Health Positivity

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Max, Christopher and Nico. Halloween Hayride. October 2021.

December 31, 2021

I have had healthier times in my life. These times have come in phases, much like we enjoy categorizing past decades. There was my invincible youth phase. My “I have good genetics, so I hardly get sick” phase, and now, as I get older, I’m at the “every ache and pain is some sort of end-of-life” phase. This phase is basically making me a hypochondriac. 

The last couple of weeks, however, my health has really beaten me up. I am now in the “what the heck is going on with me” phase. My health concerns have humbled me because I feel and look relatively healthy. But like those noises a house makes while it is settling in the middle of the night, every new creak and bang my body will grab my attention, and I always assume the worst is going on with me. 

Heading into 2022 seems directionless when it comes to being healthy. Everything is in flux as I journey into January due to COVID and natural causes God gave me during creation that seems to be bubbling up with my age. At this point in my life, I realize that health is everything. Sticking to my one job benefited job security and a pension. Good health is bankable. It is better than money. Good health is priceless. Good health, though, doesn’t mean that unknown factors won’t decide to take out your inner workings. No matter what strict diets you have had during the decades of your life. 

I’m sure I’ll make the exact cliche resolution of being healthier this New Year in 2022. I can control my food intake and exercise regimen. My resolution should be to better manage all of my cravings and lack of motivation. 

With COVID-19 running rampant worldwide, any new cold or cough is masked by announcing to everyone, “COVID!” when I sneeze. Of course, it’s in jest, so I am not judged or questioned, and people still chuckle. I still don’t want this virus to be part of my daily health concern in conjunction with other health ailments I wrongfully suspect are affecting me.  

The tricky thing is who knows what is happening if the problem is internal. Recently, I had a kidney stone. The damn thing came out of nowhere. One moment, I am driving home, and then suddenly, I am parked on the side of the road waiting for paramedics to come. You know how scared that makes you because who knows what is happening inside yourself? 

“Doctor, it’s cancer, isn’t it? Isn’t it?!” I demanded to know from the ER doctor. “No,” he said. “Cancer, in this form of pain, doesn’t come out of the blue like this. Calm down.” 

I needed x-rays and CT scans to facilitate what was going on inside my own body over several days during the 2nd week of December. Not having control of my internal workings is nerve-racking. I don’t want my body to give up on me because I won’t give up on my body. 

While I lay in the emergency room at my local hospital on a gurney along the wall, spot 39A, I was told to be prepared; I was going to have surgery to insert a stent into my kidney and bladder. I was alone and scared, and no one could see me because of COVID-19 restrictions. There is nothing more inhuman than hospitals self-imposing restrictions on people who are sick and or dying and left to be alone in their most vulnerable moments. Someday, there will be a reckoning for people who allow people to suffer without their loved ones to support them. 

Nurses and doctors shuffle past me. Phones are ringing. Machines are beeping. Other patients are moaning, and I reflect on the term, in good health. I suddenly take it to heart because health is a gift you can give yourself. There’s no reason for me to be in this spot. It was my poor diet that created a kidney stone so large my body would not pass it. The stone gave me a kidney infection and 3 visits to the emergency room over 5 days due to excruciating pain. The pain was so great that if I was being tortured to give up information, well, I would have given everyone up. 

The end of the year is here, and my health has seen better times. I have a need to get better and stronger in 2022. I can’t control everything, and I know some aches and pains are natural as I age. But with Covid out there, I don’t need any other trips to the ER where I know I will be alone and deserted because my loved ones will not be allowed to see me. I simply need to get my health back to the times when I wasn’t concerned with every muscle spasm I received. A healthier time doesn’t have to be some sort of phase. Health is something to strive for every day. I can tell you that I’m healthier now than I was a few weeks ago, and that ain’t bad heading into a new year. Time to enter the phase of health positivity.  

Blake hanging out while a sandbox was being built. December 2021. 

Have a safe and healthy 2022.  I wish everyone the very best.  We can pull through.  Happy New Year! 

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I died Five Times, a Halloween story

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Pumpkin patch with Christopher and Nico October 23, 2021

October 25, 2021

I died 5 times. I'm sure of it. I mean, come on, deja vu is legit, and I have experienced it, but man, it's been on serious repeat. I'm sitting in my car, reliving this very moment once again. I'm sure of that. It's an out-of-body experience, and I have counted 5 times that I have looked upon myself in a horrific, deadly state. 

