I am constantly being reminded here in the blogosphere that it is Mental Health Month. I found the first part of this, originally written in 1976. Yes, it’s sophomoric. I added the last bit today. Help people if you can. Early. Or someone buries them. Early.
A boy married young
Rebelled against the norm
In his desire to be different
He kicked up quite a shit storm
Her parents were wealthy
Considered him beneath their station
They honeymooned in Hawaii
He was supposed to find work but
They got high and it was simply an extended vacation
They sold clothes and pianos, waited tables, built houses
Those were a bomb
They pulled an acre of thorny grapevine down
Burned it for her Mom
Her Mother paid to keep them eating,
Sheltered and alive
They laughed and partied
Spent mom’s money
Ignored her father’s sermons and jive
That first Christmas
Her parents gave him
A vinyl wallet
Gramma and the sisters, old Aunt Helen
They all laughed, agreed
Said out loud that was all he’d ever need
That was the last Holiday
He’d drop spaghetti on their oriental rug
Mom made sure they were done
With no more than a shrug
He was forty minutes North
Forty years away
When he learned their daughter blew her brains out
Livin’ in a postcard just south of L.A.
Didn’t matter who it was
Or what theirs was made of
Did it
Come end of that day
R.I.P. Deborah Eloise Kendall-Juette
10.12.1953 – 5.4.2004
Too many senseless decisions are made with alcohol and a hand gun. Do your best to keep them away from people looking for the wrong answer.
Wow Phil. I want to go, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” There’s such sadness in this, and you are so right on with your conclusion.
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That’s exactly what I wanted to say. With a question mark after the last “shit.” Thanks!
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Dang. We compare our insides with other people’s outsides. Phil, you continue to blow me away with your talent for capturing the human condition.
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From you that is high praise! Thanks. What we do is paint. Sometimes it’s not a picture, but words, or colors stacked up ona page.
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This is true. The first time I read Steinbeck, it felt like I’d watched it on tv.
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Liked, and agree with you totally.
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Haha, felt exactly the same way about your, ‘shit, shit, shit, shit.’ comment 🎈
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oh how tragic…….
As for spaghetti on mum’s oriental rug, well, that’s understandable. 🙂
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I always thought it was a setup. You know, wingback chairs in the “parlour” with the blue-haired ladies, a flimsy paper plate instead of china. Just like the TV commercials, the plate collapsed. They all looked at each other with tight little smiles like they were expecting it!
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haha
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