Memory Lane....Happier Times

I'm starting to feel like this blog has veered off into a dimension of negativity, where I come to as a space to vent in, or air people out indirectly, or bitch and moan about how tired I am of "the scene." And all of that remains true, whatever bitching and moaning I've typed into this here site. But really, I just hope whoever actually reads this thing consistently doesn't think that I've been a true sourpuss lately, dragging my Timbalands around the streets of the Flatiron District and Hoboken like some lost soul looking for a way out of his existence.

Couldn't be further from the case. In fact, I've been pretty content lately. Keeping a low profile, doing things that make me happy rather than just following the pack through a sense of "if I don't go with them, I'll be lonely." Pish tosh. I'm starting to become much more comfortable in my own skin, and "me time" has upgraded from umm, yeah, this could get depressing really fast to I haven't felt this natural and free in ages. It's a good headspace to be in.

And earlier today, something happens that triggered such a warm, amazing memory within my cone (sorry, roommate is currently watching the Coneheads movie....why, I could not tell you). I was walking back from the gym, carrying two heavier-than-they-first-seemed grocery bags back to the humble abode, when a kid, probably 12 or 13 years old, strolled by with his dog, a rather small German Shepherd, on a leash. And this brought me back to when Zoey was a younger pooch, in her crazier and Ritalin-ready days. The good old days, I like to label them.

This had me thinking.....man, there's been an endless amount of great moments in my nearly-27-years of lifespan. But some have truly broken away from the pleasant-pack. In leaps and strides.

I figure, writing them down here could do nothing but great for me. Giving me a place to come back whenever my urges compel me to do so, to hop into my mental-Delorean and re-enact those times when things felt like they'd never possibly improve. The perfect, wonderful times. The shit that folk singers write about, and coming-of-age narratives are centered upon. Let's revist two here, for now.

The Day That The Zoey-Matt Connection Officially Formed.....
.....the second day of high school, Freshman year. By day two, I really suspected that I'd have to become a teenage dropout, because the thought of returning that insitution of fear and insecurity was too much for my 14-year-old self to fathom. I was extremely quiet, nervous, soft-spoken, opposite-of-confident. All the other kids appeared to be so much cooler than me, and none of the cute girls even as much as glanced in my direction....This was how it all played in my head, at least.

But the night after my first day, my family and I went to the kennel (all four of us together, in a full-family event so rare I can't even recall another one happening during those years) and fell in love with, then subsequently bringing home, a three-month-old German Shepherd puppy, which we named Zoey, being that "Zoey" was the last name in the baby-name-book my mother had purchased to help our struggling naming process speed along.

That first night, Zoey was scared shitless, and rightfully so. Well, not exactly shitless, since she couldn't stop urinating and defecating all over our house. But she was a pup, and was in a new, big, scary place. But alas, that first night featured little kid-and-new-dog bonding. But the second day was a whole other happy story. I walked into our house, having stepped off a bus full of kids who scared the shit out of me, and let Zoey out of her cage. I'd expected her to run into another room, in fear of me. But she didn't. What she did was, she jumped square into my arms, licking my face and cuddling up, as if she'd missed me all day. As if we'd been best friends for years already.

The feeling that went through my heart and veins at that moment....I can't even explain. I'd spent two full days of awkwardness and seclusion, connecting with none of my peers and trembling at the notion of speaking to kids I felt were so superior to me in every way. But Zoey didn't care. To her, I was a new friend, a new caretaker. And she loved me, having only known me for less than 70 hours. You know how people ponder the reality of "love at first sight"? Who gives a shit that it was a dog....I felt that with Zoey the night we bought her, and this moment of her leaping to my arms sealed the deal.

And this is the memory that sonny-boy and his pet earlier today joggled in my cabeza.

The Moment I Realized That My Older Bro Actually Thought I Was "Cool"....
.....I spent the entirety of my adolescence thinking that my older brother saw me through "what a loser" glasses. Like beer goggles, except his were sober and cast me in a lame-light. He's six years older than I, so up until I entered the 3rd grade, he was in the same grade school as I, which meant that he'd have ample opportunities to heckle and tease me in public whenever our paths would cross. Spitting insults in the hallway as our respective classes walked in line-formation down the same hallway, especially. Did little for my already-fragile psyche. I

See, I was a big-bit heavier as a young bwoy. Not fat, just not toned at all and teetering toward the chubby side. And this was a characteristic that my brother loved to exploit, and remind spectators of. There's even more specific shit that existed within our "confident and popular older brother picks on shy and timid younger brother" dynamic. But that's not the point here, ultimately.

Needless to say, we weren't that close. The love was there, of course, but he was too "cool" to show it, I feel. Which is understandable. He was the big cheese, and a straight-A-student, goody goody little sibling didn't do much for his rep.

As my high school duration progressed, I did feel like he was slowly but surely seeing me in a much-more impressed light. Saw the successes I was having in sports. Noticed that I had plenty of friends hanging out at the house, even the occasional female friend or three(thought every single one of my lady pals had a crush on him, which only inflated his ego even more, of course. That shit always escalated my inner temperature varily). But still, that full-blown sense of "my brother really thinks I'm that dude" never materialized.

Until my first time home from college. Maybe once a month or so, I'd return home to hang with my family friends, leaving the St. John's campus in Queens for suburban Fair Lawn, Jerz. Always a nice way to recharge my batteries, rest my stresses.

That first Friday night, my brother had already been living on his own, so he wasn't around. But that Saturday, he stopped by to say "What up," and his one particular attire-choice of his struck a loud chord with yours truly. He'd been wearing a St. John's hat.....thing is, I never bought one for him. Or even heard him speak anything along the lines of, "Yo bro, can you grab me one of those Red Storm hats?"

He'd copped a cap all on his own. Maybe I was reading too much into things, but to me, that showed me how proud of his little bro he was, and what a tremendous feeling. Even though he'd picked on me tons, I always looked up to him. He got all the girls, and had all the friends, and lived the fast life I always wished I could, honestly, rather than focusing on my studies and actively-walking along the straight edge. But in this moment, the tables had turned. My brother admired me. Little old me. The one who took the leap and earned a college scholarship, and went to a major university, something nobody in my family ever did, or ever has since.

The one he was proud of. The one who hadn't felt so "cool" in a long ass time. A long ass time.

***More great memories to come in the future.....stay tuned. [if there are any typos in this post, please excuse them. I wrote it as it came to heart, and I'm a bit spent. Not in the mood to proofread right now. Maybe I will in the morning. I do have off of work tomorrow, courtesy of a Jewish holiday of which's name has escaped my mind.]