The first time I died, I was sitting here in my car. Same spot. Same place. Same faces. Same sounds. My head was down, buried in my phone, reading some articles. The music plays, and I pause and listen to familiar lyrics that cause me to reminisce about a time and place. Then I go back to my phone and fiddle around. In and out of apps. On and off websites. Cruising the same sites as if it were in a familiar bar. A human figure stands to the side of my driver's window. From where I stand, I can't tell who this person is, and I try to walk in front of him or her to see their face, but I can't seem to walk around this figure. 

"Get out of my way!" I shout. "Hey, hey," I wave my arms. Nothing. No reaction. I decide to get my own attention. "Hey!" I yell as loud as I can. "Look up! Get off your phone.

Look to your left, dummy. Look! Look!" 

But I don't. 

I sit there, lost in the content of my phone. If I would just look up! Just see what I see! Look! Look! The shadowy figure raises his hand and points a gun toward me. Oh no, I won't look up. Why won't I look up?! The firearm is focused directly on me. I see the shadowy figure squeeze the trigger. There's a flash! It's so bright. The gun muzzle shines orange like the sun. And then there's blackness. I rise and see myself dead. Silence. And then I'm here again. Same place. Same car. Same time. 

The second time I saw myself die, I was at the same place, at the same time, in the same car. However, this time, I was standing outside my car. Which is weird because it's too damn hot to be outside. I was leaning my torso across the hood of my car. On the other side was a friend of mine. The football game was over, and we discussed the game's events. The shadow figure appears from behind me. Walking fast. His hands were in his pockets. His pace increases. My friend doesn't see him. At least, I don't think he does. But he's looking in that direction. Why isn't he alerting me? I decided that I would intervene. I can't witness myself being killed again. 

"Stop!" I shout. I run toward this shadowy figure. I have to help myself if no one else can. My friend. He isn't doing shit. He's talking sports to me. Shut up! Warn me! I bolt towards the figure. But I can't move. What the hell is going on with me? My feet won't budge. I grab my left knee and lift. But it's as if I'm in hardened cement. 

"Turn around, dummy! Turn!" What's on his hands. The figure has a knife! The street glistens with steel. He raises it over his head, like a pitcher in a windup who is prepared to plunge into me. And I can't stop it! Hover, witness my death, darkness.

On to death number 3. Two times of death, and it was hard to witness. I'm prepared to stop the third one this time. There I am. Same place. Same car. Same music. Same crap. This time, while sitting in my car, there's a laptop open on a computer stand. It's turned on, and I'm scrolling through the pages on the browser while life passes me by. What do I care? My life is going on here on these internet pages. I'm consumed with the information even though it is overwhelming my conscience to the point I am blocking out what's around me. Death is back again. I decide to do nothing to help myself. I mean, am I this dumb? What's the point of supporting myself if I haven't learned? Let it come. Go get me. "Get him," I shout to the shadowy figure. I don't move. The figure doesn't acknowledge me. He or she walks right on past. The computer is casting such a bright light inside the car. The light's glare is washing everything out around me. This time I see a flamethrower. A flamethrower? What the hell is wrong with this dude? And how don't I notice a flamethrower being directed right towards me? I think to myself, "You deserve this, dumbass." 

This has to be torture. I'm at death number 4. Who cares at this point? I mean, do I have immortality. I must because I can't explain what's happening to me. I'm pissed because I'm allowing this to happen to myself. And I have a front-row seat to my own destruction. Like clockwork, here comes the shadowy figure. It doesn't even lurk in the blackness. It comes out like thin air and charges right towards my car. I can't explain it. Maybe it hates the music I'm listening to? Or the technology I'm consumed with? Could it be sports that it hates? Who knows other than death is coming again. And yet again, I don't do a thing. Let it come. Let me go. Let it rear its ugly head again. 

Boring. I died again. Number 5. It's the same story. You read about it 4 other times. Probably 4 times too many. Almost like deja vu. Isn't it? Time to break the cycle. Move on. Get going. You have a chance to live again. So, live it. Life is going on around you. I've died 5 times. Instead of watching myself die, I walked away from my old self and learned to live on my own. I discovered there may be new things out there besides seeing the same old thing.       

