//i’m no superman//
Contrary to popular belief, I’ve had my fair share of flings in the art of adolescent seduction. Nothing to write a novel about or anything; just your run of the mill affair with the predictable overly-dramatic heartbreaking finale that ought to leave one reluctant to revisit such an experience again, but inevitably makes you insatiably desire more developmentally preparatory pseudo-romantic relations. You know I’m right.
My first girlfriend’s name was Leslie Thompson. We were in Pre-K and used to hold hands on the playground. Once we shared an ice cream cone at a Halloween Carnival. I have a picture to prove it. We were pretty serious. Her dad owned a Radio Shack, and I have no idea where she is today.
I don’t know why I just said all that.
I imagine we’ve all had our fair share of childhood romps with love, but I like to think that I’m slightly more experienced than most. A sort of compensation on the other end of the spectrum to make up for the fact that at present I’m the most pathetic person in the world.
Back to what I was saying... I was one suave toddler. On more than one occasion females swooned over my chubby cheeks and thick brown hair. Just ask my mom. I could control a room with giggles and antics for hours on end. It really wasn’t fair to all the other children I imagine, but its a dog eat dog world. I was an adorable force to be reckoned with (still am if you ask me). But I guess all the cuddliness and charisma went to my top-heavy head, because in those days, cupid’s arrow aimed a little higher than my neighborhood peers or classmates. More often than not, I directed my affections toward any particular evening’s caregiver.
When I was little, my parent’s affinity for the two-step regularly gave my brother and I the opportunity to spend an evening with whichever one of my mom’s friend’s daughters needed some extra cash and had nothing else to do on a Saturday night. On one particular evening my mom ordered us a pizza, and we all had dinner together before my parents went out. The babysitter arrived at the house around 7:30, and I was already zipping around in my superman pajamas. I must admit, there was something empowering about that red cape. When it was Velcro-ed to my shoulders no female was safe. I was certain that by the end of the evening babysitter chick and I would be cuddled up watching The Fox and the Hound. I was money.
Unfortunately for me and for her, I’ve never been really good with any combination of excitement, nerves and edibles (just ask that carnival worker at the Angelina County Fall Festival `96), and this time would be no different. At one point in the evening it seemed that no amount of charm or cuteness was going to attract the attention of this particular babysitter because she kept talking on the phone and didn’t seem to notice me diving/”flying” back and forth from couch to couch. I was freaking superman, and she had the audacity not to be impressed.
Women...
Well, before I knew it or was able to prevent it from happening, my stomach gave me notice that the pizza I had consumed earlier in the evening was about to have an encore. So, I did what any child would do in this situation. I immediately cupped both hands over my mouth and frantically ran all over the house mutedly screaming, “Mhhmmm, Mhhmmmm!” Finally, when the romantically irresponsive ho-bag noticed me, she came running over to find out what was wrong.
And then I threw up on her.
It seems like this story has played itself over and over in my life in one metaphorical way or another: Boy meets girl, boy vomits on girl.
I screw things up a lot. I make a fool of myself trying to impress people or keep their, and most of the time I think I just plain make things worse. And I guess this could apply to following Jesus, because I screw that up a lot too. Like Peter I have the stones to ask Jesus to command me to come out on the water, but once I get out their I almost get myself killed. But I still I think Jesus beckons me (even foolish me) to come, serve and experience. Despite my tendency to screw things up or make things bass ackwards, Jesus is more than willing to work alongside this feeble humanity of mine.
I'm grateful for this.
Because it just so happens that this God that I serve has a thing for sinners, and I sure do like his taste.
(mandatory spiritual tie-in over)
jared.
My first girlfriend’s name was Leslie Thompson. We were in Pre-K and used to hold hands on the playground. Once we shared an ice cream cone at a Halloween Carnival. I have a picture to prove it. We were pretty serious. Her dad owned a Radio Shack, and I have no idea where she is today.
I don’t know why I just said all that.
I imagine we’ve all had our fair share of childhood romps with love, but I like to think that I’m slightly more experienced than most. A sort of compensation on the other end of the spectrum to make up for the fact that at present I’m the most pathetic person in the world.
Back to what I was saying... I was one suave toddler. On more than one occasion females swooned over my chubby cheeks and thick brown hair. Just ask my mom. I could control a room with giggles and antics for hours on end. It really wasn’t fair to all the other children I imagine, but its a dog eat dog world. I was an adorable force to be reckoned with (still am if you ask me). But I guess all the cuddliness and charisma went to my top-heavy head, because in those days, cupid’s arrow aimed a little higher than my neighborhood peers or classmates. More often than not, I directed my affections toward any particular evening’s caregiver.
When I was little, my parent’s affinity for the two-step regularly gave my brother and I the opportunity to spend an evening with whichever one of my mom’s friend’s daughters needed some extra cash and had nothing else to do on a Saturday night. On one particular evening my mom ordered us a pizza, and we all had dinner together before my parents went out. The babysitter arrived at the house around 7:30, and I was already zipping around in my superman pajamas. I must admit, there was something empowering about that red cape. When it was Velcro-ed to my shoulders no female was safe. I was certain that by the end of the evening babysitter chick and I would be cuddled up watching The Fox and the Hound. I was money.
Unfortunately for me and for her, I’ve never been really good with any combination of excitement, nerves and edibles (just ask that carnival worker at the Angelina County Fall Festival `96), and this time would be no different. At one point in the evening it seemed that no amount of charm or cuteness was going to attract the attention of this particular babysitter because she kept talking on the phone and didn’t seem to notice me diving/”flying” back and forth from couch to couch. I was freaking superman, and she had the audacity not to be impressed.
Women...
Well, before I knew it or was able to prevent it from happening, my stomach gave me notice that the pizza I had consumed earlier in the evening was about to have an encore. So, I did what any child would do in this situation. I immediately cupped both hands over my mouth and frantically ran all over the house mutedly screaming, “Mhhmmm, Mhhmmmm!” Finally, when the romantically irresponsive ho-bag noticed me, she came running over to find out what was wrong.
And then I threw up on her.
It seems like this story has played itself over and over in my life in one metaphorical way or another: Boy meets girl, boy vomits on girl.
I screw things up a lot. I make a fool of myself trying to impress people or keep their, and most of the time I think I just plain make things worse. And I guess this could apply to following Jesus, because I screw that up a lot too. Like Peter I have the stones to ask Jesus to command me to come out on the water, but once I get out their I almost get myself killed. But I still I think Jesus beckons me (even foolish me) to come, serve and experience. Despite my tendency to screw things up or make things bass ackwards, Jesus is more than willing to work alongside this feeble humanity of mine.
I'm grateful for this.
Because it just so happens that this God that I serve has a thing for sinners, and I sure do like his taste.
(mandatory spiritual tie-in over)
jared.
Labels: ho-bags, jesus, short stories
I like these stories. The terribly self-deprecating stories from childhood. You remember and recount them well. You've made me try to reach deep and dust some of my own off. However, I'm not so good at remembering them, and thus, recounting them is right out. And for the record, you're not the most pathetic person in the world. I am for being the lone commenter on the man's blog who proclaims himself to be the most pathetic. Cheers.
By the way, get the new Iron and Wine album. And the new Jose Gonzalez album. And the new Feist album.
Posted by
Anonymous |
10:35 PM
i love you j!
Posted by
christie |
10:54 PM