THIS TOWN'S A DRAG (AGAIN)
Burgundy Pterodactyl
Sixth birthday. My dad took me and my friends to Putt Putt. We played the full 18 holes. And were hyper and wild like animals.
Afterwards my dad gave us money for sodas. And we sat at the orange picnic table, all of us at the same side, drinking glass bottles of Coke. My two best friends on either side of me. My other two friends on the ends. My dad took our picture, and a few weeks later when we went to Best and got them back, I was so excited that we looked exactly as cool as I thought we had.
That was my greatest birthday.
I remember riding in the front seat on the way there. All of my friends in the back. We were laughing, but I didn’t really hear them. I was in, what I call now, a fugue state. But back then I didn't have name for it - my mind would just go somewhere else. I was so worried about what would happen if someone picked blue before I got to. I’d already imagined how the whole day would be. Telling jokes and laughing. Tilting the club up onto my arm, against my shoulder. Holding it like a rifle. Sighting it with my eye and shooting. Only at animals and robots. Never at humans. (We were pacifists). Walking around with it like a cane. Flipped upside down and strutting. Like I have a top hat on. Putting on the Ritz, by Taco. Like I’m on Star Search. And everyone is watching me on the TV. It made me nauseous to think about what I’d do if I had to be green. Or yellow. Or red. I knew there was no way I could do it. I’d be too devastated. And wouldn't be able to pretend I wasn't.
I would laugh when I heard them laugh. But I never really heard what they were saying. Turning into the parking lot I had my hand on the button to the seat belt. As soon as we stopped I undid it, and jumped out of the car. Walking as fast as I could without running, pretending it was just because I was so excited, towards the counter. “Blue please,” I told the man as I stared at the pyramids of different colored golf balls. I got to be it and could finally relax.
But for the first two holes it still sounded like everything was kind of under water. And everything was still kind of blurry. It wasn't until the third hole that everything started to look and sound normal again. Like the real world.
At the end of that summer my one best friend moved to Florida. A billion states away. He had every Star Wars figure. And the Millenium Falcon. Downstairs in his basement we would build elaborate worlds and play sets. We’d watch Ralph Sampson and the Virginia Cavaliers on the television. They never lost any time I was watching. I decided that that was a super power of mine. That I could help them win, because they were my favorite. I spent the next 40 years of my life trying to never miss a game.
My other best friend moved away that year at Christmas. He was in all my classes. We both got chicken pox together. And stayed home for a week at the same time, with our shirts off. And that pink lotion all over our bodies. We built blanket forts and played Atari every day. He had a red and white striped record player that was in a suitcase. We’d listen to the Dukes of Hazzard song over and over on it.
I had lots of other friends after them, but none of them played the same way I did.
With the exception of one other one, I don’t really remember any of my other childhood birthdays. Adult birthdays for the most part were full of anxiety, and fear that I’d be disappointed. Because I often was. I usually dreaded them instead of being excited.
Then five years ago I changed my life, and started doing my own form of meditating and took control of my brain. I started being happy about my birthdays again.
This week though, seven days away from my 50th birthday I feel that nervousness and malaise creeping back in again for the first time in years. Worrying that my expectations will be too high, and that I’ll be let down, instead of just enjoying the fact that I made it till now. And will get to celebrate with so many people that I love, who love me.
Hummingbird season just started in earnest today. I’m trying to soak it up as much as I can, watching them every waking hour of the day while it’s light out, hoping it’ll reset my brain. Hoping I can override my circuits. Hoping I can get back on track in time. I can do it. I'm always strongest in hummingbird season. They were two weeks late arriving this year, and I could feel myself barely holding on.
I could’ve just said “I really wanna be blue today. So please don’t anybody pick it.” But it’d be another 39 years before I understood that I had anxiety. Before I realized there were tricks I could do to take control of it.
There was that one hole that was the water hazard. Water that looked light blue, like the sky, on either side, and a narrow lane that went down the middle. If your ball got stuck in the water you had to lose a stroke. Sometimes I’d get so nervous lining up the shot that I could hardly stand it. So I came up with a new plan that day. To just swing as hard as I could, like I was a home run hitter. And just purposefully blast it all the way through the water, instead of trying to avoid it.
I announced what I was going to do, while my friends watched closely, eager to see if I could do it. Pulling the club way up over my head, I swung with all my might. CRACK it sounded as I smacked the ball. And it lifted up from the tee mat, and soared through the air as I watched with terror, and took off running after it.
Flying over the split level metal railings that separated the first 9 holes from the other 9 holes that we were on, keeping my eye on the ball as it kept going, I saw it bounce on the concrete into the parking lot. Sprinting past people playing with their families, ducking my head and waving at them to apologize. Laughing so hard my stomach hurt. I was scared it was going to go all the way out to the road; I had no idea what I’d do then. But it came to a stop in the dust and gravel.
Out of breath as I got to it, I bent over and picked it up. I turned around and held it out for my friends to see. And all of them cheered real madly. Sweat pouring down my face. My heart racing as I jogged back to them. It felt like there were fireworks going off inside of me.
“Gifts received:” my mom wrote in my baby book under the picture my Dad took of us, “Adventure set, space toy, race car, stuffed dinosaur, Star Wars Play Doh set.”
A white cardboard bankers box in my closet, that I’ve carried around to every place I’ve lived in since college. Filled with yearbooks and trophies, and Smurf glasses wrapped in newspaper. And on top of those things, a burgundy plush pterodactyl that my best friend gave me on my 6th birthday. One month before he moved away.
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Congratulations to poet Andrea Gibson for winning
You got this, Hutch! Fabulous 50! Sending love from Tennessee.
Wow Chad!! I love this so much! I could feel every feeling that you had!! Bravo and thank you for sharing your heart with us.