                              Blake in the background with brother Max. October 20, 2021

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Mentally Tough

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Christopher (left) and Nico enjoying McDonald's at the mall food court. August 1, 2021

August 7, 2021

*I become filled with emotion When I look at my 4 boys. I thought about this because I know I can't watch over them all the time.

I just want to protect him. Protect him from the harsh world that I know. The bullies, haters, and social media warlords are using their hard words like a firing squad aiming at a poor soul sentenced to death. But where will I be when there are times like that? How can I make my boys mentally tough to ignore such mental abuse?

I understand that I can't always protect him, even though constant protection is what I long to do. Ready to pounce on anyone who makes a decision to harm him. But the reality of life is that at some point, everyone must take a stand for himself. So, I will nurture him. Groom him. Give him the life tools to protect himself. But is that enough?

My strength and blunt interaction with him is the substitute for that nefarious individual out to harm him. But I am not evil. And evil creates madness. There is no way I can account for someone else's narcissistic, sociopathic desire to inflict emotional pain. I'm just not made that way.

As I grew up, I became wiser in my understanding of Mankind to realize people have flaws and they will disappoint you. That people will go out of their way to inflect pain, be it emotional or physical. Some people get off on that. But I will not let him back down because I do not understand the dark side. With commentary and stories about life lessons, he will learn how a person can be hurt.

The best way I can teach him is to guard his emotional state without isolating himself from others. But he must learn that battles aren't only the physical things his eyes witness. Battles are mental ones, too! 

Mental battles with nitwits versus those of use with their wits, who can ignore such mental abuse, is not what I want them to engage with. I want them to be where strong minds thrive by learning to let go and move on and ignore the haters too blinded by their own jealousy to raise the white flag in defeat.

Take a deep breath, son, and move forward. Avoid the emotional land of minds by moving to the left when words are lobbed toward you. Then, step to the right and evade the wrong people in your life. Push forward, and never fall back when blocking the ugly from your life. Learn to stay stable during the tough times. Gain your bearings and understand you have emotions and are susceptible to being hurt. Your emotions are not a weakness. Understanding your hurt is self-care. It is tough mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. And not necessarily in that order.

I wish I could protect you forever. I wish I could stand by you through thick and thin. But I know that isn't possible. Life simply won't afford me enough time to stand with you forever. But by teaching you mental stability, I hope you will be mentally ready to take on the world without me. 

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Maximilian (left) and Blake enjoying fun at family members house. August 5, 2021.

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The Seagulls Cry

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Christopher and Nico getting bigger.  Which means I am getting older. July 10, 2021

 July 15, 2021

Have you ever heard the seagulls cry? There is nothing like hearing them while you are sitting on the beach. This is a happy place for many people who live along the coastline. I am fortunate to live close to the beach. This closeness to the Atlantic Ocean brings me free serenity. The salty air is like an intoxicant to my senses. The feeling that allows me to be free at the moment and gives me the will to cast my worries to the side. 

The beach is a place where many coastal people contemplate their life choices. It is the perfect setting to measure one's problems with the backdrop of the gigantic ocean, which, in reality, is the perfect metaphor for how minor some issues really are when you place this world in perspective. Although it will not solve my stress, it will provide me some space in my mind to give me clarity.  

The seagull's cry is about as wild as an animal that you will find here on my local beach. Their mewing, or cry, is distinct. There is no mistaking it. It is the baseline for my thoughts while contemplating life's questions as to why things happen to me or how I can make my life better. My wants, no, my need for the ocean to pull my stress away for one more day, mercifully given to me by the surreal feeling I get by viewing the magnificent ocean before me. 

The ocean breeze seared water at the tips of the incoming wave. The waves catapult its mist towards me, which brushes my face and cools me down. The spray invigorates my soul and baptizes me. The sounds of the seagulls remind me that I can be free. The hovering in the breeze temporarily distracts me with the wonderment of flight. 

I push my toes into the sand. Firmly planting myself in my spot. I crack open a beer and take a sip. The sun's rays dance off my skin because it cannot penetrate my sunblock. The laughter of the kids playing reminds me of my own youth. And the mewing goes on and on as I stare off into the abyss. I reorganized my thoughts, remembering my friends, thinking about lost loves, missing dead loved ones, and contemplating my next move. 

