Either Remove Yourself From The "Handful" Or HOLD ON 'Till Opportunity Presents Itself To

 

This thought-provoking illustration could easily be a reference piece of an imaginative Hollywood screenwriter.  Perhaps he / she's dreaming up yet another misunderstood villain (antihero?) for us his purported audience to love / hate.  

Think of the Beth Dutton, JR Ewing, Brenda Walshes specifically, and you'll understand where I'm coming from.

They're a lot more interesting to watch than Fred Rogers, aren't they?

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Television characters must exist on a disproportioned spectrum of reality.  This is an outgrowth of theater where everything must be larger-than-life to truly be entertaining / keep the audience's attention.

But what gives when you find yourself living alongside one (or more) of these?  Where do you go from there?

You know the answer to that one.  Get the hell out of dodge.

Let's discuss the harder part of this equation.  Preparing yourself to face these folks.  Identification is key.

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My closest female friend in high school, Shannon, was one year my senior.  She was very mature for her age and quite the contrarian when it came to both her style and interests.  Shannon came from an upper-class family whereas I was very much middle-class.  Her (Golden State) mother had remarried her attorney (Magnolia State) father after losing her first husband (Navy sailor) in a tragic submarine vanish.  Both Shannon and her younger brother came from that second betrothal.  This now blended family (her mother had birthed two daughters from her first husband) was one I always found intriguing to hang with as a teen for they were SO VERY unlike any other family I was close to.  

And that unlikeness was spearheaded by Shannon's mom.  A typical Mississippi suburban mom of the 1980s she was most definitely not.  It was always a bit intimidating engaging with Jolene, even in passing (& I was by no means a shy teen).  She was so intelligent, opinionated and articulate.  The complete opposite of the familiar folksy, sweet and cornpone.

But I digress...

Shannon had an admirer who was two (or maybe three) years her junior at our small private academy.  This younger girl was also in the marching band with Shannon (& I) even though she was only in middle school at the time.  

It became immediately apparent to everyone that this young admirer was not at all well as it pertained to her admiration (obsession) of Shannon.  For her behavior towards herself, Shannon and everyone else became unusually out of character for a middle-school girl.  

How Shannon coolly handled this younger girl was absolutely empowering to witness.  It was as if my friend literally had been born to navigate the relational dangers / complexities she'd found herself now saddled with.  

I still look back on that with intrigue (as well as heartache).  In the end, the younger girl was removed from school and institutionalized.  Post release, she thankfully didn't return ot our small school.  Nevertheless, I admired Shannon that much more for what she'd endured and modeled with such civility / compassion towards this junior (high) admirer.  

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Shannon immediately identified her relationship with this younger girl as problematic.  Especially so considering her somewhat "forced proximity" to her (fellow schoolmate / marching band member).  From there, she did everything she could to shield herself from the girl.  Much of her strategy consisted of fencing herself in via healthy, supportive friends.  

But firstly, the miracle herein was her deep-seated sense of self protection versus what you might typically see from a female teen (manipulation, harassment, pandering, entitlement) who was the subject of said emotional (& eventually physical) stalking.  

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Your well-being matters firstly.  Even when you're tempted to compromise that in return for some prospective future reward / promotion / solidification / gratification.  It's important to remember that.  No matter the "rank" / position of family / friends / employers / leaders within your sphere of influence (or theirs), the most important consideration is your health firstly.  For you cannot walk back stupid.  For stupid is a past tense verb. 

In closing, if it's not feasible to physically fence yourself in with healthier relations in light of the unhealthy influence, take the time to do so with God's spirit BEFORE engaging with the "handful".  You most certainly can figuratively get the hell out of dodge via the Lord blanketing you throughout.  Bank on that, don't lose hope.       

