The older I get, the more I disbelieve in in black and white. Some things are certain. I will die. I was born. Some things are a matter of faith. I believe in heaven. I believe in kindness. I believe in grace. I believe that Jesus was the coolest homeless person that ever lived. He was a guy with no stones to throw. That's all I know. There is room enough in my heart for everybody, no matter what they believe.
I had a cousin who was disowned because he loved boys instead of girls. He died of AIDS over fifteen years ago and most of those years I was looking for him. He melted away and nobody could tell me where he'd gone. When I was little, we were best friends. We lived together. We spent our time catching chameleons and building houses for them. We played bouncy ball for hours. Some days, I have to run my fingers over the picture of him in my mind. I don't want to loose that boy who was kind to chameleons and every living thing.
The more I know, the more I don't know. What is black, what is white, and who gets to decide?
It is ironic that you wrote about Ronnie today because yesterday was Greg's birthday. Remember cleaning the shop and singing "taking care of Vincent"
ReplyDeleteWeird. I remember Vincent, and lots and lots of hair to sweep up, and Ronnie mopping the floors each week with Mop 'n Glow. Those were the days.
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