dear dude...

Dear dude in the movie theater bathroom last Friday night,

As a fellow dude and bathroom patron I am inclined to believe that you are aware that men worldwide have been blessed beyond measure with certain gifts. These gifts include, but are not limited to things such as a.) not having to give birth, b.) not having a menstrual cycle, and c.) having the ability to pee in an upright position. That being said, I am further inclined to remind you that such gifts should not be taken for granted. So, the next time you need to relieve yourself, make the effort to do as the rest of us and PISS IN THE DAMN TOILET--NOT ON THE FLOOR. After all, there just might be a gentleman in the stall next to you who is wearing his NEW FLIP-FLOPS and who doesn't appreciate having to wipe down his PISS-SPLATTERED SHINS.

There's no excuse for your blatant ineptitude, and had the setting been more appropriate the pissed-off (and on) gentleman in the stall next to you would have kicked your ass. Keep that in mind the next time you get the urge to go. Thanks, and have a great day.

Sincerely,

Dude in the stall next to you

as a matter of fact, I do still live here...

I’m approaching one of those weird milestones in life.

I just received an invitation to my 10 year class reunion. It’s not a surprise or anything; I’ve even had a hand in helping plan it. It’s just that I’ve been forced to spend time thinking about what I’ve contributed to the world this past decade and how my life compares to those of my peers. A classmate dropped by the other day and the conversation eventually veered toward how we felt about the reunion. “I really don’t feel like seeing the Atlanta people,” she said, “I can’t stand having to explain why I’m still living in Swainsboro.” I can relate and wonder as a result of our conversation if our urbanite peers think less of those of us still living back home.

I admit that I’ve lived a fairly one-sided rural existence. On occasion I develop pangs of inferiority because I can’t help feeling that having never resided in a big city equates to having missed out on something. I have to remind myself that I chose to come back home. I chose to work here. I chose to raise a family here. I refuse to believe that giving back to a community that’s given so much to me is a poor decision.

I actually had an opportunity to work in Atlanta out of college. The wife and I could have just as easily set up shop somewhere in the suburbs, but we didn’t. Maybe I was too scared. Maybe I felt like we couldn’t make it in the big city, and that coming home after a year or two would have meant admitting defeat. I admit, living in Adrian requires little street smarts and even less gangsta’ prowess. The only thing I know about hangin’ tough came from New Kids On The Block back in the day (and I doubt they had much street cred back in ‘88). After all, “getting on the floor and doing the new kids dance” would do me little good in a knife fight.

This is the point where I evaluate my rural existence and really consider what I’m missing by not setting up residence in the ATL:

• Driving aimlessly downtown confused to the point of delirium because some rambling wreck from Georgia Tech has mapped out the city’s streets with the logic and ingenuity of a one eyed four year old.
• Toothless meth addicts wandering the streets in broad daylight. At least the meth-heads here are nocturnal and pretty much confine themselves to the trailer park.
• The Dirty South I can live with, the dirty air I cannot.
• The 20 mile commute that takes two hours. C’mon people, really? There’s not a job in the world that is so important that it should require a 6 HOUR daily commute. That is of the devil.
• The paranoia from living in a city that frequently makes the “Worlds Most Dangerous Places” list. No thank you.
• One word: Freaknic.

I know it’s not all bad. There are advantages to living in the city, but I prefer a more rural setting. There’s not a lot to do, but there’s plenty of good ol’ “small-towniness” to keep it all interesting. And what’s funny about the whole idea is that it doesn’t really matter WHAT the damn city people think. I didn’t care 10 years ago; I certainly don’t care now. I’m happy, and for that reason alone there’s no need to justify my decidedly rural existence to anyone.

The reunion should be LOADS of fun (sarcasm intended). I can’t imagine that any of us have really changed since we graduated, so I really don’t see the point. That being said, if any uppity Atlanta transient takes even a second to look down his nose at the rest of us, we’ll redneck up (just like the good ol’ days) and hog-tie him on the dance floor (granted, I don’t know how to hog-tie, but I have friends that do). Of course, seeing as the reunion is set to take place IN A BARN, I doubt there’ll be much trouble. After all, how uppity can you really get IN A BARN? Did I mention the reunion is going to be IN A BARN? Welcome home, y’all--Class of ’98 in da’ house (or BARN, or whatever)…

first father's day...

I had the privilege this weekend of celebrating my first Father's Day. Though Sunday was spent like any other, there was something special about being recognized for joining the ranks of some of the greatest men I know. This Father's Day was different than those in years past and it has less to do with the fact that I'm now a father myself and more to do with the fact that, as a result, I've gained a new sense of what it means to be a father.

I was fortunate to have grown up with a father at home and two grandfathers close at hand. Granddaddy died two years ago, but Papa's still piddling in his world of tractors and tomatoes. He's the salt of the earth—homespun wisdom and pure goodness. Grandaddy was a rock. As solid, loyal and loving as any man I’ve know. When the wife and I married, I was welcomed into a remarkable family and I include my father-in-law among these great men. I say this despite the fact that, in his youngest daughter's eyes, I'll never quite measure up to the first man she ever loved, but this is often the case with fathers and their daughters, so I don't mind.

Being the fledgling father I am I couldn't say that I stand on equal footing with my own father and the others I've mentioned, but learning from the best should surely count for something. So, looking back at my first Father’s Day, more than anything else, I’m just happy to be here, happy to have joined the club, and happy to be a part of such a grand experiment...

five years and counting...