A Hard Funeral(s) To Sit Through

Out of respect for my father, I attended a funeral (unrelated to family) today.  This wasn't the first time I'd done this.  When I was in high school, I attended a funeral with him.  I remember it clearly, for the deceased had killed himself via suicide, leaving behind a boy who was only one or two years older than I (the boy went to my high school and the divorced dad had attended church with us).  

That was my first hard funeral due to the tragedy tied to the cause of death.

This one today was tough, but mostly it had to do with the tragic, longstanding narrative tied to the deceased's family life.  

The pastor who officiated (who was a family friend of the deceased) beat the drum of his dead mentor "loving Jesus" to the maximum.  We mourners heard this over and over again.  All the while, everyone there knew the dead man, nor his family members had not darkened the door of the church in decades.  And the setting clearly spoke to this dichotomy.  For the wake and funeral was held in a tee-ninny suburban funeral home parlor where the overflow crowd of mourners were all squeezed in like sardines within the repurposed pews.

At the outset of the service, the officiating pastor cited the book of Samuel, quoting scripture which captured David eulogizing Saul (post his suicidal death).  That was fitting, but I don't believe many mourners picked up on the subtleties therein (is there no more anticlimactic Biblical figure than Saul?).    

Not long after that opening salvo, the pastor used the word chaos to describe the deceased man's family, doing so right there in front of his widow, two daughters and all the grandchildren / great-grandchildren (they were all packed in too).  He even went so far as to specifically cite the bastardization of the man's first grandchild (borne from his youngest daughter) as if it was yesterday's news.

Most of those in attendance likely knew the family when that particular shit hit the fan.  The year was 1989.  Understandably, his daughter's future (& their family's trajectory) was forever changed as a result, but what had to have made the greatest specific impact was the unshakable stigma they were now saddled with.  Particularly considering their place as a well-established, upper-class Jacksonian family.

-------------------------

What I'm going to say next is going to sound like a cop out, but I'm going to say it anyway because I believe it (& lived through it).

The 1980s weren't good to any of us white folks, and this family was (like so many) right within its crosshairs.  I'm not blaming this decade of excess for their specific missteps, but you must realize that families were hit from two (if not more) sides during this decade.

1.  Enormous economic success that was unparalleled.  Especially for those who were put together and Dale Carnegie extroverted (as the deceased had been during that era).  Most professionals were making money hand over fist (both earned & unearned) which precipitated enormous buying power for these.  Constraint / "quiet living" along with temperance were ideas from the past that were outright mocked during this era.  Everything, and I do mean everything was hinged on excess and immediate gratification, no matter the risk.

2.  Massive shift in societal norms as it pertained to the prioritization of class / cliques / relational circles of influence.  Autonomy was so very out.  Country club status quo was everything and everywhere in the '80s.  There was more chrome and hairspray, Porsche and Winnebago than had ever been seen prior here in America.  For all of these veneers / brands screamed, "LOOK AT ME!"  Arguably, all of the upper / middle-class family's identity was classed directly to these pleasurable platitudes, leaving it particularly vulnerable to headship neglect / distraction. 

Considering both of these, time and energy to play within this particular arena massively downplayed what once was the bastion of familial importance:  

The husband / father's role as protector.  And not just via shielding but via exposure / knowledge / insight that's used to educate / shrew the family of cultural / societal deception risk(s).

The familial chaos cited by today's funeral pastor, I'm convinced, found both its origin and virility during this powerfully influential decade.

-------------------------

Two distinct funerals.  Considering both this one today and the one from my teenage years, both were tremendously hard to sit through but for different versions of tragic.  

My dad thanked me at the conclusion of each for taking the time to attend.  Because I was there to stand with him, I'm glad I did.   

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #19

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

The Harsh Reality of Xmas (Re-post)

We live in a day and age of deeper and deeper still - personal lifestyle facades.  Facades that we work to constantly perfect to the point that we actually begin to believe they're our reality, and I suppose eventually a facade, if it ends up deep enough, will serve to replace reality itself.  Wait a minute, nope.  That's not possible.  Scratch that.