The ocean never stops churning as the sun sets and the sand cools. Not even for a moment. The tides come in, and the tide rolls out, just as people come and go in your life. The ocean will keep going long after I am gone. And the seagull's cry will permanently set the tone.

 The beach is perfect when you have access to it. You can put your whole life into perspective when you go. That is the main thing that is so wonderful about it. My questions will be answered. My thoughts were resolved, and burdens were lifted. My happiness stays. The ocean recharged me. My stress is a little less. My overheated skin slightly cooled from the ocean spray. And the seagull's cries reminded me that I have found my place of solitude and reflection.

Max and Blake splashing around July 4, 2021.

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Little Faces

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Mr. Imperfecto, Christopher and Nico headed to baby brother Max's birthday. May 22, 2021

 June 30, 2021

 

Facebook memories, shoot, man, you made me cry today. The picture in my memory because "you care about me": My 2 older sons sitting at a restaurant table. They look like angels. Their hair is done, their clothes clean, and they haven't aged to 10 yet.

Their bright smiles filled my emotions, brought tears that welled up my bottom eyelids and sent them streaming down my face. The moment I saw those little faces again made me reminisce about that time between the ages of 5 and 10. Oh, I miss that age range.

But they have moved on from those innocent days of learning and testing the boundaries of how far they could push me. Their former self encapsulated in time with that one picture will forever be emblazoned in my Facebook memories.

Their smart-ass grins reminded me of their once-and-while snide little comments. They would wait for my side-eye look. Wait for my face to turn red and turn their way. But before, I would lose it. They had an answer to bring me down a notch and force a smile on my face.

I'm right; they sometimes push my buttons. They are everything I have envisioned they would be as I raise them into men. They have respect, expect to be given consideration in return, and have confidence in their abilities and self. Our sons are kind and loyal and listen with understanding. Their strength is as muscular as their courage, and their love as bright as their smiles.

Man, I'm lucky. To live a life with them has made me a better man. I'm grateful for the opportunities the good lord has given me to spend time with them as the days fly and the years grow shorter. Their little faces, which were so small once, fit in the palms of my hands. The memories of that moment still resound in this time, so many years later. I am selfish. I want them to stay as they are in the photograph for a long time.

Eventually, they will be men, though, and I can do nothing about that. They'll be moving on, and rightfully so. They need a life of their own. I will always cherish the moments we spent together and relish in the memories that I was once their everything. But I will always look forward and marvel at the people they have become. And I'm sure when I'm sad and miss those little faces, Facebook will be around to remind me of them again.

*My family and I were heartbroken over the Surfside Champlain Tower collapse and the unimaginable loss of life. I can't begin to imagine those families' helplessness as hope and despair tugged away at them. May God bless them and their families. May they Rest In Peace and bask in the glory of God. May the families find their strength, hope, and love.

- With all our hearts, The Fusaro Family

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Max, Blake and Mommy.  The boys dealing with double ear infections.  All they want is mommy. June 20, 2021

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Connections

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Nico, Christopher, Blake and Dad at the Ft. Lauderdale Air Show. Mothers Day May 9, 2021

 

June 3, 2021

Connections 

  We don't value older living people like we should, especially people who have a connection to our past. I sometimes marvel at that observation. At first, I related connections to our past movie stars. It's like 6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon. They link our history since movies significantly impact most of our lives. 

Let's say you think of Gene Hackman, who is alive at 91 years old. He is connected to Christopher Reeves, deceased through the Superman series, or his connection with Gene Wilder since Gene was in the movie Bonnie and Clyde with him. You can think of all the connections he has had to cinema legends.

These are just examples of some celebrities because he has a brilliant resume working with great actors who are long gone. If you think deeply about his significance while he's alive, Gene Hackman has been in the presence of greatness. He has spoken to them about life, love, and movies during his lifetime. He has also interacted with them on celebrity specials. Gene Hackman is their living memory of an existence of a time that is gone until the day he's gone. We have movies. But hopefully, someone has recorded his personal stories. We can get him on a podcast. Our connection to movie and television stars dwindles daily. Quick, someone connects with Betty White!

