Tag: love

The burning chair

An introduction to Steven Lynch

“T.J. Hooker was my favorite cop show growing up,” Steve said. “Did you ever watch that? Oh, and I loved The ‘A’ Team, too! I dunno what it was about those shows. I suppose if I think about it, I can see how Hooker helped train younger cops while making things right in his city, and the A Team looked out for the underdog wherever they went. I always liked seeing people receive justice when they were wronged and correction when they did wrong. Those shows focused on values I held, even as a kid, and you couldn’t pry me away when they were on.”

Cindy grinned at him from across the table. “You’re very passionate about fictional characters,” she observed. Before he could protest, she said, “I get it, though. They represented real-life values that are important to you. I felt the same way about Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd in Moonlighting. I also appreciated their sense of humor.” Her eyes twinkled at her date. “I suppose that makes me passionate about fictional characters, too.”

Steve smiled back. “Those were good shows. They haven’t been off the air that long, but I miss them. It’s getting harder to find the reruns.” He paused for a sip of diet Pepsi. “I don’t watch much TV anymore. Most of my time these days is spent working or training for work. How about you?”

His date shook her head. “No, I don’t watch as much as I used to, either. I recently graduated from UMO with a degree in elementary education, but after all that work and student teaching, I’m not certain that I want to be a teacher! I’ve been thinking about becoming a social worker instead, but I don’t know which program I should attend: UMaine Orono, or somewhere else. In the meantime, I’m working two jobs to make ends meet, and when I turn on the TV, I usually fall asleep.” She laughed. “I’m only 22, and I already sound like an old fart.” 

Her date laughed, too. “If it helps you feel any better, you definitely don’t look like an old fart!” he said, with feeling. Then his face went crimson, and he grabbed his fork to stab at his cheesecake. A cool, gentle hand covered his, and he looked up. Cindy was smiling at him again, but there was no evidence that he had overstepped any boundaries with his comment. 

“I know we just met today,” he said, “but you’re beautiful, and a beautiful person, Cindy. I, I, I couldn’t help….” he stumbled. 

“Steve,” she said, with her hand still over his, “that was one of the sweetest things anyone has said to me in a very long time. Thank you.” She pulled her hand back and took a drink from her glass of iced tea. Looking back at him, she added, “I don’t want to embarrass you more, my dear young man, but you’re very cute when you blush.” Then she giggled as his ears turned pink. In moments, both were laughing and talking like they’d known each other for years. 

About twenty minutes later, he paid the check, and they left the cafe for a walk along the riverfront. The weather was pleasant, and a breeze blew just enough to keep the mosquitoes and blackflies at bay. As they walked, Cindy asked Steve what his career plans were. 

“This is gonna sound corny after our conversation earlier,” he said, “but I’m planning to join the Maine State Police.”

“What’s so corny about that? If you’d said you were going into farming, that would be corny.” Cindy chuckled. “Seriously, Steve, there’s nothing odd about wanting to be a state trooper. What brought you to this decision, though?” They stopped and sat on a bench as she asked her question. It was only then that she realized they’d been holding hands. Just our first date, and he already feels like home to me, she thought. He led me to this place, and I willingly followed.

Steve’s voice brought her out of her reverie. “My dad was an officer for many years. He was forced to retire for medical reasons, but he was my inspiration. He doesn’t expect this of me, Cindy. This is a path I’ve chosen on my own. He has always made it clear that my life is mine to live, and I’m thankful for that. Some of my school friends’ dads expect them to follow in their footsteps, and it has made my friends’ lives miserable. That’s neither here nor there, but Dad has been really good about supporting whatever career choice I make. I’ve already applied and been accepted to the next class of recruits. I have to pass the strength and agility training, plus the background and mental health checks. We’ll see. I want to serve the people in this state. I love Maine, and I love to see a balance between justice and mercy. If I can contribute to that in my work in some way, I want to do it.” 

“How old are you, Steve?” Cindy said with a smirk. “I thought I was going out with a twenty-one-year-old.” She giggled. “You seem to have an old soul.”

“Do I?” he asked, reddening again. 

She gently slapped him on the arm. “I don’t mean anything bad by that, sweet man.” Then she hooked her arm through his and leaned against him. “You’re very thoughtful and kind-hearted for being so young,” she said quietly. “I haven’t met a man like you before.” Cindy felt disappointed when Steve pulled his arm away from hers, but when he wrapped it around her shoulders, her heart melted a little more. 

“We’ll have to spend more time together, then, so you can find out if that’s the real me or not,” he said. 

“I’d like that,” she replied. They sat in silence for a few moments.

Suddenly, Steve pulled his arm back, put his face in his hands, and then guffawed loudly. 

“What is wrong with you?” Cindy asked. “What’s so funny?”

When Steve settled down, he said, “You know how this was a blind date set up by mutual friends of ours? And they told us to use first names only in case the date went badly?”

“Yes.”

“We haven’t revealed last names yet. How are you going to find my number in the phone book without that?” He laughed again. “Mine’s Lynch. Full first name is Steven with a ‘v’.” 

