David Martin was the only neighborhood friend I ever had.
There had been Randy Luna, of course, who had lived briefly in the corner house with all the prune trees, the house a block east on 160th Street that my folks almost bought instead of the house at 3750—our house, the home with the sloping, tiered yard and the acres and acres of magical woods behind.
Tukwila was never Mayberry RFD. The student body at Foster High School was never made up of Opie Taylor, Dobie Gillis, Veronica Lodge, Wally Cleaver, Richie Cunningham, Winnie Cooper and Marcia Brady. The demographics were a lot rougher than that. There wasn’t really a “right” side of the tracks in this town.
There’s an interesting tale about the guiding principle behind my view of existence: that there is a Power in this Universe which is able to do immeasurably more than all we could possibly ask or imagine. And I’ll be telling that tale down the road a bit.
But for now, it’s enough to understand that my life has not taken shape the way I thought it would. No, it’s better than that, and in wildly different ways than I would ever have conceived. So my story is really about how that Power has manifested itself in my life—how it has intruded into, shaken up, and redirected my life.
his, no ordinary life
gaze on him too long—he vanishes like a star
he lives the truth, lives it slant
Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
Oh, God! Do I really want to invoke David Copperfield? Well, yes.
He stands before the tomb
And he weeps
Somewhere in a pearlescent pool hell
an angel sports tats on its wings
Surely there is encouragement
in being desperately human
Continue reading
Let’s say a man owns 10,000 sheep
What is the loss of a single lamb to him?
What is the loss of just ten
In any given year?
‘Twas four days ‘fore Christmas, and all through the house
The Hawk fans were cheering—yes, even my spouse.
The Cardinals were trailing; they needed a score:
Like, maybe a pick-six—plus one touchdown more!
The Seahawks deployed in a one-wideout set,
One back in the backfield—’twas Lynch, sure. You bet!
They’ve got a first down at their own twentyone;
They lead by fifteen, and are set for more fun.
With the snap of the ball there’s now such a clatter
It’s really quite plain that some Cards they will splatter.
Out on the right end, in Foote flies with a crash
But Lynch takes the ball to the left through a gash.
The light on the field, all natural-grass turfed,
Gives luster to ‘backers about to be Smurfed.
Yes, what to ‘Shawn’s wondering eyes should appear
But a lane to the right, which he takes with a veer.
And now it’s the cornerbacks Lynch aims to beat,
Shifts his low c of gravity over his feet.
More rapid than coursers his blocker does come—
You don’t know his name? Then you’re dumber than dumb—
Ric Lockette the Rocket, and he’ll take out four!
First Johnson, and Patrick, and Johnson once more!
From the thirty, past midfield, to the sideline with glee
Did Marshawn outrun them through crimson debris.
As dry leaves that through the wild hurricane fly,
And meeting with obstacles, mount to the sky
So Lynch approached Patrick—who went for the ball—
Then slapped him away like a impotent doll.
And in came the Rocket to knock Johnson down
And help Patrick Peterson look like a clown.
So Lynch turned to sprint toward the Cardinals’ goal,
A scant forty yards, a mere beast-quaking stroll.
He was dressed all in blue from his helmet to shoe
(‘Cept his jersey was white, since that’s how Hawks do).
A bundle of Cardinals he left behind
As helpless as toys—and that’s being kind.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dreadlocks how flowing!
His biceps were bulging, his lungs all a-blowing,
In hard-pumping Beast Mode still up on his toes
In search of the endzone, as everyone knows.
Approaching the goal line, Lynch needed relief
And wind flew at his back—yes, beyond all belief
Ricardo the Rocket was still not quite done.
He boxed out Cromartie while on a dead run.
And reaching the end zone Lynch turned and he leapt
And I laughed when I saw him while the Cardinals wept.
With a wink of his eye and twist of his wrist
He grabbed his own… well, you get the gist.
Lynch fell to his back and then sprang to his feet.
I doubt if that touchdown will ever be beat.
With Lockette before him, behind, and beside,
His run is now legend—the dude will abide.
The Hawks trounced the Cards the division to lead
And thus through the Clink did the playoffs proceed.
And to all the media did Lynch these words toss:
It’s all about action—yes, that action, boss.
/θiːˈɒdɪsi/—in its most common form, theodicy is the attempt to answer the question of why a good God permits the manifestation of evil.
I hate my skin
I hate every trillionth cell of it