When I think of family, I think of my father, John. He's alive, but his brother Al passed away over 20 years ago. His older sister passed a few years ago. But if my cousins want to know who their dad was or have feelings about what their father was like, they can go see my dad. He's their connection. Or if my cousin wants some sense of her mother, she can connect with my dad.

My children, Nico and Christopher, are their mother's legacy. She's been gone 9 years now. If her family wants to remember their sister and daughter, and her friends want to remember her, they can find her in her children's eyes. Sadly, they do not search.

In the 90's, I lost close friends. Four of them died tragically. They were so young. Their youth exuded from their pores, which made them feel invincible. And why shouldn't they have felt invincible? Youth is king. But in the end, it felt like wasted youth because death does not care where you are in your life when it comes. My friends and I know them and can talk about them and remember who they were with anyone with anyone interested. We are connected to their existence from a time that lasts longer than 20 years. One day I should write about them. They'd enjoy this future. It was the beginning of AOL's budding and the internet's birth. 

Life is moving more quickly, and we will lose people. Like a wagon trail heading west, they just kept pushing through their fatigue and death amongst their numbers. We can't circle the wagons for long when we are faced with the unimaginable pain of the death of a loved one. We must remain strong because that Wagon Train is moving on. 

Losing someone is tough to deal with at any time of our life because we know we have no choice but to move forward without his or her essence. That doesn't mean we should lose contact with people who can connect us with their souls, describe how they once were, or share stories to breathe new life into their past. You wouldn't disregard a psychic if you knew he or she could connect you to them in the afterlife, would you? So, we should respect people who directly connect to the ones we lost.

Cousins, uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters, nephews, nieces, famous people, war buddies, influential people, and good friends. These connections should be recorded, archived, and cherished before the connection breaks off forever.

 

Blake and Max at the fair. watching the Gondolas.  Which the other boys love to call it the Fun Fair.  May 23, 2021.

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Redlining My Thoughts into the Green Zone

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The boys the day before Easter April 4, 2021. 

 

April 30, 2021

Don't you ever wish you could retract negative words from your mouth? Mainly when those words served no purpose but to hurt the person you hurled them towards. Then, after those words have been said, do you wish the person would forget you had uttered them? Yeah, that guy full of regret would be me.

   While driving home in my car down this stretch of roadway, my mind wanders through the things that I have said to people in the past that I now wish I hadn't. These thoughts are redlining my brain on my way home. I hope they will subside. This blog will help future thoughts. But probably not.

   Those hurtful words I talk about came out from my forked tongue that had an agenda to hurt the feelings of another person. I understand we are humans, and we say things that we don't mean or wish we could take back. But those facts do not hold back my thoughts. The needle is redlined. 

   Like most normal people, I wish I could drive home and get lost in music. I gotta pass this last light, around this traffic, over those bridges, and arrive at my house. Only then can I forget about the current mind trip. Ah well, might as well continue the torture by thinking about the structured sentences of words that I chucked like spears without impunity at someone. I deserve it.

  My first thought was when I was a dumb kid and found this watch. My grandmother took it from me. Held on to it. And refused to give it back. I said I'd return it out of anger when you're gone. Such an ugly sentence to put in my blog, but I said it; gotta own it. I loved my dad's mother. My grandmother. I told her that many times. She was a complex woman, but that doesn't mean that the thought of that sentence as I sit in my car doesn't make me cringe. Ironically, my son Blake was born on the same day she was born. My thoughts of her will always be of good nature, considering we will celebrate his special day as long as I'm alive.

  Now, back to the scene in my car. Even when the traffic light turns green, I turn west and gas it at 70 MPH down this long stretch of roadway. My mind will be determined to torture me even further.

  The thought led me to my middle school gym class. My good friend was playing basketball on a different court from mine. Their ball rolled onto the court I was playing on, and the guys in my group played "keep away" from him. When the ball was thrown at me, Mikal looked at me, extended his arms, and said, "Please, Chris, give me the ball." I did not; I said, "Bobby, catch!" My actions spoke louder than any words. I tossed that damn basketball toward the other guy. That moment stuck with me for a while. I can even picture his face as he asked. Years later, I saw him at the gym. I actually apologized to him. He was taken aback. Even though I made it right, I wish I was a better person at that moment. Used words like "absolutely," "take the ball," or, at the very least, "here."

