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December 28, 2007

Sometimes people just fall upon hard times. It doesn’t mean that they are stupid, uneducated or psychotic. I believe the street person above (pictured with his sign) is a genius. I hope he finds his way.

I spoke to him at a traffic light.

“Hey buddy. I think your sign is brilliant,” I said, handing him a few dollars.

“Thanks man,” he said.

“Are you living on the streets?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Well, I hope you find a home soon,” I said.

“I have a home,” he replied. “I just need a house to put it in.”

Posted by trevor at 05:59 PM | Comments (0)

December 21, 2007

As a child I studied as hard as I could but math was something I found really hard to grasp. We wrote a test one day when I was in 7th grade. I knew I wouldn't do well but I hoped to at least pass the test.

No such luck.

Mrs. Fokk (or Ma Fokk as she was known by the students) handed out all the tests, and as per usual, saved mine for last.

“Ah. Mr. Romain,” she said with her familiar smirk. “Guess what? You failed again. Am I surprised? No. Why? Because you’re an idiot. You should be at a special school because of your, uhhh, little remedial problem (I am dyslexic). You should not be here at King Edward School. You are dropping the class average and making me look bad.”

She approached me and prodded my forehead with her stubby finger. “You irritate me.”

“Mr. Romain,” said Ma Fokk. “Get to the front of the class and tell your classmates why you are such an idiot.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said. All female teachers at my school were referred to as ma’am.

I lowered my head and went to the front of the class.

I stood there, not knowing what to say.

“Well!” she said.

“I dunno,” I said, softly. Feeling totally humiliated.

“Typical,” came her reply. “You don’t know. Pah!”

“According to you, I’m an idiot,” I said, suddenly. “By my grandfather says I’m a genius. I wonder who I’m going to believe?”

Ma Fokk, a rather large woman, grabbed my by the collar and propelled me out of the door. She took me down to Mr. Corbett’s office where I was caned three times for insubordination and told not to show my face in his office again.

I dreamed last night that Ma Fokk was tormenting me again. She’s been messing with my dreams for thirty-two years.

I woke up this morning and decided that I’ve had enough of her. I have made a decision to retire Ma Fokk as my tormentor. She is therefore released from duty forthwith.

It is over.

Done!

I will no longer be Ma Fokk’s victim because, truth be told,I am not a victim. I just happened to be a little, dyslexic kid who messed with a math teacher’s beloved averages.

So long Ma Fokk.

Posted by trevor at 07:03 AM | Comments (0)

December 17, 2007

Posted by trevor at 03:35 PM | Comments (0)

December 04, 2007

I was sitting and playing my guitar the other day. I hit one of the strings and the ensuing note struck a chord deep inside me. It was an interesting trigger. In a nanosecond the sound took me back in time to where that chord first embedded itself in my soul.

It's incredible how fast it happened. One minute I was sitting in my studio with my guitar and the next second I was a boy of nine or ten sitting in my bed in the middle of the night.

I'm not sure what woke me up, but I got scared and went to my parent's room to see if they were awake.

If I was afraid at night I would sometimes get out of bed and stand by the door of my parents room just to hear them breathe. The slow, steady sound always soothed me.

That night, as I approached my parent's room, I noticed that the light was on in my dad’s studio.

I tiptoed up the stairs and peeked into the door.

The light from the desk lamp bathed the room in a warm light.

My dad was hunched over his drawing board with his elbows on the table and his face resting in his hands.

I didn't want to disturb him, so I just stood and watched.

His radio was on softly. The Mama's and the Papa's were singing California Dreamin'.
I have always loved the opening chord from that song.

Finally I cleared my throat.

My dad looked up.

"Oh, hi Trev," he said, extending his arms toward me. "How's it going my boy?"

"You okay?" I asked, as he wrapped his arms around me.

"I’m fine. Just a lot to think about," he said, ruffling my hair.

I knew that we were struggling financially and my dad was desperately trying to make a living as an artist. It really hurt him that he could not support us like he wanted to.

"Is it money?" I asked.

"Among other things," he said. "You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, snuggling into his chest.

I felt safe and secure wrapped in his arms.

"Can I help?" I said, leaning back and looking into eyes. (I was saving for my very first guitar and I had a jar full of coins sitting on my windowsill.)

I would happily have given him every cent.

"Yeah, you can help," he said, softly.

"How?" I asked.

"C'mere and hold me," he said, putting his arms around me again.

I held my dad for the longest time.

Posted by trevor at 03:10 PM | Comments (1)