Memories

ISept. 01,2007 DECISIONS
By Joseph F. Neuman

Decisions, decisions. All our lives we are constantly making decisions. I yearn for the simpler times. When time consisted only of what was to be done for the day. Should I go to Harold’s house to play? Or maybe the park, where I could play tennis golf, croquet, or basketball? Whatever I decided upon, there seemed to be no repercussions. At least, not to the extent of today’s repercussions. I wonder if that is due to growing up. Becoming an adult. If so, then dear God, let me be a child again. I don’t want the responsibility of being an adult. I wonder if that makes me immature. If I am immature, why do I feel responsible to do that which society deems appropriate? But then again, I’ve never been one who cares so much about what society thinks of me.
Fifty-four years old, divorced three times. My health is failing. I’m getting older, like everything, and every one around me. I don’t have much money. How does one define success? Is it with material things? Things you can touch? Feel? If so, I’m not a success to most people. However, if we define success with what we feel in our soul, I am one of the richest men who ever lived. How many fathers upon the earth are invited to live with their daughters? I live in the home of my eldest daughter, and have been invited to live in the home of my youngest daughter. Decisions, decisions. There seems to be no escape from them. If success is defined by the amount of love we put out, or receive, then surly I am one of the richest men who ever lived. It is not my intention to boast of the love I’ve had, or given. But the amount of love I have experienced makes me believe that love has sustained me. It has given me life, where there would be none without it. The two daughters whereas I planted their seed, have taken root. Both daughters have named their firstborn after me. I now have five grandchildren. I have also had other children who were given my name. How honored, yet undeserving I am.
Once again, I find myself to be a rebel. I have turned against the normal. That which society states I am to do… I do not. A writer must have a plot within his tale I am told. A writer must have interesting characters to define. I am not interesting. I have been divorced three times as I have already stated. If I were interesting, one would think I would still remain married to one of the three of them. Yet, there must be something unusual about me, for all three of them were at my bedside last November, when the doctors stated I was about to expire. One of my ex-wives traveled over nine hundred miles at her expense. My youngest daughter traveled over a thousand miles for the third time, after being told by doctors I was about to expire.
I do believe in a higher power. I believe in God. In fact, I was taught how to love by God. He certainly set the example I aspire to love like. However short of this I may succumb. The example is set before me. I am not a piece of crap, if God loves me. Even with all the differences there are between Him and I. And those I love don’t magically turn into a piece of crap when we are divorced. I have told, and tell my children, I will love you no matter what. That is the way God loves me. That is how I was taught to love. I don’t have to jump through this hoop or that hoop to receive His love. Nor does anyone whom I choose to love, need to do anything in particular. I have learned no matter how much I love another person, they will fall short of my expectations every time. God’s love is the example set before me. I know I will never attain it. Yet I strive for it every day of my life.
Decisions, decisions. Here we are again. I am not a religious fanatic. But I am very religious. I was wondering how often we decide something when I began this writing. An old Beatle tune was running through my brain. “Wake up, get out of bed, drag a comb across my head.” Within one line, there are three decisions made. Every one of us are constantly making decisions. Does every living thing decide on what to do next? Or is it only the human race? Does a spider on the wall make the decision to turn this way, or that way? Is it instinct? Reflex? Is it the same for us as human beings to decide, as it is with any animal? Or is it different for humans because we have a soul? Does an animal have a soul? Have the writings you have just read, made you think? I believe writing to be an art. True, most stories have a plot. I didn’t have one when I began this writing. I still don’t have a plot. Yet, I feel if I have made you feel something. You felt something within your being. I have done my job. What do you think? You decide. Decisions, decisions.