   Traffic is heavier on this road than I thought. I wish the traffic flow would usher me past these 3 traffic lights that impeded my travel home. But no, I didn't make this first light. This domino effect will cause me to hit the last 2.

  Lastly, I've had words at work with other employees. I'm sure I said things that reflected poorly on their careers. Only film and television critics get to enjoy that freedom. I'm not a film critic, but their words are no less harmful than mine, criticizing other people's work. As the better person, which I was told I would be if I did say sorry, I did apologize to them. But again, once those words are out. There's no bringing them back. Some people don't forgive or forget.

   This torture is almost over. I'm at the red light right before the entrance of my neighborhood. One last shot at my thought process on this highway through hell that is my mind.

   Once, in a grocery store, peeling back corn ears. I said, "Thank God I picked my corn before you peeled them all back." When I got home and shucked my corn, some were not developed. My wife asked, "Didn't you peel the husk back to ensure it was good quality?" Yes, I feel dumb to this very day.  

   I guide my car through the gate, over the speed humps, past the beautiful tree-lined street, past my development sign; I turn around the bend and stop at my house. The thoughts simply linger until the sight of my kids on their bikes jolts me out of my trance. I sit here in silence to take in the moment that never gets old; watching my boys play with each other is so carefree. They're in a good mood. Love seeing those boys on their bikes.

   Words hurt, but as long as I grow as a human being and learn my lesson, then these thoughts shouldn't be a life sentence. So be free, Chris. Exercise those thoughts from your mind and focus on the words that come out of your mouth. This way, there will be no regrets. Those words should live forever, and the other words from my past will finally be cast away, "Hi, kids. I'm home. Go get mommy. I missed you all, and I love you guys."

I'm home and off red the redline and the green zone.

  Blake (far) and Max (near) freaking out over abuela. April 17, 2021.

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Bingo!

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Celebrating Nico's 13th birthday on March 6, 2021. 

March 16, 2021

In the 80s and 90s, before the Big Hard Rock Hotel was built on the Seminole Reservation, If you were traveling southbound on State Road 441 in Broward County, Florida, from the intersection of Griffin Road, you’d come across their giant bingo hall. Large signs affixed to the side would announce the 100,000 thousands of dollars for the next bingo jackpot.

I never played at that bingo hall or at that time any bingo. But I grew up watching bingo. My dad allowed me to tag along while he took his mom and her friends to the Seminole Bingo and other pickup games, like the poker tables of today. I like to remember those elderly ladies my father chauffeured around as the Golden Girls of the bingo hall. Those ladies went to play bingo 3 times a week. Their desire to play the game made me curious about what I missed.

Like a thief with a stolen purse, I would rifle through the bingo bags and look at all the different color number markers my grandmother had. She would use penny-sized multicolored transparent discs as number place marks over the called numbers. They reminded me of communion wafers.

For fun, I would peer through them at the world around me to change the technicolor into shades of green and orange.

The liquid markers were excellent. They were in a bottle with a sponge head. I was told they were for speed bingo, and marking was made easier when the bingo ball caller would rapidly announce the numbers in rapid succession during speed bingo. This allowed her to speed down and plunge that sponge on each card, marking her numbers.

Then I learned they won money! Seems so damn cool to win something by marking numbers on a card. I was told jackpots on pickup games could be $50, $100 or $200! Big jackpots to this child. But nothing more than the Seminole jackpots.

But if my grandmother didn’t win money, it was fine by me. I mostly loved it when she won food passes to the Morrison’s Buffet.

Then, the whole family could devour her winnings in a couple sittings.

Once, my dad allowed me to sit in on a game and watch this form of gambling. I was amazed watching the sea of ladies work over their bingo cards at a feverish pace. And the first time I heard someone shout out, “Bingo!” It scared me. Like a dog in a deep sleep reacting to fireworks.

I didn’t see my grandmother and her friends, the Golden Girls, as old when I was a little boy. I didn’t understand my youth, let alone an advanced-age grandparent. To me, my nana was as cool as the inside of a refrigerator.

My favorite golden girl was her friend, Ida, a fiery redhead who loved to go to Bagel Nosh. She also loved to squeeze my cheeks. She used to tell me I “was so gorgeous” that I “should be in pictures.” I remember her so vividly many years later.

