ANOTHER YEAR OLDER

 

I remember when this photo was taken. I was two years old. My parents ventured downtown in New Brunswick (New Jersey) and took me to the Thomas Studio. Mr. Thomas wasn't only the most popular photographer in New Brunswick, he might have also been the only one. Almost all of our relatives had portraits taken there.

It was a warm spring day. The outfit I wore was navy blue, the white shirt had a matching navy blue collar and buttons. Mr. Thomas brought out several photographic "props" and let me choose the one that I found most appealing. I chose the book.

So why am I telling this?
Because that photo is my favorite childhood portrait. It reveals the innocence and the blissful naivety that graces the threshold of our fledgling lives - - until our blessed innocence is inevitably and rudely swept away by the raw, grueling, mercilessly cruel journey that is ahead of us.

Birthdays are fun during childhood, but they become a tedious unwanted mockery as we grow older. 

What would I like for my birthday?
I'd like to completely forget it.
I'd like to have my health, my youth, my long-ago innocence. And the optimism that once kept me motivated and alive.

I'd like to expunge the relentlessly harsh and devastatingly brutal years that eventually turned me from a positive youth into a bitter, negative old man.

I'd like to eradicate all of my past mistakes, poor judgment, wasted time, profound regrets, miscalculations, unintentional blunders, thoughtlessness, self-hatred, frivolous pursuits.

I'd like to gather up the precious good times, wrap them up with ribbons and give them to myself - - in my present desperate time of need.

Alone, forgotten, in alarmingly poor health, trapped in a hopelessly squalid situation - - another tauntingly unwanted birthday.

When I die no one will know and absolutely no one will care.

I'll finally be free to let my spirit soar and haunt the nearby forest in abstract eternity.

Eternally, Jon

ON THIS DAY

There's an old adage that says "The only difference between men and boys is the size of their toys".
It might very well be true.

The only problem is that big boy's toys tend to be fraught with complications. There are many times that I yearn for the simple days when I had the Jeep.

 When I was six years old I was diagnosed with leukemia by two doctors. One of them predicted that I would never live to be twelve.
To make a long story short (which has never been one of my assets), I outlived both doctors....by an enormous amount of time. 

To be brutally honest (which is one of my few assets), life would have been much more sweet if my existence had been extinguished before I was twelve. 

Anyone who says that life gets better with age - or that you're only as old as you feel - is.....

sensitive people, please hold your ears

........full of shit.

But another birthday has arrived like a runaway train and I couldn't find a way to derail it. 
As for my age - the less said about it the better. In the past, I used to lie about my age so outrageously that there were times when even I couldn't recall the genuine number.

Finally I gave up lying about my age and simply ignored it. I suppose that's the most painless ploy.

As my life tumbles towards the inevitable reward of oblivion, the years seem to pass more and more quickly - and my astonishment is replaced by frustration....and fury.

One day I'm a sweet, innocent, adorable babe in the woods - -

- - - and the next day I'm a grotesque, disgruntled, decrepit hermit in the woods - trying desperately to hang on to past bouquets, despite the growing influx of weeds.

Don't put too much analysis into this post. It's merely a jumble of fleeting thoughts.

Oh, by the way -
Happy Birthday to Susan, who shares my birthday...
....and to Geo. - who was born sometime in December...