In the past, it was consumerism that fed this pursuit of lifestyle facade construction, but today, it's also social media and any / all forms of technology that serve to buttress our camouflage.

The end-of-the-year holiday season can serve to ramp up that work on said facades when in actuality, there's tremendous experiential pain going on behind the scenes.  I became aware of this as a teen right around this time of year when there presented itself a breach in my serendipitous reality one Xmas eve.  Read on.

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When I was a boy, my father spent Thursdays out of town (in the MS Delta) for business, and often wouldn't return home 'till late Thursday night.  On one particular Thursday night where he was absent from the homestead, my mother and I were spending the evening watching Christmas television programming in the den (or TV room).  The home in Madison I was reared within was +/-1,800 square feet, therefore like the abode I reside in today, a loud enough yell or scream would easily resonate throughout.  The den was on the east end of this ranch house with a "formal" living / dining room on the front (north side).  That "formal" room was always cordoned off since it was "reserved for social gatherings".

Our TV consumption was interrupted when we heard something that sounded like a knocking on our front door (which was only accessible through the living / dining room).  My mother noticed it first.  This motivated me to investigate.

I remember just as soon as I breached the "formal" part of our abode, I heard a very loud banging on our front door along with muffled cries from someone on the opposite side.  The solid core door had an arched glass window close to its head, but it was too tall to see out of.  Nor were there any windows within close proximity to peer through prior to opening the door.  I wasn't sure how to proceed so I hesitated.

I remember clearly the harsh white light streaming through that arched door window into the dark living / dining room.  The source of that light was the ground mounted PAR lamp out in front of our door.  This cheap lighting stunt was the typical suburban attempt to ring in the season by highlighting your home's Xmas entrance décor.  At this point in time, I found myself leaning against the back of the door attempting to hear more from the other side, wishing all the while that my father were home to handle this (more and more) frightening situation.

-------------------------

So, I eventually opened the door, and what I witnessed changed my perception of Xmas forever.

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An athletically built white teenager was crouching on our stoop in obvious emotional and physical distress.  There was no doubt in my mind that he needed help, but in that moment, as we stared at one another, neither of us could even begin to fathom how best to clearly articulate anything of any substance.  Nonetheless, this strange teen he'd ended up at our door, and he looked to be on the run from something or someone.  And here I was peering out at him awestruck.

The next thing I remember was a station wagon coming to a screeching halt at the STOP sign in front of our house.  It slid to a stop due to the street being slick from an early evening rain.  When I attempted to take a closer look at it, despite the harsh glare of the floodlight, I made out the driver frantically exiting the vehicle right there in the street.  The man rushed around the back of the car before sprinting towards the teenage boy through our small front yard.

All the while, the boy was continuing to plead for help, but when he became aware of his impending doom, his pleas turned to stark panic.  At this point, time seemed to stand still, and I became frozen as I watched this bizarre scene unfold.

Within seconds, the man had the boy by the back of his coat, lifting him with ease off of our front stoop.  From there, he dragged him back to the station wagon prior to tossing him into the backseat.  The teenage boy went kicking and screaming all the way as the man repeatedly punched him in the head with his fist as he yelled obscenities at him.

Then I remember the car speeding away, but only after the man glared back at me right before opening the driver side door.  What little I could make out of his looking at me was a combination of both threat and satisfaction.

By now, my mother was also in our front room, standing silently not far behind.  From what I recall, she only witnessed what she could see from within the room itself.  Eventually, I turned back to her, and we found ourselves standing there in stunned silence for a few seconds wondering what exactly had just happened.

-------------------------

This was no doubt a once in a lifetime event.  Madison, at the time, was countryside.  Few people lived there, and those that did were church-going, lower to lower-middle class folks.  Even today, I wonder why this boy picked our house to look for help, and of course, the greater question is why didn't I choose to respond in lieu of simply standing there like a pansy?  It would have been so easy to simply let him inside our house, locking the door behind us.  There was plenty of time for me to execute a rescue.

