It’s Already There

When I first read it so many years ago, it made me cry. It makes me cry still. A beautiful writer, a wonderful friend who wrote a beautiful piece. For me. And now I share it with you.  Thank you Rex Holiday.

It’s Already There

I see it this way: from a guy who has pissed away more great chances in a week than most men will see in a year: I’ve been allowed to see incomprehensible scenery connected to a brain that “gets it”.

Without those missed chances I would have: never been able to speak of the pain of an aborted father in the throes of post-regret, nor spoken to others who are bleeding the same way. Never known the kind of fervor and spit and fire it takes to speak my mind into a howling wind and actually made it slice through.

Never known the dubious pleasure of bringing down a pseudo-Napoleon living as king of his particular hill in a school system I pay for.

Never heard the voice of a now-relieved-son thanking me for helping his invalid grandmother out of a winter storm

Never had the ocean-powered wave of gratitude wash over me when I, alone, stood with one, wrongly accused, against a courtroom full of antagonists. (Not-guilty, by the way)

Never known the sheer power of being the one in the fray who is COMMITTED.

Never been able to speak of true, unrequited, ripped-apart love to an adolescent who’s going through the same thing.

Never known the joy of vocally and VERY audibly cheering a teenager when they finally excelled at something and got their due for it.

Never seen the pain in a true friend’s eyes when they buried their youngest. Never been able to hold them and let them cry the way they would only in a true friend’s arms.

Never been blessed to help bear the pain of someone you love on any level.

Never felt so dirty and ashamed as to chase even my closest friends off.

Never felt the heat of a South Georgia summer.

Or the cold of a Kentucky ice storm.

Or the power of an Alabama thunderstorm.

Or the thundering beauty of a Mississippi sunset.

Or the caress of a Tennessee mountain morning.

Or the complete release of a hearty and block-shattering “KISS MY ASS” to authority.

Or of watching the pain

the pleasure

the ecstacy

the victory

of discovery.

Would never had heard the crowd’s approval swell like a big gentle wave in the warm Gulf.

Or my new bride, taking such care to dress in some kind of frilly underpinnings complete with garters and white stockings say, “…do you mind if we don’t”, on my wedding night.

Not a bit. I just drove three hours through nowhere, Mississippi to say to the hotel clerk, “I’ve waited 31 years to say this: I just got married, and I need a room.” I was tired. Be real.

I would have missed words like, “I do”, “You may take your planet home”, “Would you hand me the piano?”, “I want to try everything, tonight.”, and “Honey, wake up. Hannah Newton was killed last night in a car wreck. John was right behind her.”

Not all of these are pleasant or desirable but they are rich. A mosaic of life. If we didn’t like imperfection and character, photographs would far outsell paintings. It’s what we’re here for.

I would have missed the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd, and the cussing of the GM.

And I would have missed you and your smile.

Most of all.

Stop searching. It’s already there.

– Rex Holiday

Remembering Rex Holiday

The world lost a great soul today. Rob/Rex as many called him.  I called him friend, and it was an honor.  He ‘discovered’ one of my best friends and me, hired us and put us to work at the local radio station in my hometown- and inspired me to start what would be a 15 year career in broadcasting.  He was one of the best bosses I have ever had and he constantly encouraged others to be the best they could be.

I wrote a piece called Your Awakening several years ago, a piece about my search for love. And his response is below; describing his life and reassuring me that nothing was passing me by, that life not going as planned is a blessing, that I am, and what is inside of me right now, is enough, that I need not keep searching for what I thought I was missing in myself.  For he was a great writer as well.  Please enjoy the glimpse into the soul of a beautiful human being.
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Your Awakening Response:

Maybe.
I see it this way: from a guy who has pissed away more great chances in a week than most men will see in a year: I’ve been allowed to see incomprehensible scenery connected to a brain that “gets it”.
Without those missed chances I would have: never been able to speak of the pain of an aborted father in the throes of post-regret, nor spoken to others who are bleeding the same way. Never known the kind of fervor and spit and fire it takes to speak my mind into a howling wind and actually made it slice through.
Never known the dubious pleasure of bringing down a pseudo-Napoleon living as king of his particular hill in a school system I pay for.
Never heard the voice of a now-relieved-son thanking me for helping his invalid grandmother out of a winter storm
Never had the ocean-powered wave of gratitude wash over me when I, alone, stood with one, wrongly accused, against a courtroom full of antagonists. (Not-guilty, by the way)
Never known the sheer power of being the one in the fray who is COMMITTED.
Never been able to speak of true, unrequited, ripped-apart love to an adolescent who’s going through the same thing.
Never known the joy of vocally and VERY audibly cheering a teenager when they finally excelled at something and got their due for it.
Never seen the pain in a true friend’s eyes when they buried their youngest. Never been able to hold them and let them cry the way they would only in a true friend’s arms.
Never been blessed to help bear the pain of someone you love on any level.
Never felt so dirty and ashamed as to chase even my closest friends off.
Never felt the heat of a South Georgia summer.
Or the cold of a Kentucky ice storm.
Or the power of an Alabama thunderstorm.
Or the thundering beauty of a Mississippi sunset.
Or the caress of a Tennessee mountain morning.
Or the complete release of a hearty and block-shattering “KISS MY ASS” to authority.
Or of watching the pain
the pleasure
the ecstacy
the victory
of discovery.
Would never had heard the crowd’s approval swell like a big gentle wave in the warm Gulf.
Or my new bride, taking such care to dress in some kind of frilly underpinnings complete with garters and white stockings say, “…do you mind if we don’t”, on my wedding night.
Not a bit. I just drove three hours through nowhere, Mississippi to say to the hotel clerk, “I’ve waited 31 years to say this: I just got married, and I need a room.” I was tired. Be real.
I would have missed words like, “I do”, “You may take your planet home”, “Would you hand me the piano?”, “I want to try everything, tonight.”, and “Honey, wake up. Hannah Newton was killed last night in a car wreck. John was right behind her.”
Not all of these are pleasant or desirable but they are rich. A mosaic of life. If we didn’t like imperfection and character, photographs would far outsell paintings. It’s what we’re here for.
I would have missed the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd, and the cussing of the GM.
And I would have missed you and your smile.
Most of all.
Stop searching. It’s already there.

