I hated it when my mother dressed my
brother and I in matching outfits. In this
case matching solid red sports jackets
and ties. It was the 1950’s and we were
driving into NYC for something special.
I was going to get to meet one of my
heroes. Yogi Berra. I’m completely left
handed. My other arm just grew; can’t
do much. So, my hopes of becoming
a catcher on the NY Yankees was
dashed at an early age. It was the Eddie
Fisher 15 minute Coke time show (or
something like that). I remember being
approached by a beautiful young
woman as we entered the audience
seating area. She stood in front of me,
kissed me on the cheek and told my
parents how adorable we were!
Did Eddie sing “Oh My Papa?” I can’t
remember. I was looking for Yogi.
We took our seats.
(Lights, camera, action!)
I remembered Yogi more than I did
Debbie. After I shook hands with Yogi
I didn’t wash my hands for two weeks!
After Debbie Reynolds kissed me on
the cheek, I wiped it off right away like
any other eight year old would do.
I remember you and your kiss today,
Debbie. Nothing can wipe that kiss
or memory of you away.
(Applause, lights down. Fade. Tears.)
God bless. And thank you, Debbie.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)