-------------------------

My mother and I continued to look at each other without saying a word, and from there, both of us did the most shameful thing I care to admit to here.  We returned to the den on the east side of the house prior to locking the front door and settled back in to watching television on our 19" Toshiba CRT.  There was no telephone call to law enforcement.  No discussion regarding the incident with my father.  Nothing.  The event was treated by us as if it had actually only existed as part of our TV programming.

Why?

Because we were too busy existing within our facade, and what we had just been sucked into didn't "fit" within that artificial construct.  And this reflects perfectly of my entire growing up years and how shallow they truly were.  It was like living within a Norman Rockwell painting in so many ways.  A very deeply unoriginal Norman Rockwell painting.

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Xmas is a harsh, difficult, uncaring, brutally wicked time of year for so many folks, and all of these negative superlatives seem to only ramp up during the holidays in contrast to the traditional merrymaking.  But, this ugly truth is so often hidden from view until you have it show up on your suburban doorstep.

If this reality decrees itself within your world during this Xmas season, don't cower away as I chose to do.  Instead, come to the rescue of those in need.  Open the damn door, swing it wide, and let the suffering inside for safe keeping.  To hell with the devils of this world, but especially here at Xmas.

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #18

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #17

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #16

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #15

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #14

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #13

Yesterday marked the 2nd Anniversary of Ethan's death. I still miss him and wish I could go back and talk to him one more time. 

~S

In Memory of Ethan

February 28, 1991 - October 3, 2021

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #12

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #11

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #10

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

Fool Me Once (Shame On You). Fool Me Twice (Shame On Me). Thrice Me Fool (Shame On Shame).

A lot can happen in two decades.  Gray hair overtakes dark brown.  Roofs get replaced.  As do automobiles.  Minute details related to times past fade into the background, yet the memory of deep-seated hurts remain.

As such, can people who proved their unreliability in the past be trusted twenty years into the future?

As a Christian, this is the wrong question to ask.  Why?  For our very identity is built on transformation via the gospel.  To be more specific (& to mate that word transformation to time), we're being saved (sanctified) day after day after day, therefore we have an obligation to approach others with the same amount of anticipatory potential.  For it is embedded within our very gospel-centric outlook on life.

Now then, the question to ask should be as follows:

Taking into consideration our past hurt / disappointment regarding that person, what can we do to informally promote forgiveness / reconciliation relative to a low-pressure re-approach to connecting (on some level)?

In other words, we don't forget EXACTLY what went down before, yet never lose hope towards pastiche-ing some semblance of a respectful, reset future together.

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We've lived in our small home for almost 23 years.  Within a handful of years after our move-in (we were first-time homebuyers), our 'hood's developer formally decoupled himself (after 3/4 of the 81 homesites had been built upon / occupied) as oligarch over our homeowners' association.  He did this by appointing three (newfound) homeowners as the initial HOA board of directors, one of which was Rob.

As an architect, it made sense for me to fill the role of President, but what I came to realize was how unequipped I was to manage the dynamics between myself and my fellow (voluntary) board members.  For I came into the role as Prez anxious about dealing with homeowners.  That turned out to be the least of my issues.  Instead, it was my Secretary-Treasurer's demanding persona that I ended up losing the most sleep over.

In summary...

My VP was as laid back as a cucumber.  Nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers.  Content was his middle name.  He rarely complained, and only spoke up when issues discussed were of primary interest to him (which wasn't very often).

My Secretary-Treasurer, on the other hand, was combative from the start, and even more opinionated / arrogant than I was!  What gave him an edge (& he knew it) was his intelligence combined with him being ten years my senior (maturation / experience).  