Rex Holiday

 

Guest Post – I am What I Am

A great writer, a great man, and a great friend – Rex. Another great guest post. Enjoy!!

I am What I Am

   I am the last person in America you can insult with impunity: I am white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant, male, straight, Southern, Democrat, second marriage with step kids, religious but not zealous, unrich, right-handed, smoker-drinker, hazel-eyed, graying hair, 30 pounds over “ideal” weight, meat-eating, non gun-toting, destroyer of the utopian future world we were all promised.

     Don’t believe me? Watch any on-screen news or entertainment: I’m rude, crude, backward, burping, ignorant, and arrogant about it.

     Don’t believe me? Rerun any of the Super Tuesday election news coverage and commentary pre, during, and post; commentaries included.

     Conclusion: we can’t do anything right.

     Well, new society dawning: make up your mind.

     Not long ago I entered a downtown Chattanooga building and held the door’s momentum at bay for a lady behind me. Very curtly she said, “I can open my own door, thank you.” And I was dismissed.

     Four doors down later on Market Street I did the same for a guy with a bunch of delivery boxes. “Thanks, man!”

     Given his youth, uniform and physique I’m he was quite capable of backing through the door, or for that matter removing it, by himself.

     Didn’t matter I did both for the same reason: I had the power to let the door’s momentum smack ‘em both. How self-absorbed would I have been if I had done so? Not cool.

     A few years later I was in a pizza place watching a Braves game on a Saturday afternoon; just one other guy, the bartender, a 35-ish lady at the other end of the bar, and me.

     Her, “Anyone know what time it is?

     Me,  “It’s 4:15.”

     Her, “Thank you, and no, it doesn’t mean you can buy me a drink.”

     Okay, I was in a foul mood; my girlfriend’s mother was visiting I was avoiding.

     Me,  “Ma’m, I can get three like you for a week’s paycheck on Governor’s Drive.”

     She huffed out but the bartender bought my next beer.

     Has it come to the point where we think everyone is out exclusively for their own gratification? That courtesy is just an iceberg tip on a hidden agenda? That no one has a right to be angry with you but you have a right to judge never having set one step in another’s shoes? That you don’t need to know their story because yours is all-encompassing?

     Retool. Gentlemen, we need to grow more backbone and less false bravado and oh-poor-me lifestyles. Oh, and learn when to bow out gracefully and know when to run.

     Belligerence is not strength and acceptance is not weakness.

     Female persons: make up your mind, willya?! You see fluid dynamics guys deal in absolutes. You want us sensitive then swoon over the lumberjack. You want us manly but we risk you seeing us as coarse.

     For my 1,632 square inches of the world here’s the deal: I drive a car which is two years from getting a “classic” tag (the AARP card of autos), I let God wash it if He wants to (rain). It gets me point A to point B. This is my home/apartment; I live here. I do not press my underwear, hell, I don’t wash them until I run out. Alicia can wash ‘em if she wants to if not, fine, too. I usually don’t do dishes until I am nearly out or cranking up to cook something elaborate. Now I have a dishwasher; a better place to store the dirties.

     I do not get ballet but recognize its place in art and culture and love the symphony. I love my music souvenirs, from the rock that held the door open for decades at Muscle Shoals Sound, to Mickey Buckins’ drumsticks, to the rubber band the Spinners gave me, to my autographed playbills and drumheads, to my “Casablanca” poster. Alicia gave me one whole room just for that stuff.

     I don’t stay coiffed or in late fashion or design: jeans (from JCP or Walmart), T-shirt (right now mine says, “Huntsville est. 1805”), and open Hawaiian shirts. I keep facial hair because Alicia likes it and so do I (even though it’s harder to shave now than with no beard). I am untattooed and unpierced but my scars speak for me.”The look”, fashion, and pop psychology, like ear candles, come and go. Real is forever and easily maintained. Just because your feathers are ruffled don’t make you Christ-on-the-Cross.

     Enough. I am what I am. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

     So come down off your cross, leave it in the “might access later” file, resurrect, and go have a little fun.

     In the meantime stop building crosses; you’re runnin’ out of people to help carry them.