First Love

"Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment
Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie."

I found the above lyrics, part of an 18th century French song by J.P.A. Martini, which I learned in elementary school, to be very fitting for this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt.

This week, I would like to share a poem I wrote a number of years ago that I feel pretty much sums up my thoughts on my "first love":

Our Box of Haunting Memories
Our box lies temptingly there.
No, I can't.
Haunting memories will return.
Oh, I must.
Those browning photographs.
Just this once.
The thoughtful greeting cards.
Here I go.
Beautiful images come to life.
There she is.
She was sitting by the fountain.
By my side.
Reflections of her moonlit face.
Oh, so sweet.
Birthdays, Christmases, Valentines.
My heart stops.
Tears were in her lovely eyes.
I awake.
Haunting memories in my mind.
She is gone.

I Salute Parents With Kids At War

This past Monday, my son Justin was accidentally hit on the forehead by a hardball, while playing catch with his buddy. My heart sank when I first lay eyes on the huge, blackish bump on his head. My heart sank further when I saw Justin sobbing from the pain. As a parent, I don't want to see my child go through any pain what-so-ever. I am all too aware that bumps and bruises are a necessary part of growing up, because I (we all) have been through them. Justin will be a better catcher because of the accident. Nonetheless, as a parent, it's very hard to bear. I can't imagine what it must be like for a parent to have to see a son or daughter at war, whether on enemy ground fighting for the freedom of others or in a hospital bed battling the enemy within. The unbearability those parents endure must be thousands time more than what I felt on Monday.

I salute all parents with kids at war.

Three Wishes

I truly believe anyone who wishes for something they need should be granted those wishes. Often a wish equates to a want, and let's face it - wants are insatiable.

As for me, I don't have much, but I am comfortable because I seem to have everything I need - a small but cosy home, a beautiful wife, a wonderful son, loving parents, a great brother and an amazing group of friends.

I really don't need to wish for any more for I am grateful for all I have, so the best I can come up with are these three wishes:

1. I wish to those around me continue to be well.
2. I wish to take my career to the next level.
3. I wish all of my nine-year-old son's wishes will come true, which at last check were, as written by Justin himself:

"If I had three wishes i would wish for world peace,a genie so i could wish for more wishes and i will use the last wish for a white grand piano!_!"

I will have to talk to the boy about being too greedy...

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For Sunday Scribblings.

The Books I Would Write...

I'm very grateful to Sunday Scripplings for inspiring me to write every week, albeit this week a little off the Sunday mark.

The other sources of inspiration are the people around me. In my profession, I get to meet people from all walks of life. This is why I love what I do. If and when I were to contemplate writing a book (forget about "books" for now - just "a book" would be a dream!), I would write about the struggles of the people who have crossed my path. I would give a voice to the voiceless. I would shine a light on those who find themselves living in the shadows. I would derive and share the inspiration from those who seem to shine brightly.

The book would not be about me, but perhaps I can find a little bit of me in the stories of those around me.

I recently met a lady I'll call Ms. H., who is a widowed mom of five children. Ms. H. finds herself living in a government housing complex raising her five children. She is a loyal worker for meager wages. She looks beautiful at fifty-something. At a recent birthday dinner for a friend, she conjured up the strength to be the happiest person alive. She laughed and laughed, and drank and drank. However, deep inside, she was thinking about her husband; her children and their future; her future. Ms. H., tell me about you and how you derive your strength... I want to know everything.

I met Mr. N. some time ago. Mr. N. is a builder with a checkered past. Through the testimony from his friends, he is a changed man; a family man. Mr. N. is someone who will say whatever is on his mind, sometimes to his own detriment. He is a loyal friend, his new gang of friends will assert. He is often misjudged, but he is who he is. Mr. N., tell me about you, your old gang of friends, and how you left your checkered past...

I have met individuals whose families have "made it big". They give me inspiration of a more materialistic sort. I want to write about their struggles, their history and how they they became.

My Shoes

Sunday Scribblings...

Coincidentally, my wife bought me a new pair of beige shoes this past week to match a new beige shirt she also bought me! (I know; she's wonderful!) I wore them for the first time showing some homes this past weekend. I always take off my shoes when entering a home, unless instructed not to or the floors are unbearably dirty. Wouldn't you know it - on every occasion of leaving the homes this past weekend, I had to pause a moment to look for my shoes, even though at times they were the only ones there becasue I was the last to leave. I was so used to finding my black shoes! I guess, as with everything, and to state the obvious, it takes time to get used to something new.