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I have to admit that when it comes to intelligence coupled with curiosity, I'm a sucker for admiration.  That described my Secretary - Treasurer to a tee.  Plus, back then, he was really physically healthy.  Now, keep in mind that I'm describing someone from twenty years ago.  In essence, for a 40-year-old Mississippi man, he had it going on.  I specifically remember complimenting him regarding his physique and him mentioning creatine as his secret weapon.  

I had no idea what creatine was.

I do recall him saying that he and "a friend" regularly strength trained in his friend's garage.  No doubt this was a fastidious regimen.

All in all, he didn't look anything like your typical 40-year-old Mississippi man in 2002, making him that much more intriguing / captivating / intimidating to me.  I felt fortunate, from the outset, to have the opportunity to work with such a unique dude.

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I believe it was during our third year of serving together on the HOA board that I inadvertently caught him (Secretary - Treasurer) embezzling monies from the homeowners' association checking account.  In essence, he was using the debit card attached to the checking account to put gas in his cars.  

At this point within our relationship, things were very tense, and communication, in particular, was practically nonexistent between he and my VP and me.  

His financial situation didn't warrant this crime (which I chose not to report to law enforcement), yet he showed zero remorse whilst confronted.  In fact, in lieu of offering any sort of an apology regarding his actions, he instead regaled me with nonsensical accusation after accusation, all of which ran the gamut from me myself, my wife (who been assisting with filing the HOA tax return), and anything else he could think of that had any inkling of connection to Rob.

Finally, after ten or so minutes of listening to him berate me, he finally relinquished the checkbook / checkcard as my VP and I stood frenchfryed within his breakfast room.  (That truly was a Sunday afternoon I'll never forget!)

I ended up serving as Prez of the HOA board for another 4-5 years sans this man (or really anyone else) serving alongside.  It was a tough road.  Volunteer work like that (if it's done well) takes a toll on one's emotional health.  I learned firsthand that it truly is a thankless job and that you're absolutely not better off managing it alone.

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Now, fast forward to today.

My former Secretary - Treasurer is now 60ish and I'm 51.  I've not served formally on our 'hood's HOA board since 2010, though I do sort of hold a President Emeritus consulting role.  

Unsurprisingly, my former Secretary - Treasurer no longer sports the creatine-enhanced muscular bod, though I must admit, he also doesn't look like the typical early-60s (grossly overweight) Mississippian.  And (strangely to me), he now owns a dog.  As far as I know, he's still married, and his (now adult) only child is likely still living at home (she's mentally handicapped).

How do I know this?

Over the past six months or so, starting out very sporadically, but now once or twice daily, this former volunteer colleague has been walking said dog religiously throughout our tight knit 'hood.  

It's important to keep in mind that I haven't seen this man face-to-face (despite the fact that he & his fam continued to live one street over) in over 17 years.  

As such, our cul-de-sac is one of nine stubby appendages that he ventures down.  And regarding our abode, we've considerably more frontage than most everyone else therein, therefore his opportunity to steal a passing glance is - due to sight lines - unimpeded.  

During the first few times we encountered each other (as he briskly strolled by), I didn't even recognize him.

But then he politely said my name during one of his walk-bys.  

"Hello, Rob."

?!?!?

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In summary, I'm trying to stay focused on the good that came from knowing / volunteering alongside this man - versus the hurt - whilst remembering that I too am not the same man I once was.  

At the same time, I'm leery.  For I never imagined he would have the gumption to show his face again, all these years later, much less make a regular routine of walking by my house.

It's as if he simply cannot get enough of me.  But why?  I'm the one he heaped all that blame on before.  Couldn't he simply choose to not traverse down our cul-de-sac?

This is truly the weirdest blasts from the past I've ever encountered.  

Here's to our respectful future...what might it hold?  I'm very thankful to have this opportunity to reset at this very different stage of life.

