Sparks Ignites

I can remember numerous times in my life when I have been described as a “ nice guy” . I guess that is not a bad thing to be, but it just seems so bland. “He is so nice.” What does that mean exactly? Does it refer to a person who helps others, is thoughtful and kind, or does it mean he doesn’t pick his nose and belch in public?     Nice is such a non-commitment word. It doesn’t really bring forth any distinct images. It comes off sounding like you are describing a person who is just sufficient. It is someone who fits acceptably into society. It is like being considered beige in a world of color.   “Nice” is a generic way to describe something. It is a politically correct word that indicates you're not displeased with something or someone, but you have no true impression, other than it left a pleasant or nonthreatening feeling. The phrase “nice guys finish last,” does not mean that you have to be mean or cutthroat to get ahead – it means that you are beige , and

I always knew that I didn’t want to have children. I guess I was intuitive enough to know that I was too selfish, and didn’t feel I had the knack for parenting. I have never been able to tolerate a crying baby or a screaming toddler. The noise is like a red alert saying, “Exit the building immediately.” I feel good knowing that I wasn’t cut out for parenthood, and that I realize it. I never wanted to share my toys, and I still get annoyed when there are actually children in Toys R Us .   I never felt that I had the patience, the tolerance, and much less the wisdom to be a good parent.   Also, I didn’t want the responsibility that comes with that role.   There are times when I hate to be responsible for myself, much less another individual. So I guess you can figure out that I have never had children. I’ve never thought of adopting or fostering or even Big Brothering.   I have had the pleasure of babysitting and that fulfilled any parenting I ever wanted to do. I must admit I was

The wheels and gears of time grind on. Each sweep of the second hand thrusts us forward, as time passes by. I have started to reflect on time and age as another birthday arrives. Everyone has his or her take on getting older and aging. For most of us, in our society, it is not looked upon favorably. In fact, getting older pretty much stinks. Time is a ravager. If you have any doubt take a look in the mirror. That reflective glass we stare into likes to taunt us with the latest wrinkle or spot. It is a slow decline as gravity tries to suck us back into the earth. I was just looking through some old photos before I posted my latest blog, and I was shocked at what I saw. A much thinner, youthful me was staring back.   What happened to that guy?  We lose track of the nuanced changes that take place, as we get older, because we see ourselves everyday. It is a very slow stop-motion film from infancy to Armageddon. I just didn’t notice when I

  My childhood summers weren’t all the glitz and glamor of vacationing with cousins, wobbly shopping carts and bloody feet. Actually, most of my summer days were spent right at home in my yard. My parents never took a vacation. Our family never packed its bags and took off for other ports of call.   I never boarded a plane, a boat, or a train for a family adventure. My adventures were self-created. They were products of an imaginative mind that could travel to the moon, ride the rapids in the Amazon Jungle and lead a battle for the Knights of the Round Table, all before a lunch of Spaghettios with a side of Hawaiian Punch . I have always loved going to the movies. This helped provide the inspiration to my over active mind. The Saturday afternoon matinee was a childhood staple for me. The smell of fresh popcorn as you entered the lobby and the crisp cold air of the air-conditioned theater helped set the atmosphere on those hot, summer afternoons. I would get lost in the dark with