Supafly.com

I miss my family. I said goodbye to them yesterday morning at the airport. The short time they were here was…it was the best days I’ve had since I’ve moved here.

It was great. People were actually living in my house. Mom, Dad, Paul, Andrew, and I did our own thing in and around the house. Dad finished my dining room set while Mom got to be a mom for me again. I played a lot of golf.

The best part of their visit was that they got to see more of my life here. We hung out at St. Tim’s, had my friends over, and they learned more about my work. Yesterday morning Dad and I were rolling out of the driveway to play some golf. “Matthew, do you realize how rich you are? Beyond your nice house and all that…your friends, your faith, your church?”; We spent the next ten minutes being thankful.

I miss them all. I would’ve loved to have them stay another week, or year.

Ah man. I haven’t done my taxes yet. I hate—I don’t; like—paying taxes. I don’t want to get in to a civics lesson, but taxes do hurt. I don’t know when I’ll go by H&R Block. My family gets in tomorrow!

I’ve worked hard this week to take off the next five days to spend with my family. I am so excited they get to see my house. I’ve got little projects we’ll work on together. It’s going to be a great weekend.

By the way, I have carpet in my bathroom and that’s gross. It’s kind of nice at first, but after a while it just feels gross.

First it was the guy up the street from me. The day I moved in, I walked across my front yard and introduced myself as his new neighbor. He cautiously nodded his head as he sized up my Mohawk and studded belt. He wasn’t sure to believe me. “You’re awfully young to be getting a house like this.” A couple minutes later we had hit all the bases. He’s a family man in his late thirties and he like the neighborhood because it’s “low-key.” He asked if I was married and had kids and I said no, but I did have a friend I’d be sharing my house with.

A few weeks later that same neighbor ran over as Stephanie and I were moving in my Christmas tree. Stephanie is very pretty, and my neighbor turned on the charm. I laughed inside, realizing that the whole time he must’ve thought I was gay. (I can understand, two attractive, well-groomed artsy guys sharing a house.) I leaned into Stephanie and did the flirt talk. He got right to the point, “is your roommate here? Or is he out with his girlfriend too?”

“Which girlfriend? He’s out with a new girl every night.” That’s not exactly true, but I made my point.

A month later, there was a little old man sitting in his motorized wheel chair, the kind with the joystick. That must be my other neighbor. I ran over, shovel in hand, and introduced myself. I guess I scared the hell out of him, a young guy charging him with a shovel. We talked about golf balls in our bushes. I was entertained by him because the bill of his hat rested flat on his big squarish sunglasses. After a three-minute history lesson on the neighborhood’s traffic, I told him I had to head out. He quick lifted his head to me and then paused. “You have a…partner living with you?”

I was irritated and got right to the point. “Oh you mean Matt? Yeah, he’s a nice guy. As long as he pays his rent on time. I want to apologize, he gets a new girlfriend every week and they park on the street. I know it can be dangerous. I told my girlfriend already that she needed park in the driveway.” He bobbled his head and said goodbye.

:::

There’s an elementary school not far from our house. Matt M. told me his problem. “If I take a walk every afternoon past the baseball field as I smoke a cigarette, I am a stalker.”

I know. Nobody trusts me because I am a male in my early 20s.

A week ago I opened a door to a girl scout selling cookies. Her parents, guardians, stood at the sidewalk and stared me down. The nicer I was to the little girl, the more that pinned me with their eyes. I smiled (screw you guys, you don’t know who I am and what I am about, I spend my life trying to help people and you treat me like a pervert) and ordered ten boxes.

What? I can’t even be nice to the kids in my own neighborhood? We won’t be able to build skateboard ramps or play basketball. Forget inviting them over for an Xbox tournament.

Hell. When I am around town, I can’t even look at kids. Even at my own church, I’ve avoided kids for a whole year because I don’t want to freak out any parents. Unless I have Playboy posters hanging in my garage and screw girls in my driveway, I must have some sexual disorder.

