A Little Fear of Thunder & Lightning, Part. 3

When I was in preschool, I didn't like being touched. At all. Unless it was my mom. Not dad. Not auntie. Not grandma. Not other grandma. Not a 19 year-old super senior in high school. Maybe my brother because he was strong and helped me climb things.

Ironic, as I was reading in my second grade journal everyone was fond of touching me. Hug. Grab. Kiss. Pull. Toss. Smack. It wasn't that I felt afraid at first, I (relatively) knew everyone and felt comfortable around them. Just not that comfortable. So at an early age, I didn't understand the power of the word no because folks didn't oblige. They reverse uno'd that word and said "no" to me saying no. Then a little fear came, like I was helpless. Like a fish out of water or Nick Cannon saying words out loud.

Why wouldn't anyone listen to a preschooler? 

Why would anyone listen to a preschooler?

As I got older I would be dumbfounded by rejecting a plethora of affection by tweens but was still coerced into dating Brendas by whoever I would let coerce me at the time. I guess no in middle school was like Cambodian Riel, pretty much useless. My inability to grow a backbone and lack of identity didn't help, as I slouched my shoulders, stoic arm swings, and feigned smiles. Maybe if I angle my body, plant my feet, and defiantly put my hands on my hips? Like a Nubian Superman,

"uh, na"

As many folks, friends, family, and foes know my brother was significantly bigger than me throughout my life. Even now I rather try to wrestle and hogtie a feral hog than grapple the Sasquatch. But my brother was my #1 protector, friend, partner, arch-nemesis, ladder, ogre, etc. So when he wasn't physically there, I didn't manage well. I couldn't escape his shadow, he's like 6'7. Even though he routinely was there during my childhood I was afraid. My title throughout elementary, middle, and high school was "Lil' Wayne" due to me being little. And the brother of Wayne. When he was not there or wouldn't let me sleep on his floor, I couldn't deal with a light-bulb going out, much less a little bit of lightning.

For a certain amount of years from retaining my memories in preschool at the age of 4 to my bodyguard/Tostitos-eater leaving for the institute when I was 14, there was a huge lack of "manliness" in my stature as represented a few paragraphs back. Reading those words in my journal when I wrote this kind of sucked, sucked something fierce. How was I going to manage becoming a superhero if I couldn't even stand up to flute players trying to pull my hair? Even if I have a different interpretation of what "manliness" is to me nowadays,

Of course the whole parades of bats and Jo(h)n didn't help me to find any type of courage. Maybe if thundering and lightning didn't casually threaten to take me away to Morgan Freeman's dads house dozens of times a year, I would be the CEO of Tostitos by now. Maybe I would stop romanticizing the villainy. Maybe I could listen to the sound and see the lights of fireworks without pulling the covers over my head,

Weak In The Knees

I was running this one time.

I had my two boys Astro & Snoopy, running on one of those warm yet icy mornings in Denver. Astro always pushing. Snoopy always having to be pulled. We had started on our route back, towards Holly Street. By that time, I had finished mapping out the entirety of Denver's city. So best believe I knew where I was going, at all times. Except for one time. We had come to a stop. Well I had stopped. Snoopy had stopped. Astro had stopped. But then Astro went. Then Snoopy went. And unbeknownst to me, I guess I was going too. 

I had been dragged along the pavement for 0.05 miles of our run, actually increasing our pace by 7 or 8 seconds probably. They had only stopped because they were getting choked by trying to drag a 200 pounds worth of Jon. Luckily I only lost a decent amount of skin on my elbow and  my face only got a few pebbles. I had looked up at them after my first dog sledding venture, and they impatiently sat down on their rumps, growling at me to stand upright.. Waiting for me to regain my composure.

Astro & Snoopy were two overgrown weimaraners that outweighed me by a few pounds. They were strong, intelligent, loving, and clumsy dogs. Astro was slightly bigger and actually pushed me to do 5:30 pace with him when alone. Snoopy just wanted to go for a walk and talk about what garbage he ate. Two of the worst running duos out of the 40 dogs I ran but they despised being separated. And who was I to separate two 100 pound dogs from one another?

It took me over 3 months to train Astro & Snoopy to turn at the right time. If we didn't turn at the right time, Astro goes at at right angle and Snoopy would go straight and I'm on the ground. Every morning I saw them, they clawed at the door ( I could literally hear them from inside my door trying to break down the walls to tackle me) and normally destroyed something in the house do to them being aloof.

But the two years I was their lackey I completed over 60 sessions, 250 miles, and unsolicited wrestle time of over a hour. I saw them twice a weak. They got excited every time my car even pulled up. They showered with kisses like I wasn't ever coming back. Until I didn't and for the first time in two years, on my last run, they tried to bite me when I tried to hug them. They knew. They knew that they were my best friends.