“Delighted, Mr. Steven Lynch with a ‘v’. I’m Cindy Anderson.”

Ounce A Pawn A Thyme

Misreading and Purposeful Humor

(This piece was written and posted first at vocal.media, a site I have been using for several years for regular feedback and interaction with other writers, many of whom are more mature and some of whom are less hobbyish than I.)

I can’t recall how I found Vocal Media. When I did, the stars shone brightly in my eyes. Dreams of winning challenges danced in my head. Cha-ching, cha-ching was the song they sang. Then I wrote my first piece, crashed to earth, oh dang. Tried again, burned up. Once more. Gave up. Glassy-eyed, I knew I’d never crack the top two, so what would I or should I or could I do?

To quote Robin Williams as the genie in Aladdin when he was trying to get the title character to act naturally for his best results, “Bee yourself.” It stung to learn I’m not a high-falutin’ writer who’ll win challenges and supplement my income via this platform. Well, it stung for a moment or two. I can accept reality rather quickly.

So, I moved on. I write what I want, how I want, and if someone else likes it, then hooray. If not, then that’s fine, too. I write because I like it. I write because I’m moved to express my mind. Sometimes, I’m serious or sad. Other times, I’m goofy or donald. At all times, I practice the idea that neither I nor anyone else should take me too seriously, especially when I’m clearly being tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic, or punning (the last of which is always intentional).

When I was a boy (in the pre-Internet era), I frequently misread words or phrases and discovered humor where none was intended. I often wondered if my misreads were carelessness or some learning disorder. I have no answer even now, for I still do it. I’m an avid reader, too, so seeing “touch” where someone wrote “tough,” or “I kissed my brother under the table,” where someone wrote “I kicked my brother under the table,” leads to deranged comprehensions. This often creates fun interactions on social media platforms, too. If I can comment to make others laugh, I will.

My wife is not enamored with puns. However, we were friends for five years before she married me, so she knew full well that plays on words, puns, and dad jokes would be part of her marriage. I may be sheepish at times, but I did not pull the wool over her eyes on that, no matter how baa-d my jokes may be. And as much as she ignores my jokes, rolls her eyes, groans, or occasionally growls at me when they become too much, she delivers some zingers of her own. Heaven help me if I don’t laugh uproariously at her puns!

On occasion, we will be of one mind in a situation that calls for humor, but nothing is forthcoming. We both begin a joke, but when we fail to succeed, we conclude with, “There’s a joke in there somewhere.” That’s when I know we are in sync, and it reminds me of the meme of the porcelain basin and stand on the doorstep with the caption, “Let that sink in.” Ba-dum, tss.

We have been married for more than 28 years, and to say that humor has been significant in the success of our marriage would be an understatement akin to saying that the public discussion of politics and religion can sometimes cause friction between people. Without humor, we’d have given up a long time ago. It’s not the most crucial factor for us, but it has made life much easier.

While I like puns and dad jokes, she’s into the snark and sarcasm. Our kids have struggled to know what’s what sometimes. Are we serious? Are we kidding? So, they’ve turned the tables on us as they’ve aged. When I’m about to blow my top at my younger one, he’ll say, “That was a joke, Dad. Not a dad joke. Just a joke, Dad.” Then it’s my turn to roll my eyes. Then I have to ask him to roll them back to me.

Our older son has some intellectual and developmental challenges, but he has grown into a snarky wit rather well. One of his best is when his mother said something to him several months ago, and he replied, “Yeah. I get that a lot…from old people.” Since then, whenever she or I says something to him, he tags his replies with the same comment. “I get that a lot from old people.” The last time he said it to me, I reminded him that he lives in my house, eats my food, and we drive him wherever he needs to go. He just grinned and chuckled. He’s 20.

The Mack S o H (Sense of Humor) runs in my family, though it’s strongest in my brother and me. Our sisters are not overly fond of it, but they can be counted on to contribute from time to time. Big Brother and I can start a thread of puns, needle each other with it, get in stitches, and sew it up in no time, when we’re bolting for the yard or telling a yarn. We make them up out of whole cloth, if necessary. It’s not for nothing that our nicknames are Big Bother and Little Bother.

All of this boils down to why I continue to write on Vocal Media. I have these gerbils, squirrels, or hamsters running on the wheels in my head all the time, turning the gears, and sometimes they squeak so much (the animals or the gears) that I have to release the thoughts I generate in writing. This is the only place I can do that consistently. (Lucky y’all.)

Whether it’s humorous, serious, ponderous, or otherwise all for us, my thoughts take a tumble onto the screen. You read them, or you don’t. You like them or hate them, or you are ambivalent. I preserve my mental and emotional health, and that’s my why, as the kids say these days.

God bless and be well. Thanks for stopping by. Till we meet again, I am affectionately and occasionally slightly addledly (I know that’s not a word) yours,

Mack D. Ames, erstwhile hobbyist writer extraordinaire, tongue-firmly-planted-in-cheek