There’s something wrong here.

Oh man. That board was so expensive and we were so broke. It took a birthday, a Christmas to get that skateboard. I chose the accessories like I my life depended on it. I remember it well:; it was a Ray Barbee deck by Powell Peralta, neon green Gullwing trucks, grey board with grey rails, German bearings wrapped with Bones wheels. I had my purple grip tape laid out before Thanksgiving. I loved the sound it made when I road on the streets, the smell of the wheels, and the pop it made when I ollied. I love that board.

The thing that rocks about ebay.com is everything is for sale. I usually look at suped up cars and artwork. But today I spent a few minutes looking at old school skateboards. I found that my skateboard. Not the actual skateboard, but the same one.

(I am at Einstein’s Bagel, and a dark-skinned employee wiped off the table near mine. He touched my power cord and asked about it. I could hardly understand his English. We talked a little bit about computers. He’s been here for two weeks. In his old country, he worked with computers. This is his first job, and he hopes to get a job in computers again. He’s from Iran. He asked for advice, and I told him not to get caught up in money and a shallow illusion of success. We shook hands, nice to meet you Mohammed, and he went back wiping tables.)

I was so happy to find that board. Oh man. It was at $60 and a few hours left before bidding closed, so I put in a high bid of $100. Yeah that’s impulse buying, but how cool is that?

This morning I went on to make sure I got it. Nope. Some dude paid $164.00 for it. I couldn’t believe it. You mean someone would pay that much to get an old banged up skateboard?

I guess people want their childhood back. Just like me.

Tonight I heard the nicest thing in the world. I have this tingly happy deep inside of my bones.

I went to Carrie’s 6th birthday party this weekend. I was a little uneasy about it. I mean, kids don’t really like me. I try to be nice and they try not to be scared. I knocked on the door and carried in the balloons. I felt out of place. What am I doing here? Shouldn’t I be doing some glam MTV-type lifestyle thing like I am supposed to?

Soon there were a dozen or so little kindergarteners sitting in the patio. Wow, those people are really small. They looked kind of sad and uncomfortable, so I plopped down in the middle of them. Here it goes: “Does anyone here like…Spongebob?”

A little girl next to me made a goofy smile. I went on.“I like Patrick because he and I have the same haircut.” They laughed.;;

Three hours later, I was the pied piper of the party. We were flying through the air on the trampoline and mooing like cows. Or we were bouncing around in the bouncy room laughing and falling over. Some kids weren’t really playing, or if they did play, they didn’t have much confidence. So I did what I could to get ‘em involved. I didn’t feel particularly hip or cool the whole afternoon, but I wasn’t going to let the party be lame. The kids needed a friend.

I was playing a game with some little girls on the swing set when one of them said, “you are a good bwover for Caweee.”(You are a good brother for Carry.) I didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter that I am not Carrie’s brother. But she was so happy to have me there, and her smile was so big, I didn’t know how to respond. Not just to her, but to the whole party, being around kids, getting older…

That was Saturday. I’ve spent the last few days thinking about how much fun I had hanging out with those little people. It’s a different kind of fun than 400 horsepower or going clubbing in New York, or even being on the Real World. But it was still fun.

Tonight Rhonda, Carrie’s mom, told me about a conversation she had with a mom from the party. She told Rhonda how her son has changed since Saturday. He’s been more outgoing and had so much self-confidence. She wanted to know what I said to her little boy to make him feel so good about himself.

On the drive back home, I thought about what I said to that little boy. I didn’t do much. He was scared to jump on the trampoline, and I made him feel cool. I was wowed when he jumped. I tried, but I couldn’t jump as high as him. From those few hours at a party, this kid feels better about himself.

I was a little boy and I know how that feels.

:::

Now I am alone here in my house. I have a new feeling tingling inside of me. I’ve been thinking a lot about Mister Rogers. After his death, I read all about him. He was an amazing guy. I finally get it.