Those Golden Girls are gone, but I love reminiscing about their bingo days and my indoctrination to the game they loved. I do not recall ever winning a game of bingo myself. Maybe because, until this very day, I have never played. But I shout out to these women who loved that game so much.

Hey Golden Girls, BINGO!

566 words

                                        

Blake and Max clowning around in the bathroom. March 15, 2021.

  https://twitter.com/FusaCmee

© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

Raise a Bottle, Win a Prize

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Us, at the fair.  January 30, 2021

 

 I was a 12-year-old boy when I got a job at a local fair. This yearly event was small, but they had fun rides and carnival games. As a pre-teen, though, going up there to hang out meant everything to me because, due to it being close to my house, my parents allowed me to go on my own. 

   I liked to linger around the fairgrounds and watch the ride owners assemble the rides. The Ferris wheel would tower above me, its shadow casting black lines that looked like fingers spreading across the terrain. They would spin the wheel to the next level whenever they added a new car to the structure. The sun would pass through, and the bright light would flicker as the metal beams sliced its powerful rays. My parents were happy I had a job to keep me busy for a few days. I loved to get there before the start of the fair and watch them assemble the rides. Nothing was cooler for me than to see those rides come to life while they were being built. Something I can enjoy watching again on YouTube. On the day before the grand opening, I walked through the game section and met the game owner, Gus.   

Gus owned more than a few game booths on the midway.   

"You're looking for work, or do you want to just linger around here and make no money?" He said to me in a deadpan tone. 

"Never thought about earning money," I said. 

"Well, I need someone to work this fishing game for me? Are you 'game?'" 

   The fishing game was a balance game. The player had a ring attached to a fishing pole by a long string. The point was to loop the ring around the neck of a beer bottle. Once around the bottleneck, the player had to slowly lift the bottle to a standing position. If it fell off the platform, you lost. The platform board has a slight cantor to it. The rope was precisely cut. The poles are all the same size. The ring was smooth. It was not an easy game. And even though I did not totally buy into the game. I thought it would be fun to run it. I am a twelve-year-old kid.  

"The job is simple, really," Gus said. "Collect the $5 and allow the person to play until they raise the bottle or it falls off the pedestal."  

"That's it?" I asked. "Seems simple." 

"Oh, it is, but when people aren't playing. I need you to get their attention by shouting, 'Raise a bottle, win a prize!' "   

   Although I wasn't too keen on shouting out the slogan for the fishing game, I agreed to work on it. 

   On most nights, good crowds were shuffling through. The range of fairgoers was families, friends, and loved ones who would flow back and forth in front of my tent.  Everyone and their mother would walk by me but my parents. Maybe it was the beer bottles that parents didn't want their kids to associate with. Maybe my demeanor sucked. But there was downtime, so I might as well make the best of my situation.  

"Raise a bottle, win a prize!" 

  Some people would stop and ask me for clues on how to win. They would ask me for a demonstration when they didn't believe me. I wish I could write here and tell you I crushed it; however, I failed miserably. 

   My poor gameplay was a common reoccurrence when I was asked to show potential players how to play. The good thing was Gus never fired me, and since I sucked so badly at the game, there was no fear of being asked to run away with the fair.   

"Raise a bottle, win a prize!" 

   The fun part of working the active fair was watching everyone walk by me. People do some weird things, and for a 12-year-old being exposed to people watching, people's odd and strange behavior made the night move quickly.  

  During my people-watching breaks, I would become in tune with the sights and sounds a fair brings.  Squeals from the people on the wild rides played the best white noise amongst the bells and whistles of other games. The music would tumble down the midway at different points and overtake the senses. Still, when the crowds thickened, the music was held at bay, unable to penetrate the throngs of people.    

Oh wait, I forgot to say, "Raise a bottle. Win a prize!"  

   I learned a lot on the weekend. I may have sucked at that game, but I learned lessons about the people around me. Their stories, laughter, and weird eccentricities have lasted during my time on Earth.  

Yes, it is fair to say that in the end. I did win. Win in the game of life. 

 "Raise a bottle, win a prize!"

814 words

  https://twitter.com/FusaCmee

                                                     

                          Mr. and Mrs. Captain Impefecto on a night out at a club January 24, 2021. 

© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print.