What is God calling me to do now relative to this past relationship, particularly from the standpoint of who I was back then versus who I am today?  I've been shaped (re?) by so many circumstances / relational forces (Samson Society, etc.) throughout our time apart.  My outlook therein is dramatically different as a result.

Perhaps his too has experienced similar upgrading.  Will I ever be privy to knowing or will he simply be a regularly scheduled program (he and his pooch) as he traverses his daily route through our 'hood?

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #9

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #8

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #7

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #6

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

"I Found Jesus In Prison..." Ethan #5

"For it is true, we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so, it's those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love them completely without completely understanding."

 

Norman Maclean ~ A River Runs Through It

 

 

Is There Any More Hellacious Location To Consume Porn / Masturbate Than A Port-O-Potty In The Desert Sands Of The Middle East?

I can't think of any.

Every day at 5 PM CST, like clockwork, I hear from a young Samson guy who's been in deep seated bondage to lust for most of his life.  He and I have been chatting (telephone calls) for +/-1 year now.  And interestingly enough, we've only spent a handful of hours together face-to-face throughout that same period of time.  

We came to know each other via "Make Thursdays Great Again" which is the Price Is Right of virtual Samson Society meetings.  As such, like the TV show, not only is it high energy but it's easy to sit back and simply spectate (with a big grin on your face) amongst the throngs.

I moved away from that virtual group and haven't looked back, but my hope is he'll soon be reengaging therein (schedule permitting).  It's a perfectly comfortable landing spot for him for such a time as this.

-------------------------

When he and I chat daily, we understandably never talk for too long.  His schedule is tight.  Plus, when you're as faithful as he is relative to communication (and twelve months has passed), an efficient routine / pattern develops.  

In this young man's past is active military duty.  Specifically, years spent deployed to the Middle East where he risked life and limb for not only our country but for those where he was stationed.  Since I've no experience as a soldier, I'm always fascinated to learn of his own (when he's comfortable divulging).  

A question arose yesterday, (7/26) regarding where exactly he chronically consumed porn whilst deployed in the Middle East, and he blithely stated, "in the port-o-potties".  

This admission gripped me as I tried to imagine doing this day after day there within that already bleak environment.

He went on to say that every soldier knew that the port-o-potties existed for such uses.  

!?!?!?

My head spun around five or six times when he divulged this to me, and in many ways, it's still spinning.

I cannot think of a more pathetic, hellacious location to consume porn / masturbate than a port-o-potty located within the god forsaken desert sands of the Middle East.  Yet, this was his everyday routine.  Particularly as it related to managing the emotional stress of being barely an adult combined with all the responsibilities of soldiering there within that complicated conflict.  

My young Samson friend lost his best friend within that environment too.  He rarely speaks of it, yet I know it haunts him and will likely do so throughout the remainder of his life.

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I mentioned in my previous post that bathroom stalls were my go-to in high school / college relative to masturbation.  I cannot over emphasize the amount of shame this routine imbued me with.  For is there anywhere on planet Earth more CLINICAL and more IMPERSONAL than a commercial bathroom stall?

There is.  It's a freestanding port-o-potty.

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As young men, my Samson brother and I chose to strip any semblance of dignity from our souls by taking part in this public restroom routine.  I clearly see / am reminded of that now.

What self-destructive, hyper-pathetic traps we so easily fall into within our youth, particularly as it related to our sexuality / libido / managing emotional pain.  Patterns that laid the groundwork for potentially so much more emotional anguish / regret to come (as we aged forward).

It is no wonder how easily deceived (internally / privately) we young men can become regarding the very expression of our sexual selves as males.  All due to the fact that this hugely important part of our lives - as young men / teenagers - may very well become relegated to settings designed for nothing more than filthiness and refuse.  

Desperation breeds ingenuity, yet ingenuity / creativity can at times be its own long-term undoing (just because you can doesn't mean you should).

Please pray for me as I continue to walk with this dear Samson brother, learning about myself (as much as he himself) along the way.  Eyes peeled.