can tell you that at this point in your life you have not yet experienced the ripeness of the love that you will grow. You will not yet get to pluck the fruit of your labor of love. I will hurt you deeply by telling you I hate you. Rest easy and know that I do not understand what I am doing. I’m just a boy. I don’t understand a damned thing, that’s a tough thing to deal with. To have so much love for someone and have it spit in your face. I’m just a boy. I don’t understand a damned thing.
Know that you did it right.
For a while I’ll forget what your smile will look like. I’ll relish the sight of it, anytime I see your admittedly pitiful dancing it’ll come out. You may or may not notice it but John has this smile that comes out of the side of his mouth when he sees yours.
“Your mom is a cute woman, man.”
I’ll hear that phrase from him the first time the English sentence will make sense in my brain until the time he’s dead. Your marriage will survive tremendous turmoil. Loss of finances, bankruptcy, multiple moves, deaths. Everything life has to throw at you.
Know that you did it right.
I chose to write to you because I am out and about in the world. Worries aside, I am living in Chicago pursuing a passion of mine that will at no point surprise you. Your brothers ruined me for anything else. Thank them.
I am in my own definition happy. I am never bored and I am constantly in a state of growth. There is never a dull moment.
My advice for you is to pawn me off a little bit more. Uncle Jimmy could use more of me in his life. Go out and explore. I’ll be alright, I promise. I know you were always there but I wish you took even more time for yourself. I took care of my brothers pretty well. Ask them when you get a chance to meet them.
I heard you were a hell of a party animal, I’ll have a couple cold beers for you and John when I see the mom and dad I’m used to.
Before I forget.
Fuck.
You can’t wash my mouth out anymore I’m too strong for you.
Love,
Gary
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